by Fiona Harper
Right. Everything done. The only thing left was to get the empty cases out of sight and into the wardrobe. When that was done she walked back into the bedroom, hardly daring to look in the direction of the four-poster. The best thing she could do was get out of here before she succumbed to the temptation of that comfy-looking mattress.
That decided, she stripped off her travel clothes and replaced them with a floral sundress and flip-flops, then she picked up her floppy hat and sunglasses and headed off to explore the rest of her villa.
Downstairs was a sitting room, decorated in the same style as the room above, and beyond that a terrace with a plunge pool. At one end of the wooden railing that surrounded the terrace was a small white gate, and beyond it she discovered wooden stairs leading down onto the small private beach. The sand there was unblemished by human footprints and she kicked off her flip-flops and sank her toes into the silky grains, sighing.
When had she last stood on a beach and allowed the sand to pool between her toes? She was usually chasing after one of her kids, trying to prevent them from destroying other people’s sand castles or attempting cross-channel swims.
However, sighing soon turned to another kind of sound, as she realised the sand was far too hot to stand on and still keep all the required layers of skin on her feet. She ran the couple of dozen steps to the shore, where frothy waves licked the shimmering pale sand and let the cool water sooth her slightly scorched soles.
The water was delicious, warm and pleasant after only a couple of seconds of acclimatisation. Keeping to the surf-moistened part of the beach, she started to walk towards the tiny headland that separated her little patch of Pelican’s Reach from the main part of the resort. When she got to the rocks at the far end, she discovered she could skirt the headland, keeping almost completely to the sand. With no plan in mind other than to stave off sleep by keeping moving, she wandered the full length of the main beach, until she reached a rocky breakwater. It curled around the ocean-facing part of the beach like a protective arm, preventing the harsher surf at the bay’s edge from stealing the sand back into the sea it had come from.
She stood there for a few moments, watching the waves crash against the other side of the rocks, then turned and headed back towards the busier, central part of the beach. It was the tail end of the day now, and not many sunbathers draped themselves across the wooden sunloungers that were spaced evenly along the sand. There were a couple of bodies still in the water and a handful more with their eyes closed or reading books. She passed a small thatched bar under a couple of palm trees but carried on, heading for Pelican Joe’s, the main bar that spilled onto the beach in stepped terraces full of tables and chairs.
The bar area wasn’t busy yet, but a few couples and families arrived and staked claim to favourite tables while a plethora of bar staff smiled and mixed cocktails in every colour of the rainbow. She wandered over to the polished granite bar and picked up a menu. The choice was dizzying. Cocktails for every mood and taste and occasion. The back page listed the virgin cocktails for kids and she smiled, thinking how Violet would have loved ordering one of those and how she would have sat primly on one of the bar stools, pretending she was very grown up as she sipped it through a straw.
Juliet drew in a sharp breath and held it.
No. She couldn’t think of them yet. Not so soon after leaving. Not while the separation from them was still so raw. If she let Violet and Polly, Jake and Josh into her thoughts too much at the moment she’d end up sinking into a snivelling heap right here in front of the bar. She was too tired to cope with the homesickness that was threatening to come in waves.
But Juliet was very good at keeping going when a collapse or breakdown threatened, so she drew herself taller, let out the air she’d been holding and picked up the menu again. When the barman asked her what she wanted she couldn’t settle on a cocktail, so she ordered a dry white wine, just as she would have done at home, and added a bar snack to go with it. She found a small, empty table at the far edge of one of the sprawling terraces and sipped her drink and ate her mango chicken while watching the sun go down.
As she sat there half-dazed with tiredness the bar filled up around her. Some people settled down to eat from the simple menu, others came for a drink and headed off to one of the other restaurants on the resort. Even though Pelican Joe’s was busy, it was peaceful. No bad behaviour, no shouting or whining kids. It was as if the atmosphere of this laid-back little island had seeped into everyone who’d been here for more than a few hours.
Juliet tried to join them, sitting still, noting not just the tangerine and pink of the sunset, but the lemon sky and the grey clouds above it, but somehow she felt out of sync with everyone around her, as if she was a metronome ticking too fast while everyone else marched to a slower beat.
She realised that all of the people she could see were very well turned out. She’d been used to being one of the school mums who was always nicely dressed back in Tunbridge Wells, but these people were in a different league. They lounged around the five-star resort hardly noticing its understated luxury, as if they were used to it all the time. That in itself was enough to frighten her off from striking up a conversation with someone, even if she’d been awake enough to make sensible small talk.
But the other reason she wasn’t more sociable was that she noticed she was the only person sitting on her own. Now it was getting later, families disappeared and suddenly the bar was filled with couples. Everywhere she looked, people were holding hands and sneaking meaningful looks at each other across the table.
And, just like that, paradise became slightly depressing.
She got up and walked away from her table, leaving the last bit of her glass of wine undrunk, and headed to the reception area, where she ordered a shuttle to take her back to her villa. All the while on the short ride there she tried to hush the thoughts whispering at the fringes of her mind. This was the holiday of a lifetime, and she was going to make sure she made the most of it, have fun! That’s what Gemma would do. The last thing she wanted was to leave her lonely and sad life behind, only to discover she was lonely and sad here as well.
