Scrolling further back through her photos, past the Lennixx years, Tilly found the ones she always paused on. Pictures of her and her two best friends in a special little folder. The three of them had met on day one of senior school and been thick as thieves ever since. Pia and Jasmine, sisters, were eleven months apart in age, with Tilly in between. After meeting them and getting on really well, Tilly had taken them home one day after school, and her dad had said that they’d been properly brought up. The next day at school, The Properlies had been officially formed. Pia and Jasmine had taken Tilly under their wings. Like the two sisters she’d never had.Sister from another mother, they’d always said and had treated her accordingly.
Pia was in France now, living with her mum in a villa near Aix, teaching yoga to wealthy retirees and pretending she was going to write a novel. Jasmine, the youngest, was in New York, doing makeup for a West End musical that had transferred to Broadway, sleeping in hotel rooms and eating catering at oddhours. The two of them were the only people who knew about the exit plan. The only people who'd seen Tilly through all that had gone on with Andy and the aftermath. They’d coached her through the decision to leave England and to travel with Lennixx. Tilly had known The Properlies had privately thought Lennixx was a mistake, but they’d supported her anyway because that was what The Properlies did.
Opening WhatsApp on The Properlies group chat, Tilly added a message.
Tilly:Exit plan is happening. I'm coming home.
The replies came back almost at once, as if Jasmine and Pia had been waiting.
Pia:About blooming time. Yesssss! Where are you?
Jasmine:I'm on my break this end. Wtf? When will you be home?
Tilly:Fiji at the mo, but I've booked the flight.
Pia:You WHAT????
Jasmine:What did he do?
Tilly:Long story. I'll tell you everything when I get home. I just wanted you to know.
Pia:We're here. Always. It’s been a long time coming.
Jasmine:Safe travels. Check in with us all the way home. Where are you staying? At your mum’s?
Tilly:No, she’s away. I’m not sure yet. I’ll just book into a hotel for a bit and take stock. I might look for a job somewhere that comes with accommodation.
Pia:You can go to mine if you need to. Lucy’s there, but you can have the sofa. Let me know if you need help.
Tilly:Will do. Love you both. Properly.
Pia:Love you properly back.
Jasmine: Tils???????????????
Tilly: Yep.
Jasmine:Never liked him. Don't look back.
Pia:Twat.
Tilly stared at the screen and smiled. She’d really missed The Properlies whilst she’d been travelling all over the globe. Sure, WhatsApp and video calls were around, but it wasn’t the same. It was time to go home. Even though the two sisters weren’t currently in the same country, she would be closer and not on the other side of the world. Just being in similar time zones would be a bonus.
Leaning her head back, she looked up at the ceiling fan turning in an endless circle above her head. Behind her eyes, for a moment, she saw herself among the marble of suite 5272. Kneeling, cloth in hand, talcum powder all over the show. Cleaning up other people's mess was no longer going to be part of her narrative. Nah, stuff that for a game of soldiers. Bye-bye, tropical hospitality. Hello, new start. Time to call it quits. She was having none of it, her supposed boyfriend playing at being an up-and-coming worldwide superstar entertainer or not. Tilly Bloomwood wanted to go home.
Continuing to scroll through her phone, she navigated away from her photos and onto her Facebook groups, scrolled down and then tapped.
Tilly:Hi. I hope a DM is OK. I'm enquiring about the boat shed/going concern on Darling Island. Is it still available? If so, perhaps we could chat?
4
Tilly sat by the window of a random bar in Fiji airport with a glass of wine that had cost her an arm and a leg and no real feel for what time of day it was. Somewhere behind her, a barista was steaming milk, further off, a woman was laughing into her phone in a language Tilly couldn't place and out on the concourse, a baggage trolley was moving in slow motion under floodlights from above. Tilly had changed her clocks and was already on UK time. She hadn't even left yet, but after a horrible few days, felt as if she hadn't slept properly for what felt like ages. The best thing about the situation? She was on her way home.
The wine had arrived with a small dish of cashews and, unbelievably, Tilly was gearing herself up for a call from a person going by the name of Margery, the woman who owned the Boat Shed. She'd had a message come through just before she'd started her last shift and had arranged a time to chat. Now, with a notebook open on her lap and a piece of paper with a very neat list of the things she wanted to ask by her side, she tried to keep her eyes alert and her brain in gear.
Turnover. Freehold or leasehold? Why are you selling?
Reading through her list, Tilly had no idea why she’d sent the DM in the first place, but something was driving her to follow the calling from the ad. She’d heard her dad’s voice in her head and remembered how he’d always chased after a lead like a dog with a bone. That had been half his success, he’d always told her. Reading through the post again and turning her phone sideways to look at the building, she shook her head. Honestly, who in their right mind would answer the ad? Something about it spoke to her, though. A calling which Tilly knew was a sign. Her dad had always reiterated that the calling was the most important part of finding a business in need of help.
