Page 29 of The Wake-Up Call

“Damn. Can’t you make an exception?” says Louis.

“No exceptions, Louis, not even for you!” Izzy calls as she slides into the pool. “Race you!”

Louis looks at Izzy with blatant appreciation. I feel another stab of that strange, new fear. As they launch into their race, I watch him gaining on her, his form cutting through the water, and then I turn away, heading into the main spa, because what else can I do? In the same way that the bikini wasn’t for me, I don’t get to feel anxious when Izzy’s on a date.

And I hate her, I remind myself. I hate her and she hates me.

•••••

After an hour of scrubbing the spa hall floor, I strip down to the vest top I’m wearing under my shirt. I’ve been in and out—I’ve needed various bits of equipment from the main hotel,and you have to walk through the pool to get there. But this time, as I move through to return the bag of cleaning supplies to their usual cupboard, Izzy is climbing out of the pool, and I have to slow down to let her reach for her towel.

“How was your date?” I ask in a low voice as she pulls it around herself, tucking it under her arm.

Louis has just stepped through to the men’s changing room. I relax a little as the door shuts behind him.

“You’ve been here pretty much the whole time,” Izzy says. “You tell me.”

“You won every race,” I say, setting down the bag and folding my arms across my chest. “So I’d say he’s no match for you.”

“Maybe I’m not looking for a guy who tries to outperform me,” she says, widening her eyes slightly as she tucks the towel tighter. Our voices echo in here, the water lapping quietly beside us.

“Oh, he was trying.” I smirk. “I know his type. Pushy. Likes to win. Compensating for something, no doubt. He just wasn’t fast enough.”

“Really?” She tilts her head. “He seemed like the perfect gentleman to me.”

“You think that’s what you need?”

She raises her eyebrows, incredulous. “You think I need something else?”

“I think you’re getting bored of men who will roll over for you on your command,” I say, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve seen your boyfriends, hanging around, waiting for you to tell them what to do next, chauffeuring you home in their beaten-up cars...”

Her eyes flare with real irritation. “That’ll be your first job,” she says. “When I win the bet. Chauffeuring me home in your beaten-up car.”

“My car is spotless.”

“Actually,” she says, “it got a little scratched this evening. Someone in a Smart car is no good at manoeuvres.”

“You wouldn’t,” I growl. “That is...”

“Seriously extra,” she says, and she’s laughing now. “No, I wouldn’t. But it’s got you raging, hasn’t it?”

It’s true. I am tense; heat is pounding through me.

“Big muscles, fancy car... You sureyou’renot compensating for something?” she calls as she walks off into the changing room.

•••••

On Thursday afternoon, as I settle back at the front desk after a frantic day sorting lost property, my sister messages me on the family WhatsApp group.Lucas, saudade! Está gostando do clima de Natal britânico?

She wants to know if I’m enjoying my English Christmas. Messaging me via the family group is an unsubtle reminder that I’ve been too quiet, and probably a sign that my mother is worrying.

Uncle Antônio isn’t in the family WhatsApp group. I occasionally feel guilty about this, but I can’t quite bring myself to set up another space in which Ana and I will inevitably feel inadequate.

I flinch suddenly as something lands on my head, and spin around to find Izzy behind me. I catch the reindeer antlers she just tried to put on me.

“No,” I say.

“It’s not festive enough around here!” she complains, adjusting her own antlers. Her hair is pulled back in a bun again, like it was that night at the pool. “It’s December now, and the builders won’t let me decorate the bannisters yet, and my nativity is gone...”

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