by Shari Low
There was a loud sniff and Zoe realised that her mum was crying.
‘We’ve…’ Dad paused, as if he was swallowing back a sob. ‘We’ve decided to get a divorce.’
17
Zoe – Ibiza Weekend
‘I’ve just realised that this is the first time we’ve been apart for more than a day since we made this thing official,’ Zoe murmured, from the depths of Ned’s goodbye hug. She could smell his aftershave and shampoo – something citrus, with a faint hint of coconut – and it made her want to just crawl back into bed with him.
His voice was still early-morning husky. ‘You mean since you stopped playing hard to get and finally decided I was too much of a good thing to pass up?’
Another sniff of the tangy stuff. ‘Mmmm. That’s exactly what I meant. Obviously, I hadn’t got a whiff of that shampoo back then, or I would have been a sure thing from the start.’
‘In the name of God, will you two cut it out so we can get a move on?’ Verity snapped, in what Zoe recognised as her very best teacher voice: firm, calm, but with a hint of warning and a commanding edge of ‘just do as you’re bloody told’.
‘Oooh, who needs another morning nap then?’ Zoe teased her, making no move to disentangle herself from Ned’s arms. The flight wasn’t for another hour and Marina and Yvie weren’t even here yet. The ward was short-staffed again, so Yvie had pulled a double shift, finishing at 6 a.m. and Marina was collecting her at the hospital so she could make her way straight to the airport for the 8 a.m. flight. Zoe had no idea how she did it. Her younger sister impressed the life out of her every single day.
The airport terminal was getting busy though, and they should probably start making their way up to their planned meeting place at the entrance to security on the second floor. Reluctantly, she released herself from Ned’s cocoon, just in time to see Yvie and Marina tearing through the glass doors and storming towards them. Like Zoe, Marina was wearing skinny jeans and a tailored jacket, but while Zoe had accessorised with Adidas trainers, Marina was striding on Gucci loafers. Yvie, on the other hand, was in flared palazzo pants, a white vest top and a kaleidoscopic kaftan that reached the floor.
Zoe watched as Verity’s eyes widened (white pencil trousers, navy wedges and a fine knit powder blue tank top) and her mouth opened to speak.
Yvie spotted it too, and when she reached them, she immediately put her hand up to stop whatever comment was about to come out of Verity’s mouth. ‘No, I didn’t bloody borrow this from a dreamer called Joseph. Marina’s already given me the sneer of “Oh fuck what are you wearing?” so you can save it.’
Verity closed her mouth again, while Zoe threw her arms around her younger sister, laughing. ‘Just you do you, my darling. You look freaking spectacular,’ she told her honestly. ‘Stuff what the grown-ups think.’
Yvie smooched her on the cheek and returned the squeeze, before pinging the waistband of her own trousers. ‘Thanks, luvly. I had to go with an elasticated waist. Don’t want to take someone’s eye out when the button shoots off my jeans after too much paella.’
Zoe didn’t get a chance to reassure her that she looked fabulous again because Marina was on the warpath, her voice as sharp as her jet-black razor-edged bob.
‘Come on, let’s go. Chop, chop,’ the sister boss barked at them, as if Marina and Yvie weren’t the ones who were late.
The others charged on, while Zoe gave Ned one more kiss goodbye, thinking, to her surprise, that she’d genuinely miss him. Somewhere over the last few months, the seesaw of devastation had moved, and the pain of losing Tom had been balanced out by her growing feelings for Ned. At least, she hoped that was the case. She hadn’t quite worked out how much of her feelings for this man were from the heart, and how much came from a determination to pick herself up, get over Tom and move on. Wallowing in painful situations had never been her way. Shut down the hurt, rebalance, make a plan, move on, depend only on yourself and sort it out. Hadn’t she learned way too young that it was the only way to deal with a breaking heart?
That said, Ned was definitely making it easy for her. He was funny, cute, sweet and…
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
… And he loved her?
Zoe froze, glad the others were now storming on ahead, out of earshot. ‘Did you just say you loved me?’