Even her stylish villa seemed too empty when she stepped inside.
This was what she’d longed for, wasn’t it? Time. Space. Room to breathe. Precious commodities in her life. But now they were within her reach she felt like a pauper who had been made a millionaire and hadn’t the first clue how to spend her riches.
She walked towards the French windows, not bothering with turning a lamp on as she went, and stepped outside onto the balcony. At least out here she had the rough song of the crickets and the other night animals to keep her company.
Had she been this lonely back in Tunbridge Wells?
Probably.
But maybe her busy life served more than a purpose than to drive her crazy. Maybe she even invested in the craziness a little. Because she wasn’t sure she liked what came creeping in when it all stopped.
The night air was still warm enough for her not to need a cardigan and a gentle breeze blew off the sea, lifting only the wispiest tendrils of hair from her face. She tipped her head back and marvelled at the stars. Light pollution in her town had fooled her into thinking they were finite in number, countable—if she’d had the time or the patience to take on the task. But here there were so many she could hardly make out the individual constellations.
It goes on forever, she thought, and I’m such a tiny, tiny part of it. So why does it feel like the whole thing will come crashing down if I even pause for a second?
Her eyes slowly accustomed to the darkness, and she began to pick out the individual shrubs in the dark blur of vegetation at the edge of terrace. After studying sky and sea and sand, she turned her attention to what was right and left of her balcony. Her villa was the fourth in a row of five. The first one, nearest the resort, had a few lights on, but the next two w
ere dark, giving no indication if they were inhabited or not. She twisted to look at the one on the other side. Light spilled from the bedroom onto the balcony and she suddenly realised she wasn’t the only one enjoying the cool night breeze and the blinking stars.
The other villa was maybe only twenty feet away, but Juliet was hidden in the darkness and she felt no embarrassment at studying her neighbour.
He was tall and lean, resting his elbows on the railing of the balcony, a squat glass tumbler of either whisky or dark rum in his hand. Dressed in pale khaki trousers and a linen shirt, he looked totally at ease, as if he’d always belonged here, even though his European features and short dark hair indicated he probably wasn’t a native St Lucian.
He took a sip from his glass then returned to watching the sea.
He was early thirties, she guessed, with strong symmetrical features and cheekbones to make a girl weep. If there was any imperfection in him at all, it was maybe his nose was a little too long, a little too straight.
She stood there watching him for maybe ten minutes. Partly because of the forgotten warmth raising the hairs on her arms and turning her breathing shallow, but partly because, even though he had no idea she was there, just knowing another human was nearby made her feel less alone.
Of course, his beautiful girlfriend would probably wander out and join him shortly, steal a sip from his glass and press a kiss to his neck. Juliet waited for her to arrive, subconsciously realising it would give her permission to stop looking. It would allow her to go back inside, collapse onto her vast four-poster bed and sleep for a week.
But the goddess who belonged to this god never came.
Maybe she was already asleep, sprawled in her bed after glorious lovemaking. Maybe she was waiting for him in a tub full of bubbles. Juliet hoped the goddess wouldn’t mind if she borrowed him for just a bit. All she wanted was his proximity; she wouldn’t be stupid enough to ask for anything more.
She let out a breath and looked away. This was ridiculous, the sort of thing Violet probably did when she spotted a lad she liked.
She leaned on the railing, letting the rough wood against her forearms remind her of what was real and what was not. She resisted looking at him for as long as she could, but eventually she turned her head for one last glance before heading back inside.
That was when she found him mirroring her, looking back at her from his balcony, an expression of slight amusement on his features. If his profile had been gorgeous, face on he looked even better.
She held her breath, not quite sure if he could see her, or if he was just taking in the scenery. And if he was aware of her presence, what should she do? Had he known she’d been watching him? Was it too late to save face by giving him a neighbourly wave?
As if he could hear the thoughts racing through her mind, he tilted his head, then lifted his glass and saluted her with it.
Juliet flushed and fled back inside her darkened villa.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SO, THIS IS WHAT being Juliet feels like, Gemma thought, as she opened her eyes the next morning. She was sleeping in Juliet’s bed, living in Juliet’s house, eating Juliet’s food and looking after Juliet’s kids. It was like being in an alien world, albeit a stylish, neutral-toned alien world that wouldn’t look out of place between the pages of Fabulous Homes magazine. Everything felt elegant, organised and maybe a little too perfect.
She rolled over and turned on the light. She’d been going to look at the clock, but the first thing she noticed was the picture on Juliet’s bedside table. It was a snap of their family—Mum, Dad and the two girls—taken on a holiday in Devon when Gemma had been about ten.
She had always loved that photo. All of them together, grinning at the camera with their arms round each other. She smiled back at the frame sleepily and yawned. However, as Gemma continued to stare groggily at the picture she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. There was a sadness behind Juliet’s sunny smile that set her apart from the others, even though she was in the centre of the shot, leaning in between Mum and Dad from behind.
