The Getaway: A holiday romance for 2021 - perfect summer escapism!

by Isabelle Broom

  ‘Oh, you know,’ he said. ‘Pineapple juice, a splash of orange, some grenadine.’

  ‘And what – petrol?’

  ‘Rum. I put eighty millilitres in – is that too much?’

  ‘A single shot is twenty-five,’ Kate exclaimed, her eyes watering. ‘That’s one thing I actually do remember from my eventful three weeks as a bartender.’

  ‘Did you learn anything else?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Anything that could help me?’

  Kate pushed the offending cocktail away as gingerly as she might a scorpion.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I learned the hard way that if you decant lemonade into a shaker and make the mistake of shaking it, then it will not end well – not for you or anyone who happens to be within a ten-foot radius. Oh, and if you’re going to serve anyone a flaming cocktail, remember to give them a straw and a set of instructions, otherwise you’ll spend half the evening icing the lips of a drunk guy named Gary.’

  Toby nodded sagely. ‘Understood. Now, remind me again why you got the sack from that job . . .’

  Kate picked up a bar towel and laughingly swung it in his direction. ‘I attempt to kill them with fire, while you douse them in petrol – quite the dangerous duo us Nimbles make.’

  They were both still laughing when Nika arrived, flanked by bearded Noa and his girlfriend, a slim and shy girl he introduced as Klimentina. Both staff members had clearly made an effort to look nice for the big day, and Kate tried not to let her gaze rest too long on Nika’s abdomen. Nika had not yet told them that she was expecting, but as there was no sign of a bump beneath her form-fitting red dress, Kate concluded that she must still be in the early stages.

  She’d chosen her outfit for the party carefully as well, selecting a flattering black top-and-skirt ensemble and understated gold jewellery. Being pale-skinned and red-haired, Kate usually avoided dark and drab colours because they made her appear washed-out, but her modest tan had changed all that. She had also swapped her trusty glasses for her hated contact lenses, even though it had taken her almost twenty minutes to get them in. After weeks spent covered in sawdust, paint and sweat, looking respectable made a nice change.

  ‘Where’s Alex?’ asked Noa, taking a large sip of the drink Toby had mixed for him. Unlike Kate, he did not seem perturbed by the high alcohol content, and neither did his girlfriend.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Kate, scanning the terrace in search of him. ‘He was doing a few last-minute jobs down in the kitchen about an hour ago, but I haven’t seen him since then.’

  She turned to Nika with an enquiring glance, but the dark-haired woman shook her head.

  ‘Tobes, do you know where Alex has gone?’

  Her brother paused mid-shake. He was fully immersed in his Tom Cruise from the film Cocktail role now and she feared he might start juggling bottles soon.

  ‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘I told him it was party time ages ago. I’m sure he’ll be up here in a bit. Maybe he went to get changed?’

  ‘Alex? Dress up? I don’t think so somehow. That’s not really his style, is it?’

  ‘He may yet surprise you,’ remarked Toby. ‘Come striding in wearing a tux and plant a Hollywood kiss on you.’

  ‘I didn’t know that you and Alex were––’ began Nika, who had tucked a red cocktail umbrella behind her ear that matched her dress.

  ‘We’re not,’ Kate corrected. ‘My brother is just trying to wind me up. It’s what he does best, after dropping bottles.’

  ‘Bambina!’ came a shout. Filippo was waving at her from the other end of the terrace. ‘Bring me some lemons.’

  Kate slid off her stool as Toby passed her a handful of the waxy fruits.

  ‘You could do a lot worse, you know,’ he mused. ‘Than Alex, I mean.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ protested Kate. ‘Dreadlocks and beards are not my thing – and I like tall men, preferably over six foot. Like James,’ she added.

  Toby went to protest, but she cut across him. ‘And anyway, I don’t see Alex in a romantic way, and he feels the same about me – we’re just friends. Perhaps not even that; more like casual acquaintances. I hardly know the guy. And I love James,’ she insisted. ‘You know I do. I don’t know why you’re so keen not to believe me.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you,’ said Toby sadly, balancing one final lemon on top of the stack Kate had clasped in her arms. ‘I just wish I didn’t have to anymore, that’s all. I don’t think he deserves to be loved by you, although I understand it’s not that simple.’

