Page 42 of That Island Feeling

‘Of course she is,’ Taylor answers for me.

‘No-strings-attached holiday sex is exactly what Andie needs,’ Grace agrees.

‘That’s what I said to her the other night!’ Lizzie exclaims.

‘Ummm, hellllooooo, Andie is sitting right here,’ I interrupt, but there’s excitement buzzing in my veins.

This trip has been a series of surprises. Last night was a total write-off, yet unexpectedly, it turned into the most fun I’ve had in . . . well, years. Maybe I can temporarily lift my strict dating veto? It’s not like we’re talking about anything serious here. And for the first time in years, I actually have some time off from my life and its responsibilities – for four more nights, at least.

But can I really skip out on our spa session? Taylor might be okay with it now, but she could always change her mind, and I don’t want to jeopardise the reason for this trip – well, one of the reasons.

‘You don’t need a face mask anyway. Bitch, your skin is like a permanently glazed donut,’ Taylor says, pre-empting my concern. ‘And besides, nothing beats that post-sex glow,’ she adds, her eyes flashing.

I laugh. ‘I’ll think about it.’ My attention shifts to Grace. ‘It’s your turn.’

‘Oh no. Andie, we love you. But no more games.’

‘Okay, okay,’ I concede. Evidently no one is in the mood to rack their foggy hungover brains over ancient celebrity romance history.

As I pack up the cards, Grace declares that another round of naps is in order, but I’m fizzing with anxious energy. Not only over the prospect of meeting Jack later, but because, predictably, Toby hasn’t messaged back. If I hang around here, I’ll only drive myself mad obsessing about Dad. Is he up yet? What was for breakfast? How is his head wound looking? I’m trying to respect Toby’s wishes and resist the urge to call.

‘I might go for a walk,’ I announce, pausing to see if any of the girls will join me. ‘Anyone keen?’ I prompt after a beat.

Eventually, only Taylor responds. ‘Have fun,’ she murmurs, her eyes not leaving her phone screen.

I can’t see who she’s texting. I really hope that it’s not Ben.

There’s a new sign in Hazel’s garden: MY GARDEN ISN’T DEAD, IT’S SLEEPING, positioned right next to a bed of wilting daffodils.

I check my phone again as I walk up the path, following a trail of freshly fallen frangipanis, the sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air. Nothing from Toby, or Jack. I tell myself I’m only here to pick up the Tupperware – we don’t want to lose our Airbnb bond over missing Tupperware – but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to secretly hoping for a glimpse of Jack’s impressive form gliding past on his paddleboard.

‘Andie!’ A dolled-up Hazel swings open her door, greeting me like an old friend. ‘You’re right on time!’

On time?

‘How are you with make-up?’ she asks, pulling me into the house.

‘Ah, not the best . . .’ I offer apologetically. ‘My friend, Taylor, is really good at beauty stuff. I can see if she’s free to help?’

‘Rubbish. Look at those perfectly shaped brows. You’re clearly a woman who understands angles.’

I follow her into the living room. Most of the furniture that crowded every corner is emptied out, as if the jumble sale has now packed up and left.

‘Are you moving?’

‘Of course not, dear.’

Hazel offers no further explanation, instead presenting two tubes of lipstick and thrusting them towards me.

‘Scarlet or rose red?’

‘Rose,’ I respond instinctively, thinking of her garden.

‘Excellent. That was Billy’s favourite.’ She pulls a compact from her make-up bag, puckers her lips and applies with precision, then combs her fingers through her silvery strands.

‘How am I looking?’ she asks.

‘Stunning,’ I tell her. She is radiant. It’s not just the colour on her lips; she has on a red wrap dress that hugs her curves gorgeously.

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