I gave her a stern look, the one I usually reserved for drunken frat boys at 3a.m. on a Saturday night.
She sighed. ‘OK, but maybe you should wait until the end of your shift to check it.’
‘Check what?’
‘Nick’s Instagram. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Depends how much you want to torture yourself.’
I was pulling off my gloves before she’d even finished speaking, tossing them towards the bin, not caring when one missed and hit the floor. My heart raced as I fumbled inside my pocket for my phone. Facial recognition took an age to decidethat it was indeed me, but once it did I swiped and tapped the little icon, willing myself to be patient while the app loaded and then refreshed itself.
The post was right there, at the top of the page, as if it had been waiting to taunt me. Nicholas. His face so achingly familiar. Tanned skin, eyes shining, teeth bright. His smile wide, as if he were about to launch into full-blown, throaty laughter the moment after the camera clicked. I knew his laugh so well, could almost hear it. He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, exposing his smooth, tanned chest. I stared at it, trying to delay the inevitable. How many times had I drifted off to sleep with my cheek pressed against that chest? The gentle beating of his heart my lullaby.
‘We don’t know that they’re together,’ Holly said.
I dragged my eyes across to take in the blond woman standing next to Nicholas in the photograph. She was nestled into his side, her toned shoulder fitting perfectly underneath the arm that lay casually behind her neck and over her shoulders, pulling her body against his. His left fingers caressed the bare skin of her upper arm. She was wearing nothing but a black bikini top, the tiny triangles of fabric revealing more of her breasts than they covered, and she was smiling, staring up at him with an expression I knew all too well. It was a look of complete and utter adoration. Whoever she was, she had clearly fallen hard.
‘Yeah we do,’ I said flatly.
‘I bet she’s just some Australian backpacker that he met in a bar and hooked up with. A drunken one-night stand on one of those cheap plastic beach chairs.’
Every word conjured up an image that made me want to gouge my own brain out with a spoon. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’
‘I’m just saying, he’s probably already forgotten her name.’
My eyes searched for a caption beneath the post but there wasn’t one. Just a few emojis: the flag of Thailand, a sun, an ocean wave and a cocktail. Nick had never been one for unnecessary words.
Inside my chest, I felt my heart splinter into a million tiny pieces. ‘I guess that’s it, then.’
‘You promised you wouldn’t spiral.’
‘I’m not spiraling. Does it sound like I’m spiraling?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘No, actually. And that’s what’s freaking me out. You’re weirdly calm.’
I clicked the button on the side of my phone that plunged the screen back into darkness and slipped it back into my pocket, smiling at her. Ifeltcalm. And to be honest, it was freaking me out too.
‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘I expected tears. Anger.Something.’
‘Six months,’ I told her. ‘SixmonthsI’ve been waiting for him to come to his senses. To realize he’s made a monumentally fucking huge mistake and fly home to beg for my forgiveness. Beg me to take him back.’
She stared at me with the familiar sad look, the one everyone had been giving me ever since Nick had announced out of the blue that he didn’t love me any more, taken a sabbatical from his job as a doctor at the same hospital, and promptly hopped on a plane to backpack around Asia. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And as much as Ihatehis guts, as much as it would have killed me to see you back with him, I wanted that too. For your sake.’
‘He’s not coming back, is he?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
2
JONAH
‘Nice shirt.’
‘Don’t start.’
Sophie, my sister-in-law, shot me an innocent look. ‘What? I’m just preparing you for the inevitable onslaught your mother will unleash upon you.’
‘That’s a lot of big words to face before I’ve even had a beer,’ I told her, opening the fridge door and taking one out. My mother’s personal chef, Jeremy, grinned from over by the stove where he was stirring a large pot. ‘Speaking of the devil, where is she?’ I asked, popping the top off the bottle.
Sophie gently pulled the plastic wrap off a silver tray containing hors d’oeuvres. ‘In the lounge with everyone else.’