  Kate deposited the lemons but didn’t return to the bar. Her brother’s words had affected her more than she liked to admit, and she was frustrated with him for prompting her into thinking about James again. It occurred to Kate now that this was the first party she had been to since her party; the thirtieth birthday celebration that was supposed to end with her engagement. How different her life would look now if James had said yes. Would the two of them have made any wedding plans, or would he have agreed with her suggestion that they have a long engagement, which would allow them to save up for any nuptials once they had got through the first round of IVF? Going private was a must, because she suspected the NHS would insist that they try for longer first, and neither Kate, nor James, could face any further delays. That was one thing they had agreed on in the wake of his test results.

  None of it mattered now, of course. Because of her stupidity in pushing him into a decision, Kate had lost both James and her ability to have a baby with him. What was it he had said to her that night? That he’d been thinking about breaking up with her for a while – presumably ever since they found out for certain that it was she, not he, who was the issue when it came to making a baby. That was the horrible, savage truth: he had rejected her because of her failing, because she was a failure.

  Taking out her phone, Kate flipped sullenly through her message apps, finding one from Robyn wishing her luck on opening night, which cheered her up marginally, and another from her mum that simply read: Proud of you. What was it about mums and kind words, thought Kate? Blinking, she dabbed away the tears that were threatening to ruin her eyeliner. She only had to picture her mother’s soft, sympathetic face to feel emotional.

  Similarly to Kate, she had never settled on nor had she pursued any kind of real career, staying at home to take up the mantle of that other, less lauded yet far more laudable, full-time role of wife, mother, homemaker. Kate’s father was a lot like James, in the way that he naturally took control and made decisions – not in a patronising or belittling way, but because he was a natural caretaker, and because he loved his family. He had said once to Kate that he was happy she had chosen a life partner who would not shy away from responsibility, someone sensible who clearly loved her as much as she deserved.

  He had been wrong about that, though. They both had.

  It hurt to think about her parents’ dashed expectations, and in a bid to distract herself, Kate opened Instagram, her tears drying abruptly as she took in the number of notifications on her brand-new account. How could she have gained so many likes and follows in such a short time? It couldn’t be the #WannabeWife connection – Kate had made sure there was no link between that vile video and this creative venture – so it must be the content, helped along perhaps by all the hashtags she’d added. Scrolling down beneath a photo of the hostel lift, the inside walls of which she had papered with vintage postcards of Hvar and the neighbouring islands, she found over a hundred comments, all of them complimentary. Toby had been right – there was a market for this type of before-and-after interior design.

  Feeling absurdly touched, Kate emerged from the corner she had retreated into and made her way back over to the barbecue.

  ‘Zdravo, bambina!’

  As always, Filippo was combining languages with as much panache as he did dressing ingredients for his evermore inventive salads. This evening, he was dolled up in a blue silk shirt, cream shorts and an Italian-flag apron, worn to catch splatters of hot fat from the grill.

&n
bsp; ‘It is nice to see you smiling,’ he remarked, squeezing her hand with affection. ‘And you look bellissima in black.’

  ‘Grazie,’ said Kate, performing a small curtsey before bestowing her own volley of praise on everything from the bowls of Russian salad he’d prepared to the suede loafers on his feet.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where Alex is either, do you?’ she asked, shaking her head as Filippo offered her a bread roll.

  ‘You must eat,’ he instructed. ‘I thought you were minuscola when you arrived, but now, you are even smaller. Like a tiny peppercorn.’

  ‘Hardly!’ Kate patted her stomach. ‘About Alex – do you know if he’s still around? I wanted to show him something. Here,’ she went on, ‘I uploaded some photos of the furniture he built and there are some nice complimentary comments.’

  ‘Ah, Alex left.’

  Filippo’s face fell and Kate felt her own do the same.

  ‘Oh. Did he say why?’

