I made a pitiful attempt to remove my mascara the night before, but clumps still cling to the corners of my eyes. There is a grey tinge to my complexion. My hair is matted from hairspray and smells of chlorine. I brush my teeth for what feels like forever but my mouth still feels furry afterwards. When I emerge into the room, Nora is up and chatting to the others on the balcony, their voices drifting through the apartment. I consider getting straight in the shower but am in dire need of hydration, so head to the kitchen just as Rose arrives to fill up the kettle.
‘How’s the head?’ she asks.
‘Not great. Yours?’
‘Awful. My eyes were so puffy first thing I couldn’t get the Face ID to work on my phone. We’re not alone though. Look at the state of everyone.’
I look out through the patio doors to the other women. It’s like a scene from the fall of Rome. I join them for a littlewhile, deconstructing events of the previous evening, before Nora goes first in the shower and I decide to pack while I wait my turn.
I arrive in the bedroom to find a text on my phone. When I open it and see it’s from Sam, my gut lurches, a feeling like when you’ve missed your step. I sit on the bed and open it up.
‘Last night was lovely. You are lovely. Thought you ought to know. xxx’
I inhale deeply as my fingers hover over the screen, considering my response as my head pounds. I feel awash with cortisol as I begin to type, then realise I don’t know what to say. I scrub out my first attempt and I’m about to try for a second time, when I am jolted by my phone alarm, which I’d set to make sure I had plenty of time to pack before our flight home. It’s Radio 2, my usual wake-up call. Only the music playing makes my blood turn to liquid nitrogen. ‘God Only Knows’by the Beach Boys.
The first dance song at my wedding.
My throat clenches as I’m hit by a series of flashbacks. Of Ed’s hand in mine, as he led me onto the dance floor. Of the blur of disco lights as they lit up his face. Of a few gentle sways, before a tiny Frankie rushed on to join us.
Regret arrives like a sandstorm; I am assaulted by my emotions from every direction. I feel awash with guilt and shame and, above all, a deep, penetrating sense of betrayal. The door to the bathroom opens. I look up to see Nora in her dressing gown. She gasps and moves towards me, concern etched on her face.
‘What’s the matter? Jules . . . what’s going on?’
She rushes to the bed to sit next to me as I put down the phone and wipe my cheeks decisively, one after the other. My palm sticks to them, already raw.
‘Is this about you and Sam?’ she asks, softly. I look up sharply. ‘I realised I’d left my handbag at the bar so came back to look for it,’ she explains. ‘I saw you on the dance floor together.’
‘Oh. I see.’ I sniff.
She puts her arm around my shoulder. ‘You’ve donenothingwrong. Nothing whatsoever.’
The words make my brow crumple, but I nod unconvincingly.
‘Sam is the first person I’ve kissed since Ed. I mean, really kissed. And I know that technically this is absolutely allowed – and should be actively encouraged as far as everyone else is concerned. But I can’t help this. I feel very . . .weird.’
The fact that it was more than a kiss by the time we got out of that pool is something I can’t bring myself to confess. ‘And the thing is, I don’t even know how it happened. Two days ago, we talked about being friends. I liked that idea. I could cope with that. But last night, it was like something overtook me.’
‘Gin?’ she suggests, trying to coax a smile out of me.
‘That certainly didn’t help.’
But I can’t blame the booze. That wasn’t it at all. In contrast to how I feel this morning – appalled with myself – last night, I was all in. Raring to go.
‘Listen to me,’ she says gently. ‘It’s bound to be strange the first time you develop feelings for someone.’
‘They’re not feelings,’ I correct her quickly. ‘Not really. Sam was my teenage crush, that’s all. Someone I was besotted with years ago, before I understood what love really meant. The kind Ed and I had.’
She nods, patiently. ‘Still. Sam’s lovely, Jules.’
‘Oh, he is,’ I agree. ‘He’s a nice guy. But I feel much more comfortable thinking of him as a friend these days.’
‘Except you’re attracted to him.’
‘Yes,’ I say quietly, hardly in a position to deny it.
‘So how aboutfriends with benefits?’ she shrugs with a little smile.
The idea makes me wince and I’m not entirely sure why. Do I find the concept a bit sleazy? Surely I’m not that uptight?I suppose that kind of emotional detachment has never been my modus operandi before. But, now I think about it, maybe thatcouldwork with Sam. Maybe that’s how I reconcile fancying him so much with all the turmoil in my head about Ed.
