I was a bride without her husband. I began to cry.
‘Excuse me,’ a voice behind me said and I spun around, wiping my eyes.
It was the boy from the bar.
Adam. It was Adam.
Chapter Two
Adam
It was four days into the holiday and if I’m honest I was feeling pretty lonely. Josh had met a girl on day one and was spending much of his time massaging sun cream into her curves. She had a friend who smiled hopefully each time I caught her eye. She seemed nice enough, but holiday romances weren’t really my bag.
‘She’s offering it on a plate,’ Josh had said.
But I needed some sort of connection. It all seemed so shallow otherwise.
‘Worse than a bloody woman.’ Josh checked his pocket for condoms again. As agreed, I vacated the room, heading towards the bar. I’d hardly spent any time with Josh since we arrived – this was supposed to be our last mates’ holiday before I launched myself into my new life – but I didn’t mind. Generally, I liked my own company.
I was bored now though. I took another swig of beer – my fifth pint. It may be free but I had to drink twice as much as I did at home to get a slight buzz. The music was loud but that was okay, I didn’t have anyone to talk to; besides, I was a bit of a sucker for the Eighties – another thing Josh ribbed me about. If we’d met as adults I sometimes wondered if we’d have been friends at all, but Josh had been there for me during that awful time nine years ago and I don’t know who I’d be without him. Where I’d be. Despite his ‘don’t give a shit’ exterior, he was steadfast in his loyalty and like a brother to me, albeit sometimes an annoying brother. I was wondering whether to call it a night, whether he’d finished hogging our apartment, when I saw her.
You know sometimes all the light in a room seems to attach to one person and they shine brighter than anyone else? That was her. Everything blurred into the background. I took in the cascade of thick, dark ringlets falling over her shoulders. Bright pink flower tucked behind her ear. Pale floaty dress skimming her ankles. She looked exactly like Star from The Lost Boys, one of my all-time favourite films.
Star.
And how she shimmered. My chest tightened. I waited to see who she was with, shoulders sagging with relief when I saw it was another girl.
Not that that meant she was necessarily single.
Not that I was looking, after my disastrous relationship with Roxanne had only finished a few months ago.
But still.
She sipped from a glass almost as large as a fish bowl, crammed full of cocktail umbrellas and fruit on sticks. She had a sense of humour then.
I smiled at her. She turned away but I didn’t mind. I still had ten days left to get to know her.
And I somehow I just knew that I would.
The crowd had thinned by the time she left. The entertainment – and I used the term loosely – finished. The bar felt even emptier without her. Colder. Scrunching up my plastic cup, I tossed it into the recycling bin as I left. She was standing in reception with her friend, their backs to me, checking in. It suddenly seemed vital that I asked what time I needed to vacate my room in ten days so I hovered behind her and yeah, I admit it, I breathed in deeply, smelling the coconut shampoo she used. Even then I was in rapture. Two words pulled me back to reality.
Honeymoon suite?
‘If we could have our key. My wife and I are eager to go to bed,’ the one with short blonde hair said. Star rested her head on her wife’s shoulder and I felt my own shoulders slump. The flower slid out of her hair, fluttering unnoticed onto the floor and I couldn’t help scooping it up. When she left reception, I watched her go. It felt she was taking a piece of me with her.
Yeah, I know how that sounds. Did I mention that I was an incurable romantic?
I felt Miguel’s eyes on me while I clutched the flower sorrowfully between my fingers.
Or an incurable loser.
I wasn’t exactly following her, I promise. I was many things back then but a stalker wasn’t one of them. As luck would have it, her apartment was pretty much opposite mine and Josh’s. Identical, except ours had the giant pink inflatable flamingo Josh had bought on the first day, almost blocking our front door. I was still holding her flower and I wanted to give it back to her. I knew she had a wife, but I hoped that we could be friends. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was about her I found so interesting but there was… something.
‘Excuse me,’ I called, approaching her. It wasn’t until she turned that I realized she was crying. My eyes flickered towards the ‘Just Married’ banner hanging in their room, the champagne bottle on the table, before resting back on hers again.
‘Sorry…’ I was painfully embarrassed I’d interrupted such an emotional moment. What a dick move. The happiest day of her life and some weirdo was holding out a flower while idiotically standing in front of a bush sprouting at least thirty identical magenta blooms. ‘You dropped this.’
She turned and ran inside while her friend – her wife – gave me a look so withering I expected the plants to shrivel and die. I pretty much wanted to join them.
I sloped back to my own apartment. Inside, a red lacy bra was draped over the sofa and there were noises coming from the bedroom I definitely didn’t want to be hearing. My head was pounding. I swiped a bottle of water from the fridge and headed straight back out. Through the window of Star’s apartment, I could see the girls shadowed in the lamplight, hugging each other tightly. Something tugged at my heart. It wasn’t long ago that I’d held Roxanne in my arms but better empty arms than the wrong person in them. Besides Roxanne was in somebody else’s arms now. Somebody else’s bed.
Bypassing the beach all the tourists use, I strode purposefully until I reached a tiny cove I’d stumbled across the first evening Josh had been ‘entertaining’. It wasn’t too far but unreachable by road, and without parking, toilets and refreshments, hardly anyone came here. It was my favourite place.
I settled on the damp sand, the night breeze springing gooseflesh on my arms. I wished I had someone to share warmth with and not in the way Josh was doing back at the apartment.
Something proper.
Instead of a bottle of champagne for two, I sipped from my lonely bottle of Evian for one, gazing at the creamy moon. A shooting star lit up the sky. I made a wish that I could talk properly to the girl who was already occupying too much head space.
Yeah, I was an incurable dreamer.
The next day my wish did come true, but the circumstances were awful.
Bloody awful.
Chapter Three
Anna
On the first day of my honeymoon, I woke to darkness after a fitful sleep. Immediately I remembered that I hadn’t got married yesterday – the pain of being dumped two weeks before my wedding day. That it was Nell lying beside me in the creaky bed that rocked each time once of us moved. It was her floral perfume, rather than the smell of sex, clinging to the stiff, white sheets. Checking my phone screen, I was surprised to see it was gone eight. Automatically I opened Facebook. Wondering if my ex was regretting his decision. It was torturous visiting his profile page, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Multiple times a day.
‘Unfriend the tosser,’ Nell had said, but it was an addiction. A wound that would never heal because I was always picking at the scab, despite knowing that what lay underneath was raw and painful, and would hurt all over again.