She grins. Now this is more like it.
She walks down the steps and the loungers come into full view. Thick, padded beds with cushions and soft blankets folded neatly across the middle. Between them, a round white table, on top of which sits a small tray with two martini glasses. Inside, something pink, topped with white foam. Condensation running down the outsides. In front of the glasses, a bowl of green olives. Underneath the table, an ice bucket with a few bottles of the fancy water from before. Nestled in beside them, a bottle of sun cream.
Laid out neatly on one of the beds is a thin, strappy sundress. Pale yellow with abstract dark flowers. And on the other, a pair of turquoise shorts and a soft white T-shirt. Under each bed is a pair of towelling-covered flip-flops, like the kind you get in spas.
Music is being pumped from somewhere unseen. An old chill-out tune, something that’s always on those Ibiza compilation playlists but no one can ever remember the name of.
She barely notices Giles as he comes down the steps behind her. ‘Babe,’ he says, ‘this is just what we need.’ She feels his hands on her shoulders, and her earlier anger melts away.
Yes, she thinks. This is perfect.
Lucy
Lucy follows behind Giles as far as the top of the steps before she realises that this little scene is meant for two only. ‘Oh, right,’ she says, laughing to herself at the boring cliché that is Tiggy and Giles’s luxury fantasy. ‘Have fun, guys.’ She turns back and heads towards the others, who are still standing in the clearing despite Tiggy’s instructions for them to go on ahead.
Brenda is smiling for the first time since they arrived, and it makes her look younger. That harsh hairstyle is what ages her the most, Lucy thinks. Not to mention the M&S Classic range clothing. She glances around at the rest of the group. Isn’t it interesting how people can come from a similar age bracket and yet look and act so completely different? She’s often thought this about the celebs she’s massacred in her column. They try so hard to stay young that their whole perception of age gets lost. Poor, unsuspecting members of the public have no chance of keeping up, although plenty seem to try it – Botox and fillers, dressing too young for their age. Brenda has managed to do the opposite of this, despite probably having more disposable income than any of them.
Then take James, the kind of man who looks like he’s lucky to remember to clean his teeth every day, never mind using any sort of grooming products. Yet he looks younger than any of them.
There’s a chance, of course, that the ages that showed up on their holographic bios weren’t accurate. Like Scott, Lucy is still not convinced that there’s a biometric element to the trackers, other than the basics.
Brenda is still smiling, but she’s nodding too now, as if in response to someone. But she’s standing alone, a few steps away from Amelia, who is repeatedly tapping her watch, her face scrunched in concentration. Scott is sitting on a rock, eyes closed, head tilted back like a sunflower.
‘Who’re you talking to, Brenda?’ Lucy asks.
James is sitting on the ground, cross-legged, fiddling with the lens on his camera. He looks up when Lucy speaks, and his eyes flit towards Brenda, awaiting her reply.
Brenda blinks. Frowns. ‘I wasn’t talking to anyone. I was listening – but it’s stopped now. What did you do that for?’
‘What’s stopped?’ Lucy says.
‘It was an audio play. The House on the Strand. It was just getting to a good part. I was remembering . . .’
It’s Lucy’s turn to frown. ‘You’re listening to an audio drama? Now?’
‘It’s the tracker,’ Scott says, without opening his eyes. ‘Hasn’t yours kicked in yet?’
Lucy taps her tracker, but it stays silent. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a transmitter, and an acupressure device . . . as well as all the other stuff it’s apparently meant to do,’ James says. He shrugs. ‘All mine said was “wait for instructions”.’
‘Mine too,’ Amelia says. ‘It scrolled over the screen. Vibrated on my wrist. I keep tapping it, thinking it’s going to tell me something else, but it’s been quiet ever since.’
‘But Brenda’s got an audio drama?’
They all turn to Brenda, who is sitting down on a rock now, her back to them. She doesn’t respond, so Lucy assumes her audio has kicked in again.
She’s about to walk over and tap Brenda on the shoulder when there’s a crackling in her ear, and a voice says, ‘Leave the ones who want to relax, they’ll be taken care of. The rest of you should start exploring. Head to the brow of the hill and await further instructions. You like mysteries, don’t you? Well, keep your eyes peeled and your ears open.’ It crackles again, then stops.
‘Oh, right,’ she says. ‘Now I get it.’
‘You got instructions?’ James says. He uncrosses his legs and stands up. ‘Lead the way.’
Lucy doesn’t know why she’s become the leader now, or how the voice – whoever it might belong to – knows she likes mysteries, and that Brenda likes audio dramas, and that Tiggy and Giles like to lie on loungers and drink cocktails; but she’s glad that they have a plan. Even if it is only getting to the brow of the hill. Maybe that’s where the house is, where the party is being held. That would make the game a bit short, but that’s all right. So far it’s not proving to be particularly exciting.
She marches off up the hill, and hears the crunch of footsteps as the others follow behind.
‘Can’t say I’m impressed so far,’ Scott huffs behind her. ‘Can you slow down a bit?’
She glances back, slowing slightly. Scott is already red-faced, from the sun and the incline.
‘Thought you were the health guy,’ James says, sliding past Scott. Amelia follows and the two of them fall into stride together. Scott slows even more and falls further back. He doesn’t reply, focusing his energies on getting up the hill instead.
Lucy turns back to the front and keeps walking. She’s a keen walker – racking up miles every day while she dictates her column into her phone. Easiest way to keep in shape, and always a good way to shake off the fuzzy head that seems to greet her more mornings than not. As they climb higher, the path arcs to the right and a rocky cliff face comes into view. She stops, letting the others catch up. An idyllic turquoise cove lies a long way down below, with rippling white horses lapping into the shore, breaking as they reach soft white sand. A bamboo-topped tiki hut sits back from the water’s edge, with what looks like bar stools lined up beside it. Next to that, a pile of single-person kayaks and a couple of paddleboards.
‘Now that’s more like it,’ she says. It’s a long way down, but there must be a reasonably easy path. She looks back at the current path; the top of the hill is not quite in view, but it can’t be far now. They hadn’t been screened for fitness, and it looks like James and Amelia are fine, but Scott is struggling. He’s almost bent double by the time he reaches them, his breath coming in short, heavy puffs.
‘Jeez,’ he says, forcing the word out with a breath. ‘I think they misread my preferences by quite a long shot.’
‘Have you got some kind of problem, mate?’ James says. ‘Because you seem particularly unfit for someone who promotes health products.’