But here in the Smuggler’s Inn? The whole place was alive. Laughter floated up from the street and trickled through the windows. She heard the sound of seagulls and the tinkle of masts. And she heard sounds coming from the pub below. The occasional thud, the waft of laughter from the bar far beneath her and occasionally Tristan’s deep voice communicating with someone outside.
She longed to go for a walk, if not for fresh air (it was stifling!) then at least to clear her head, but she was too afraid of bumping into someone who would berate her.
She should be used to it, shouldn’t she? She should be used to being unpopular. Not one of the cool girls. The outsider. The one left alone in the playground. She’d made peace with that. She’d learned to distance herself. She’d reminded herself that they were just being mean and she didn’t deserve it.
But this time she deserved it.
Why did it bother her? Why was the approval of this particular group of people so important to her?
The answer was simple, of course. Because she’d grown to like them. Respect them. And they’d made her part of their team. She’d worked with close-knit groups before, but she’d always been on the outside. No one had ever let her in.
Until now.
She cared about their opinion of her, which was a shame because their opinion of her couldn’t sink any lower.
What they probably didn’t know was that she despised herself more than they did.
Her head was throbbing and she stood up and found some tablets tucked into the back of her suitcase which she washed down with a glass of water.
Now what? What was she supposed to do next?
She’d already forwarded the emails to Evie, as promised. And now she should be updating her mother. She was waiting for Abby to call back, but so far she hadn’t been able to face that conversation. No doubt she’d be less than impressed that Abby had got herself into this position.
Abby didn’t care. Her main concern was how she was ever going to redeem herself with Evie and the team. Edward, Mandy, Donna, Luca, Kristina—all of them. How could she make it up to them?
She finished the water but her head still throbbed. If only the weather would break. What they needed was rain.
And what she needed was to escape from here. She needed to get out of this room. She needed to lower her stress levels and think calmly.
At home she’d go for a swim in the pool in her apartment block.
She stared at the window for a moment. There was a pool at the hotel, of course, but there was no way she could usethat. The staff would probably drown her, and she wouldn’t blame them.
But she didn’t need a pool, did she?
She was a stone’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean. The tide was out. She could walk around the headland to access the beach closest to the harbour and she’d try not to think of the drunken striptease she’d done the night before.
Without giving herself time to plan what she was going to say if she met someone she knew, she stuffed a towel, a sweatshirt and a drink into a bag, pulled a baseball cap over her eyes, and threw her phone onto the bed.
If it rang she’d feel obliged to answer it, and she didn’t want to answer it.
She headed out of the pub and into the crowded street.
She kept her head down and kept walking, past the harbour and then down onto the sand.
The beach was quiet, with just a couple of families at the far end and a couple of teenagers with bodyboards.
At the water’s edge a mother was holding a baby, occasionally lowering her and dipping her little feet in the water. Her other child, a little girl about five years old wearing a vibrant pink dress, was building a sandcastle a short distance away, cramming sand into a bucket and plopping it out. Her mother kept glancing in her direction to check on her, shouting encouraging words while the baby in her arms kicked its legs and giggled.
Abby stripped down to her swimsuit, watching the young family. It was no picnic trying to watch two young children by yourself. The woman looked familiar, but she couldn’t place her.
Admiring the mother for handling it on her own, she walked across the damp sand to the edge of the sea. The tide had started to turn and the waves were picking up, but didn’t look too scary apart from the area near the rocks. She’d avoid that.
It was past 6 p.m. and there were no lifeguards on the beach,but that didn’t worry her. She was a strong swimmer, and she had no intention of going far.
She waded into the sea, the water icy cold against her heated skin. She could hear the little girl laughing with happiness and she smiled at the sound as she plunged into the water and started to swim, the water muting sound.
It was bliss to be in the water and to wash off some of the stress. She swam with strong, rhythmic strokes, always alert to where she was so that she didn’t go out too far, and staying well clear of the rocks. She turned, swam across the bay again, and did that several times before her limbs started to feel tired and the cold water had numbed her skin.
