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‘The kind who likes to be left alone,’ I snap, tiredness getting the better of me.

‘Understood,’ he says. ‘I’m sure you’ll be great at it.’

‘Yeah, right. You literally just heard me lie my way through that entire interview.’

His eyes balloon at my confession.

‘I had no choice, if you must know. I’ve just been made redundant, remember? Stabbed in the back by my sister? Who will now be managing over two hundred people across ten regional offices instead of me, which you’d know if you’d been listening properly.’

Silence. Plenty of it.

‘Right-o. Right. Right. The redundancy. Yes. Terrible. Anyway, so… good luck again,’ he says, sounding eager to escape. ‘At least your new office is right near the beach, so that’s something.’

He must have listened to the whole conversation; the nosy, nosy bastard.

I tut rudely at him. ‘I have to say you do sound a bit stalkery,’ I say unkindly. ‘And not in a good way.’

His eyes nearly shoot out of his face. ‘I’m so sorry. That wasn’t my intention at all. I just meant… well, good luck again. I won’t bother you any further,’ he says, his cheeks blossoming a deep shade of pink.

We get off the bus, heave our cases out from the hold, and take a moment to stare at each other, digesting the weirdness of our situation. I feel bad for being so incredibly mean to him. It’s not like me. It’s the day I’ve had. It’s made me clinically bitchy.

‘Sorry. That was rude. I’m just not in a good place right now. Good luck with whatever you will be doing.’ AKA minding your own business. ‘As long as it’s not anywhere near me, obviously.’ I meant it as a joke, but even to my ears it has come out wrong.

‘You have my word,’ he says stiffly, turning away to busy himself with his bags.

A colourful hippy campervan pulls up. It is one of those old VW types covered in flowers and peace signs and beeps rudely in our faces. ‘Taxi for wellness spa and retreat!’ screeches the driver from his window at everyone in the crowd jostling to retrieve their cases. Thank goodness, my getaway vehicle has arrived.

‘Here!’ Oliver and I yell in unison, before looking at each other, startled.

The driver leaps out of his car, waving his piece of paper.

‘Oleevair, yes? And Eeeleay… elly-nelly-ay-nor? Yes?’

‘Eleanor. Nell, yes.’

I can’t effing believe it. Oliver looks as rattled as me as we climb into the van. We sit next to each other as the driver throws our bags in after us, plonks himself down and yells over his shoulder, ‘You late!’

We just have time to belt ourselves in, before we are thrown backwards as the van speeds off.

‘What are the chances?’ Oliver jokes to break the awkward silence. He is gripping the door handle tightly to avoid being thrown on top of me as we take a bend at breakneck speed. ‘How long are you staying at the retreat?’

‘Three days,’ I say, clinging onto the seat for dear life as the van hurtles through the town taking every corner at a 45-degree angle. ‘You?’

‘Same. I’ve booked the Happy Bunny package,’ he says, trying to straighten up. ‘You?’

‘The Stress Buster. The Platinum Triple Worry Plus package.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he says understandingly. ‘Good choice.’

Patronising.

So, so patronising.

5

Finally, the built-up surroundings melt away to reveal glorious mountain views and rustic landscapes, and the van slows to thirty kilometres above the speed limit. It would be lovely, mindful even, but I have to listen to Oliver bleating on for thirty minutes, thinking he is helping me with his persistent warnings about webs of lies getting out of hand and consequences and so on.

There’s no need for this level of conversation. I am already embarrassed to my core about it all, the Olympic gold medal standard of rudeness I have displayed, and my overall panicky hot-mess exterior. Plus, he’s taking up most of the back seat with his hugeness. His solid thighs are spread out in a V shape. He has a lovely, kind, soothing voice and dark navy eyes to match, the sort of wholesome gaze that leaves you feeling bathed with calm. Plus, the more I look at him, his glossy hair, his strong jawline, in need of a shave, the more attractive he gets, so I will have to nip that in the bud. I have too much on my plate to risk getting distracted.