Odd. Gemma had always thought marrying Greg had had something to do with the stressy, uptight woman her sister had become, but the seeds of it were here in this picture, years before she’d even met him. It shouldn’t be like that. They’d had such a happy childhood. Idyllic, almost.
She closed her eyes and yawned again, too tired to dissect that thought now, then focused on the clock.
Yuck. Six thirty. She was used to getting up at the crack of dawn, but she hadn’t anticipated just how much willpower it would take to drag herself out of bed this morning. Without the adrenalin rush working on set brought, sliding her feet out from under the warm duvet until they hit the floor seemed like an impossible task. And it didn’t help that Juliet had the most comfortable bed in the history of beds.
Still, she needn’t have worried. The twins decided to help her by barging into the room at full pelt and launching themselves on top of her. While they bounced up and down, one of them with his knee in a very sensitive place, she thought she might have heard the word breakfast amongst the chatter.
She pushed back the hair from her face and tried to focus on one twin. Either one. She didn’t care which. ‘You’re hungry?’
The boys bounced harder. Lovely.
‘Okay, okay...’ She tried to move and got an elbow in her face for her efforts. ‘Boys!’
The bouncing stopped.
Gemma took a moment to absorb the fact she’d sounded just like Juliet, then she sat up. ‘Go and get your school uniforms on and I’ll be down in five minutes to make your breakfast, okay?’
Jake and Josh just looked at her.
‘And you’d better hurry up, or the only choice on the menu will be porridge.’
The boys glanced at each other, communicated telepathically, then dashed out of the room, giggling. Gemma flopped back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. If this was how Juliet’s days started, no wonder she was in such a bad mood most of the time. Oh well, this had to be easier than cajoling truculent movie stars. She’d never been able to get Tobias Thornton to do anything by just threatening him with porridge. Not that she actually knew how to cook porridge from scratch. But the boys didn’t need to know that, did they?
This bed really was wonderfully comfy...
The next thing Gemma knew was that she’d been startled awake by a child’s face pressing virtually nose to nose with her own. She let out a scream, which didn’t seem to faze Polly at all. She tipped her head to one side and studied her aunt carefully. ‘Are you hungover?’ she asked in that sweet little lisping voice of hers. ‘I can make you a cup of tea if you are.’
Gemma pulled the covers up over her face. ‘No, I am not hungover!’ she said through the Laura Ashley duvet cover.
‘Okay,’ she heard Polly say, but the child didn’t seem very convinced.
Gemma pulled the duvet back down again and stared at her niece. ‘All I had to drink last night was half a gallon of Diet Coke, just like you.’
Polly blinked. ‘Do you still want that cup of tea, or not?’
‘Not. I think I’d better make it myself, seeing as you’re hardly tall enough to see over the kitchen worktop.’
Polly shrugged. ‘Whatever... And FYI, you might want to brush your teeth. Your breath is a little...you know.’ And she waved a hand in front of her nose before skipping out of the room, humming ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’.
Gemma didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
Oh, my God! A little Juliet-in-training. Heaven help us all!
Still, she’d been called worse by much less intelligent people, so she batted Polly’s wince-making honesty out of her mind and concentrated on getting out of bed, slinging on a robe and heading downstairs to see what the twins were up to.
She fou
nd them sitting at the kitchen table, looking expectant, knives and forks in hands.
‘Mummy makes us pancakes every morning,’ Jake said.
‘With maple syrup and honey and sugar and strawberries...’ his brother chimed in.
Gemma was just about to say she knew how to order pancakes, when Violet trailed in, munching half a slice of toast.
‘Don’t believe a word the runts say. Pancakes are for special occasions only. Weekday breakfasts are strictly cereal with chopped fruit.’
‘Nice try, boys,’ Gemma told them, grinning, and then she rummaged through the larder for something to pour in a bowl for them. That she could manage.
After a minute searching she popped her head out and looked at Violet, who was leaning against the kitchen counter reading a magazine. ‘Where are the kids’ cereals? All I can find in here is Juliet’s high-fibre stuff.’
Violet lowered the magazine a fraction and raised her eyebrows.
Yikes. This was the kids’ cereal. She pulled a box out and gathered a couple of tubs from the shelf on the opposite side of the larder. ‘How about Shreddies with chopped banana and sprinkles?’ she said as she re-entered the kitchen.
From the cheer she received, you’d have thought she’d offered them a trip to Disneyland. She dumped the cereal and cake decorations in the middle of the table, got a bottle of milk from the fridge and plonked a bowl down in front of each boy. ‘You do the cereal and sprinkles,’ she said, ‘I’ll do the banana.’
Yes, the kitchen looked like a mini-tornado had whipped through it when the kids had finished eating, but she got them out the door and into the car on time. Violet navigated to the grammar school, then Polly took over and directed her back to St Martin’s Primary. Gemma could have done without the comments on other people’s driving from her ten-year-old human satnav, but at least she got them to the playground on time. The sense of satisfaction she got waving them off as their teacher rang the bell and marched them into school was every bit as warming as sending a movie star off to set.