His beaming grin was the cutest thing she’d seen in a long time.
‘I think I did.’
‘And you didn’t consider saying that at some point while we were naked so that I could suitably reward you?’ she joked, her grin matching his now.
He loved her. This felt… She paused to consider it. This felt absolutely intoxicatingly lovely.
The terminal was now so busy that people were giving them irritated glances as they were forced to detour around the smiling couple. ‘We’ll discuss this further when I return, Mr Merton.’
One more long, heated kiss, before he released her with a very sexy murmur of, ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘Me too. But I really, really have to go.’
It took a massive surge of determination to tear herself away, pick her bag up from the floor and run after the others. She caught them just as they were going through security. If the flight was fuelled by the energy created by Verity’s incessant eye rolls of disapproval, they’d make it to Ibiza in record time. Through security, they burst into a jog and made it to the gate, just in time to board the flight. Last in the queue, they finally staggered on, slightly breathless, and slumped into the seats booked by the Kemp Group. Row One. Two on the left, and two on the right.
Marina and Verity were sitting together on the right, so Zoe slipped in beside Yvie, who immediately engaged in flight preparation mode, retrieving an eye mask from her toiletry bag and pulling it on to her forehead. Thick fluffy socks went on next, followed by a rub of her hands with almond cream from a tiny sampler bottle, a slather of moisturiser and then she plumped up her head pillow and slid it behind her neck. ‘Kay bought me this travel kit and I think I can pull it off,’ she jested, stretching back in the seat. ‘I could so get used to this. Remind me to look for all future opportunities to milk your job for luxury freebies.’
‘Milk away. But next month’s campaigns are dog biscuits and toilet rolls, so you might want to just enjoy this one while it lasts,’ Zoe said, as the plane left the ground.
They were ten minutes in when the cabin crew passed with the drinks trolley.
‘Courtesy of Roger’s credit card,’ Zoe said, passing Yvie a glass of champagne, served by an exceptionally handsome member of the cabin crew.
‘God, this sucks,’ Yvie groaned, with a twinkle in her eye and a new posh inflection in her voice. ‘I mean, I don’t usually have my first champagne until after 10 a.m.’
Giggling, Zoe raised her glass. ‘Cheers, gorgeous ladies. Here’s to a drama-free, fun, relaxing, utterly brilliant weekend with my three faves who came from the same womb.’
Verity nearly spluttered her bubbles. ‘You really need to work on your toasting speeches.’
‘What time do we land and how long will it take to get to the hotel?’ Marina asked, her phone in hand, clearly ready to fire the information off to whomever she thought needed to be aware of her every move.
Zoe rhymed off the information while trying to muffle a sigh. This had been Marina’s way for almost as long as she could remember. It was like she’d stepped in to be the mother in the family after Dad left them and their mum had neither the skills nor the inclination to put her own life aside to parent her children.
A drop of sadness at the memory of their early life infected Zoe’s mood and she pushed it away. Blocked it out. Refused to let it permeate her first-class bubble. This weekend was about enjoyment, about bonding, about reconnecting with the three women she loved most in the world, despite their massive personality differences. Maybe Verity would even lighten up and realise there was more to life than work, exercise and alphabetising her book collection. Perhaps Marina would rel
ax and forget about whatever it was that was giving her face that pinched expression. And maybe Yvie Josephina and her Technicolour Dreamcoat would take the opportunity to have a well-earned break from dedicating her whole life to the NHS and do something for herself for a change.
Zoe caught the drinks trolley on the way back and ordered four more glasses of bubbly. Handsome cabin crew seemed happy to oblige.
‘I’m pretty sure champagne isn’t supposed to be on my diet,’ Yvie announced. ‘For the purposes of this weekend, I want you all to humour me and tell me that all liquids are calorie free.’
