Every time she’d woken during the long, long night she’d hoped with all her being that she would find herself in her bed back home in Ayr, and realise that this had all been a bad dream. The taxi driver would ring the doorbell, she’d wave her parents goodbye and head for the airport to find Stew waiting for her, as planned.
Her headache was making an angry comeback from lack of sleep. Her mouth was dry. She needed fresh air and coffee to unscramble her thoughts and try to put together a plan.
The phone on the bedside table rang sharply, and she jumped.
‘Good morning, Miss Anderson… Lucy. This is Hafsa Jackson.’
Lucy sat bolt upright. ‘Good morning. Did you manage to speak to the airline?’
‘Yeees.’
Lucy’s heart sank.
‘I’m afraid the earliest they can fly you out is next Thursday.’
‘Thursday? That’s… not for another six days!’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Could I fly to London instead and—?’
‘I’ve tried every route, but it’s a very busy time of year and most of the reservations are non-refundable package deals.’
‘I see.’ Lucy’s chest tightened in panic.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Lucy threw back her head and blinked several times to prevent tears from falling.
‘I recommend breakfast on the balcony, followed by a luxurious spa treatment – courtesy of The Paradise. Would that be agreeable?’ said Hafsa brightly.
There was a caring, reassuring quality to her voice that made Lucy want to weep.
‘Forgive me for saying this,’ Hafsa continued, ‘but if I were you, I’d stay for the duration, take this opportunity to unwind and recuperate. Spoil yourself – and let that bastard of a runaway husband pay for it! Oops! Please excuse my language.’
Lucy laughed for the first time since she’d arrived.
The palm leaves rustled in the warm breeze. Gentle waves caressed the shore. The fragrance of exotic flowers floated in the air, as tropical birds chirruped in the distance.
Lucy closed her eyes and tried to meditate by focusing on her breath, but her Zen moment was soon shattered by the buzzing, once again, of her mobile, hauling her back to reality. She couldn’t put this off any longer. She poured the last of the coffee and stared at her phone. Thirty-three WhatsApp messages, eleven voicemails and one video message.
‘Lucy, it’s Mum. I hope you both arrived safely. We’ll all be thinking of you tomorrow. Wish we were there.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Send us lots of lovely pictures, darling. Love you.’
‘Lu, it’s Stew.’ Lucy stiffened. ‘I just want to say…’ She deleted the message mid-flow, as she did all his other rambling messages of guilt, apology and remorse. His words infuriated her. ‘Could we staytogether and not get married?’ DELETE. ‘Let me pick you up from the airport and we can talk this through.’ DELETE. ‘I know you’re angry, but please, please just call and let me know you’re okay.’ DELETE, DELETE, DELETE. Hah! There was absolutely no way back for them after this. How could he possibly believe otherwise? Lucy was starting to feel really mad now. It was a good feeling. Time to stop playing the victim and take control of the situation.
But then the video message from her Primary 2 pupils took her unawares, unleashing another torrent of tears.
‘Good luck tomorrow, Miss!’ they cried, their wee, gap-toothed faces aglow with excitement. ‘Happy wedding day!’
They were only six and seven years old, still believed in the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Happy Ever After.
She did not want to be the one to break it to them that not all princes are charming.
Day three. Wedding Day. Lucy had woken up with an overwhelming desire to run and hide. But where? She was the only single in this Universe of Happiness. Nowhere was safe.
Angling her face towards the sun, she closed her eyes, listening to the soft sighs of the tranquil waves as they kissed her bare feet. Her shoulders dropped and her mind slowed. It was as if the sea was whispering to her, inviting her to explore its calm underwater world.
But she had never snorkelled before. She hated the sensation of water on her face and was nervous of the deep sea.