  ‘He said to me it is because he was offered a job in Stari Grad, on the other side of the island, at the last moment. But I don’t think he is much of a party man. He and Siva have this in common.’

  They both glanced over towards where the skinny grey cat was sitting, hunched and furious, on a plastic chair not far from the outer wall of the terrace.

  ‘Siva is nothing like me,’ Filippo said happily, flipping two burgers that were beginning to smoke. ‘She is a total bitch, but I love her for it.’

  ‘How long is he going for – Alex, I mean?’

  Kate’s short-lived buoyant mood was disappearing faster than the rum was into Toby’s experimental cocktails.

  ‘A few days,’ said Filippo. ‘I loan him the jeep, because it is quicker for him to drive than to take his boat.’

  ‘I can’t believe he’s not here. He did so much to make the place look amazing – he should be here to celebrate with the rest of us.’

  ‘Si.’ Filippo was nodding gravely. ‘But if he is not comfortable, then . . .’ He lifted both shoulders. ‘Perhaps it is better?’

  ‘I wish I could do something nice for him,’ said Kate, barely registering what she was saying as she watched Noa’s girlfriend Klimentina wobble right off her bar stool and land on the floor. ‘Something to say thank you – and sorry for being mean about his tatty old boat.’

  More guests were starting to arrive, and Toby had cranked up the volume of the music, gleefully strutting up and down behind the bar as the opening notes of ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis began to play. In the far distance, the large red bulb of the sun was about to plant itself into the bed of night, the sea below it a furnace of fiery, flickering light.

  Kate stood aside as well-wishers hurried forwards to greet their hosts, watching as hands were shaken and kisses planted on cheeks. She thought about the hostel, and the photos she had taken, and all the comments she had read from strangers compelled to award praise. It was then that an idea came to her – one so perfect that it sent triumphant air whooshing back into her lungs.

  There was something she could do for Alex – something kind that needed to be done.

  She would start the next morning.

  Chapter 23

  Alex’s boat was still moored not far offshore in the bay beside Pokonji Dol beach, where Kate had bumped into him just prior to their impromptu kayaking trip. She had hoped it would be a simple case of wading out and clambering over the side, but a quick look at the water told her that was not a viable option – not unless she wanted to swim, fully clothed, somehow carrying her bag of supplies over her head.

  When Alex had come across to join her the previous week, he had done so on a small dinghy, and after scouring the beat-up old vessel for taut trailing ropes and following one down to the bottom of the steep cliff upon which she was now standing, Kate spotted the small craft bobbing in the shallows. All she had to do was make her way down to the water, untie the dinghy from its mooring, and use the rope to tow herself out to Alex’s boat.

  It should be simple; it was simple. Except it was anything but.

  Kate slithered down the stony slope on her bottom, planting the heels of her palms into the earth to steady her pace. She wasn’t worried about the dust that would now be coating the back of her shorts, because the task she had planned for the day was a messy one. Rather than feel intimidated by what lay ahead, she felt eager; this was a challenge she would relish.

  Once down at the shoreline, she struggled for at least five minutes with the knots Alex had made to stop his little boat from floating away. There was a single oar clipped into a bracket on the floor, along with a grubby life vest, and Kate fed her arms through it and zipped it up. She was not going to take any chances, not so far from the beach. Squinting towards the distant curve of white pebbles now, she could see only a few figures milling around and no sign at all of Joe and his kayaks. That made sense, though – it was early. Far too early, in fact, for most people to be up and active on a Sunday morning. But Kate had barely slept; she had been too wired after the party, too consumed by treacherous thoughts of James, and too keen to put today’s project into action.

  Her rucksack of supplies clanked as she lowered it to the floor of the dinghy, and squatting, Kate pushed it under the narrow seat. Once she was sure that both she and her belongings were as safe as they could be, she gripped the sodden rope that connected Alex’s larger boat to the metal rung amongst the rocks and began to pull herself along.