Zoe kicked off her trainers, pulled her feet up under her and settled in as if she was in her living room. ‘It is. I checked. It’s just like water. Cheers, gorgeous,’
Yvie grinned as she raised her glass and returned the toast. After taking a sip, she then pulled a copy of Vogue out of her bag. ‘I’ve never read this in my life, but I wanted to look like I belonged on this trip,’ she hissed, conspiratorially.
‘Me too,’ Zoe replied. ‘So I’ve brought Brad Pitt. He’s in my suitcase.’
Their tipsy giggles drew daggers of disapproval from Marina, but Zoe couldn’t care less. They needed this. They all did. How long had it been since they’d all laughed together? And, on a personal level, how long had it been since she’d taken a weekend off work? Since she’d felt sun on her face and sand beneath her feet?
Damn. The familiar feeling began to tingle somewhere in her gut. She put her head on Yvie’s shoulder and exhaled, waiting for the comparison to come. It was a factor of heartbreak that no one had warned her about – every time you do something out of the ordinary, a little masochistic shit of a brain department throws up a comparison to the last time you did it with the person you were in love with.
So… here she was, on a flight heading for a weekend in Ibiza. Last time she was on this same route, she was back in economy. On the scale of comparison, the first class section definitely won.
Last time, she was exhausted because she’d worked two days straight on a pitch that they hadn’t even landed. This time, she’d taken the previous day off so she’d have time to get organised and in the holiday spirit. Another win.
Last time she was with Tom…
Thud. Pain. Loss. Huge loss. Despite her absolute determination that she was getting over him and moving on, the lurch of longing almost curdled the Moet in her stomach. It was like a tsunami of hurt, crashing through every barrier she’d spent the last few months building.
Block it out. Push it down. Breathe through it.
Something in her body language or the rhythm of her breath prompted Yvie to drop her magazine and whisper, ‘Are you okay?’
Zoe lifted her head from her sister’s shoulder, but she swallowed her words. This wasn’t the moment to admit how much she still missed him. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, she didn’t even admit it to herself, so there was no way she was going to vocalise it here and now, in an airplane full of strangers who could overhear. Not even in front of her sisters. This was to be an upbeat, positive weekend, and she refused to spend it moping or bringing up pointless regrets and tales of woe. How pathetic would that be?
Yvie, eye mask on her forehead, glass of champagne in hand, was still staring at her with curiosity, waiting for an answer.
The only thing to do was bluff it out.
‘Yes, of course. I’m great.’
Yvie wasn’t buying it. ‘And yet your eyes are all shiny, like the time you broke three toes falling off your platforms at that Spice Girls gig.’
‘I wasn’t crying because of the pain,’ Zoe sneered, going right into the same argument they’d had a hundred times about that night. ‘It was because I split the arse of my Scary Spice catsuit. Who knew that stretchy Lycra had its limitations?’
Yvie smiled, but Zoe could see she wasn’t convinced. She was going to have to give her more, but there was no way she was raining on their first class parade with a shower of misery and heartbreak over losing Tom.
It would have to be something else.
‘I’m just feeling a bit emotional. In a good way,’ she lied hastily.
Yvie’s questioning gaze was just a few inches from hers. ‘Because…?’
Because… because… oh, sod it. It was the only thing she could think of that would get her out of this moment without bringing everyone down. ‘Because Ned just told me that he’s in love with me.’
Zoe waited for the scream. The ‘wow!’ The shriek of excitement from a sister who celebrated every little milestone for all of them. This was the kind of news that would usually have Yvie summoning a brass band and ordering up bunting. Instead, all that came was a subdued, ‘Oh.’ The champagne breakfast was clearly making Yvie act in a sophisticated and classy manner. ‘And how do you feel about this? Do you feel the same?’ she went on, and there was a definite undertone of caution in her voice.
That must be it, Zoe decided. Her sister was just concerned and looking out for her because she didn’t want her to get hurt again. Maybe she would have been better just telling her the true reason behind her emotional wobble and keeping schtum about the love stuff.
But she was in too deep.
She realised she hadn’t answered the question. Rabbit, headlights. Did she?
‘Does she feel the same about what?’ came a voice from the other side of the aisle.
