However, the wise, wizened old man at the hire shop had assured her that the currents around the island were not dangerous and there were no hungry sharks patrolling the area.
‘The main thing is to relax and stay calm. Let yourself float,’ he’d wheezed with a warm, crinkly smile. ‘Remember, snorkelling is meditation for the mind and soul.’
Sticking her head underwater and hearing her short, sharp, unsteady breath felt strangely surreal. Lucy’s heart sped up. She was sorely tempted to retreat to the beach and the safety of her sunlounger, but her inner voice was telling her she must prove to herself, on today of all days, that she wouldn’t be beaten. She was strong and brave and didn’t need rescuing.
Gradually she began to relax, gently moving her legs up and down in opposite directions as instructed, trusting the water to carry her, and allowing her breath to become more measured, deep and slow.
And so the door to a whole new, vibrantly coloured, quirky and peaceful world opened up to her. The sadness in Lucy’s eyes turned to wonder, the turmoil in her mind to tranquillity.
Indigo, gold, purple, red and yellow tropical fish weaved among the swaying sea grass, green turtles glided gracefully around the jagged coral reefs, opalescent sea anemones clung to shell-covered rocks, waving their wispy tentacles, as tiny blue lobsters scuttled across the floury sand.
Though she didn’t yet know it, today she had found the key to other doors hidden deep inside her, doors to renewal, doors she had always believed were barred to her, doors which might help her change the course of her life forever.
Back on dry land, though, that familiar, sickly, empty feeling was starting to flood her stomach once more. The huge, blood-orange sun was creeping down towards the horizon, bathing everything in a reddish, hazy glow.
Lucy had always stopped to marvel at sunsets, starry skies, the full moon, lightning and rainbows, but this evening the sunset made her sad. Things should have been so different.
As she climbed the steps from the beach to the hotel pool area, the happy-go-lucky sounds of a steel band, mixed with joyful laughter, floated down to meet her. The white fairy lights in the bougainvillea-filled pergolas seemed to wink at her, beckoning her in. She was usually the first on the dance floor – but not tonight. She unlatched the white picket gate and hurried along the flagstone path, head bent, eyes down.
‘Cooome ooon!’ Lucy stabbed the lift call button repeatedly, as if she could make it come faster, but the light eventually told her it had chosen to bypass the ground floor in favour of the basement.
Finally the chime pinged and the doors swished opened. Relieved to find herself alone, she pressed her back against the mirror and allowed the tears to flow freely.
Arriving at the sixth floor, she drew a deep breath and wiped her cheeks with her bronzed and salty arm. She glanced at her watch. Now what? It was too early to go to bed. She doubted she would sleep in any case. Nope, gorging herself on steak, fries and a bottle of red from room service was a much better idea.
The bedroom door clicked open. Lucy’s flip-flop skidded on a piece of paper on the floor. Regaining her balance, she bent down, picked it up and sat on the corner of the bed.
Dear Lucy,
I hope you had an enjoyable day.
If you prefer not to eat in the dining room tonight, go to Blue Lagoon Cove at 8 p.m. Follow the path from the pool down to the beach, turn left then right and keep walking. Your table will be waiting.
Best wishes,
Hafsa Jackson.
This thoughtful gesture was enough to set Lucy off again. She ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her blotchy face.
She wanted to stay in the safety of her room, where she couldn’t be seen, where she could cry unnoticed and drink herself to sleep.
But that little voice was whispering in her ear again, daring her to accept Hafsa’s kind invitation, to step out of her comfort zone once more.
Her mobile buzzed in her bag. Stewart’s name flashed across the screen. Her stomach clenched into a tight knot.
Was it stubborn pride stopping her from answering his call? Should she give him a second chance?
Her finger hovered shakily over the screen then moved to the top and depressed the Power Off button.
Dammit, she’d go to the Blue Lagoon. What’s more, she would tong her hair and put on some make-up too. She rifled through her suitcase. What to wear? Her wedding dress!
She stood on tiptoes, and grabbed the dress cover from the top of the wardrobe and unzipped it. But at the sight of the delicate folds of silk her bravado failed. She collapsed to her knees and howled.
When no tears were left, she zipped the cover up and put it back.
She had never felt so let down, lost, lonely and afraid. It was becoming clear to her now that she was destined for spinsterhood, like a modern-day Miss Havisham.
Spinsterhood? What era are you living in, Lucy?She tried to think of all those strong, independent, ‘self-partnered’ women she so admired, but they hadchosento opt out of the marriage market. She had invested the best years of her life in her dream of becoming a wife and mother, only for it to be cruelly snatched away from her.