  It was hard work – harder than she’d imagined – but it would have been even more difficult had she not toned up her arms, chest and back with all the painting, sanding, varnishing and hammering she’d done recently. Kate gritted her teeth, grunting with effort as she dragged the dinghy through the water, her eyes for once focused not on the shimmering depths surrounding her but on the boat up ahead. The closer she drew, the larger it seemed to grow and despite her resolve, Kate found herself daunted.

  It would be worth it, though, she thought. Worth it to see the look on Alex’s face.

  ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me,’ she said aloud, squinting in dismay at the ladder flopped over the hull. If you could even call it a ladder. From the rusted remains of two metal clips not far from the stern, she presumed Alex’s boat had once upon a time had a proper, and presumably sturdy, set of steps. All that was on offer to her now was a slimy tangle of twisted rope that was more seaweed than stairway.

  Still, she was not about to quit now – not when she had made it this far.

  Taking a deep preparatory breath, Kate secured the dinghy and tossed her rucksack up onto the deck, thanking her instincts for urging her to wear trainers rather than her usual sandals today. The textured soles would hopefully provide a bit of traction on this perilous ladder contraption. The last thing Kate wanted was to lose her footing and end up in the water – even if she was wearing a life vest. She wasn’t sure if she’d have the strength to go through the whole rigmarole again whilst soaking wet.

  At least Alex was not here to see her flail and hear her grunts, Kate thought, as she heaved and scrambled her way up across the peeling wood. It didn’t help that Alex had so many random objects dangling over the side, and she swore as her right knee connected with a paint can for the second time.

  ‘This is why mess is dangerous,’ she muttered, only to chuckle at the absurdity of talking to herself. Perhaps she was cracking up? Perhaps the heartbreak, the redundancy, the apparent infertility and the fact that she had become a national laughing stock had finally penetrated her flimsy internal armour, and she would soon be found rocking backwards and forwards in a corner, giggling away like a maniac.

  Only when she had finally clambered into the boat and lain like a beached starfish on the floor for a few minutes to catch her breath did Kate begin to look at the interior properly. Alex had told her that he had very little in the way of stuff, but there was stuff everywhere; undiscernible tools packed into plastic bags that were hanging from hooks, dirty rags, ripped strips of beach towel and several watering c
ans of various shapes and colours, all of which contained holes. In the small steering area, she found four boxes of different cereal lined up on the floor, three cans of baked beans and two of peaches in syrup, along with a chipped bowl, tin opener and mismatched set of cutlery. To the right of the steps that led down below deck, there was a tiny toilet, the lid of which Kate lifted gingerly and was relieved to find no stains. In fact, for all its detritus, the boat did not smell remotely unclean. The only real scent she could detect was its owner and glancing down into the cabin where she guessed Alex must often sleep, she saw a couple of rolled-up blankets, two thin pillows and a pile of folded clothes, many items of which she recognised.

  Was she trespassing?

  Kate had been so fixated on her plan to give Alex’s boat a makeover that she hadn’t considered how presumptuous she was being. This was, by all intents and purposes, his home, and she had just clambered aboard without asking his permission. Now, she was standing in what was essentially his bedroom, having a nosy at all his stuff and preparing to move things, reorder them, throw them away. For a moment, Kate was almost winded by her own audacity, and sat down hard on the steps.

  She had stowed her phone in the front compartment of her rucksack, and reached behind for it now, dragging it across the cracked boards and putting through a call to Robyn.

  ‘Hello?’

  It had taken her friend a long time to answer, and when she eventually did, her voice sounded croaky, as if she had just woken up. Kate cringed as she realised her error and began to apologise effusively.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Robyn said with a yawn.

  ‘I keep forgetting about the time difference,’ Kate replied, although it was not much of an excuse. ‘You said I should call you in an emergency and this sort of is one.’

  ‘Why?’ Robyn muttered sleepily. ‘What’s happened – is it James? What has that tos—’

  ‘No, no – it’s nothing to do with James. The thing is, I’m on Alex’s boat—’

  ‘Dothraki Alex?’ Robyn’s tone became perkier. ‘Does he have spears mounted on the walls and a stuffed dragon head under his hammock?’