Shit, Verity must have overheard the tail end of the conversation. Now the whole cabin was about to be updated on the developments in her love life. She was going to need another glass of fizz for this.
‘Ned told Zoe he’s in love with her,’ Yvie informed her, in a stage whisper that could probably be heard by people on the toilet at the back end of plane.
‘Well, congratulations. Glad to hear things are progressing,’ Verity said, before her gaze returned to her book.
Verity’s reaction fired several questions to the front of Zoe’s mind.
Should she have said anything?
Perhaps she should have worked out how she felt about it before sharing the news?
And, was she imagining it, or had Verity’s words been uttered through gritted teeth?
18
Verity – Ibiza Weekend
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Verity tried to make it stop.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Nope, it was still there.
Not even the sound of her feet hitting the treadmill could drown out the sound of Yvie’s voice in her head – Ned told Zoe he’s in love with her.
This was her third session in the gym since they’d arrived at the hotel yesterday. She’d checked in, dumped her case in the room she was sharing with Marina, pulled her workout gear out of her backpack and come straight here to burn off her fury. Even the sight of the gym and its spectacular range of top-class equipment, with stunning views over Playa D’en Bossa beach, hadn’t defused her tension, although she had to admit that Roger Kemp knew how to design a hotel. It was opulent luxury, from the modern chandelier in the reception area, to the rich minimalism of the bedrooms, to the Balinese influences of the spa.
Yet none of these things were making her feel any better.
Today alone, she was on mile ten. Her knees hurt, there were blisters on her feet, her hamstrings were on fire and she welcomed every single feeling because at least the pain was a distraction. She’d been so sure that Zoe and Ned’s romance was waning. After all, didn’t he spend more time with her than he did with Zoe?
It had started with the climbing course. He’d come along as promised and Verity wasn’t sure what had shocked her most – the fact that he had turned up or that she’d actually enjoyed it. By the second day, she’d scaled the highest wall in a respectable time, beating Ned on almost every climb.
‘You are whipping my ass,’ he’d admitted good-naturedly after the third day. ‘I think this is going to have to be an ongoing battle.’
Given that he was standing there in his vest top and shorts, his biceps and tric
eps gleaming with sweat, Verity had been unable to think of a single objection to that suggestion.
Since then, it had been their thing. They headed there a couple of times a week after work, and at least once every weekend. It wasn’t tough for either of them to find the time. Verity just switched some of her gym workouts for the climbing centre and Ned came along when Zoe was working late or at weekends – which, let’s face it, was pretty much all of the time. What was the point of having a guy like that if you were never going to make time for him?
In Verity’s mind, it was all perfectly straightforward. Ned would realise that he wasn’t a priority for Zoe. He’d call it a day. Verity would continue to spend time with him and, after a respectable gap – say, six months or so – their friendship would develop into something more. Zoe wouldn’t care because by that time she’d either have moved on to someone else or she’d have won some kind of award for workaholic of the year and she wouldn’t even notice that Verity and Ned had become an item.
There it was. Simple.
And then he had to go and throw a hand grenade into her plans by telling Zoe that he loved her.
It just didn’t make sense. None of it. How could he love Zoe when she always made it clear he was number two in the priority list after her work? How could he love her when the connection with Verity was so strong? He must feel it too. And…
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Her feet went even faster as a horrifying new thought came to the party. Was Zoe some deluded fool who thought she was in love with him too? No. She couldn’t be. It was only five minutes since she split from Tom and he was supposed to be the love of her life.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the two young women who had stopped beside the treadmill next to her, huddling over one of their phones, looking at something that was causing dramatic gasps of astonishment. Verity had to clench her jaws shut to stop herself pointing out that this was a gym, not a coffee shop that you hung out in to chat to friends. There was nothing more annoying than people who showed up at the gym in their designer gear and treated it like it was some kind of social occasion. If she wasn’t so far into her run, she’d change treadmills, but right now her psyche couldn’t handle seeing the time, distance and calories burned going back to zero.
