“France?” I say tentatively. “A farmhouse in France?” I’ve always fantasized about moving to France. “Maybe the Dordogne, or Provence? We could do up a house, find a real project.…” “I love that idea.” Ben’s eyes are sparkling. “Find a wreck, turn it into something amazing, have friends to stay, long lazy meals—” “Exactly!” My words tumble out, mingling with his. “We’d have a great big table and wonderful fresh food, and the children would help make the salad.…” “They’d learn French too—” “How many children do you want?” My question halts the conversation for a moment. I’m holding my breath, I realize. “As many as we can,” says Ben easily. “If they all look like you, I’ll have ten!” “Maybe not ten.” I’m laughing in relief. We chime perfectly! My worries were unfounded! We’re totally on the same page when it comes to life choices. I almost want to get out my phone and start finding old French properties to drool over. “You really want to move to France?” “If there’s one thing I
There’s nothing wrong with Sofia, Bulgaria. It’s a great city. I’ve been here many times before. It boasts beautiful churches and interesting museums and an outdoor book market. However, it is not where I want to be standing at six in the evening, hot, sweaty, and harassed, waiting for my baggage at the carousel, when I should be on the Greek island of Ikonos.The only plus point of the situation: I can’t blame Daniel. Not this time. This one is firmly fate/act of God. (Thanks a lot, God. Is this because of what I said in religious studies class, age eleven? I was joking.) Although I’d actually like to blame Daniel right now. More specifically, I’d like to kick him. Failing that, I may well kick my baggage trolley.The crowd around the carousel is five deep. There are people waiting for luggage from several flights, and no one is in a good mood, least of all my fellow passengers from Flight 637 to Ikonos. Not many smiles. Not a lot of jolly banter.Sofia, bloody Bulgaria. I mean.Year
This is the perfect setting for a wedding night. I mean, our own private beach! How cool is that?We’re in a secluded little cove that you reach from the main beach over stepping stones and there’s a DO NOT DISTURB sign placed on a rock. Our two massage therapists led us here in a little procession, followed by Georgios and Hermes carrying champagne and oysters, which are waiting for us on ice. Now we’re lying on a huge double massage bed, while the two massage therapists, Angelina and Carissa, rub oil into our bodies. Billowing all around us are white curtains, so we’re totally private in our enclosure. The sky is that intense blue you only get at a certain point in the early evening, and scented candles planted in the sand are giving off a sweet aroma. Birds are swooping and calling. I can hear the tiny splash of waves on the sand, and the air has a salty tang. It’s all so scenic, I feel as though I’m in some arty pop video.Ben reaches out his hand to take mine, and I squeeze it ba
No. Nooo! What is this drivel?Ben understands me at a profound level. He thinks it’s Destiny and I do too. We’ve made so many plans for our future. He wants to do all the same things that I do. We’ll probably end up living inFrance in a gîte.…I click briskly through the next three texts with mounting dismay.… amazing atmosphere with white curtains next to the sea, and, OK, it didn’t work out, but that’s not important …… We weren’t touching but I could FEEL him, it’s like a psychic connection, you know what I mean.…… happiest I’ve ever been …They haven’t shagged, yet she’s the happiest she’s ever been. Well, if I was trying to drive them apart, I’ve squarely failed. I’ve driven them together instead. Good work, Fliss. Marvelous.“Everything OK?” says Lorcan, observing my expression.“Everything’s dandy,” I almost snarl back, and flip viciously through the leather-bound cocktail menu.My spirits have not exactly been high since the touchdown in Sofia. Now they’re plummeting to roc
“Thanks.” I can’t help smiling at the compliment. Noah is bright. Although “well balanced” I’m not so sure about. Do well-balanced kids boast about their fictitious heart transplants?“He seems very happy.” Lorcan takes a handful of peanuts. “Was custody amicable?”At the word “custody,” my internal radar springs into action and I feel my heart automatically start to pound, ready for battle. My body is flooding with adrenaline. I’m fingering my memory stick nervously. I have speeches lined up in my head. Long, erudite, scathing speeches. Also: I want to punch someone.“Only, some of my friends have had fairly torrid times with custody battles,” Lorcan adds.“Right.” I’m trying to achieve composure. “Right. I bet.”Torrid? I want to exclaim. You want to hear about torrid?But at the same time Barnaby’s voice is ringing in my ears like the chime of a warning bell. You said whatever you did, you wouldn’t end up bitter.“But you haven’t suffered?” says Lorcan.“Not at all.” From nowhere,
“Here we are.” A waitress appears, bearing a silver tray on which is an ice- cream sundae. “For the brave little soldier. You must be so proud,” she adds to me.Oh God. Not again. I smile back, my expression carefully vague, trying to hide my embarrassment. I have no idea where we’re heading with this. It could be heart transplant. It could be bone marrow. It could be new puppy.“Training for three hours a day!” She squeezes Noah’s shoulder. “I admire your dedication! Your son was telling me about his gymnastics,” she adds to me. “Thinking of the Olympics 2024, are you?”My smile freezes. His gymnastics? OK, I can’t put this off any longer. I’m having the Talk, right here, right now.“Thank you,” I manage. “Wonderful. Thank you so much.” As soon as the waitress has disappeared, I turn to Noah. “Darling. Listen to me. This is important. You know the difference between truth and lies, don’t you?”“Yes.” Noah nods confidently.“And you know that we mustn’t tell lies.”“Except to be polit
“So,” says Lorcan at last, and a luscious anticipation starts to grow within meagain. I can feel an internal limbering-up, that little dance of muscles yearning to be used. I’m doing better than Lottie on the shag front flashes through my mind, giving me a pinch of guilt—but only a small one. It’s all for the best. She can have another honeymoon, another time.“Drink?” I say, not because I really want one but to prolong the moment. This suite is the perfect setting for a shag-fest, what with all the smoky, sexy mirrors and soft, sensual rugs and the (fake) open fire flickering in the grate. There are also several conveniently placed pieces of furniture, which I’ve already eyed up.When I’ve poured Lorcan a whiskey, I sit down with my own glass of wine on an amazing creation of a chair. It’s made of deep-purple velvet, with wide rolltop arms and a deep seat and an erotic swoop to its back. I’m hoping that I strike quite a figure as I lean provocatively on one of the arms and allow my
It was meant to be! This is my all-star, gold-plated, total dream scenario. Ben and me on a boat again. Skimming across the Aegean waves. On our way to total bliss.Thank God we’ve left the Amba. I know it’s luxurious and has five stars, but it’s not the real Ikonos. It’s not us. The moment we were dropped off for the day at the little bustling port, I felt something buried inside me come alive. This is what I remember of Ikonos. Old white houses with shutters, and shaded streets, and elderly women in black sitting on corners, and the dock for the ferry. The port was full of fishing boats and water taxis, and the overpowering smell of fish made my senses reel. I remember that smell. I remember all of it.The sky is a bright morning blue and the sun is dazzling my eyelids, just as it always did. I’m lying back in the water taxi, the way I did when I was eighteen. My feet are in Ben’s lap and he’s idly fiddling with my toes and there’s only one thing on both our minds.My skin has recove