19 DECEMBER, BRUGES, BELGIUM
I’m languishing in bed, cocooned in sheets that undoubtedly cost more than I earn in a week. It’s glorious. For someone who usually travels cattle class and stays in budget hotels and hostels, this level of bougie is a real indulgence.
My phone blares from under the bedding. Only one person would call me this early.
‘Hey, Rox,’ I say, making my voice bright when her face appears on screen.
‘How is it going? Have you thrown yourself into bed with the nearest warm bod yet?’
Why does Jasper’s face spring to mind? I blink the vision away. ‘No, I haven’t, but I am about to throw myself in the shower.’
‘Urgh, boring. Anyway, an update: Miles is alive.’ Her voice is laced with disappointment.
If Miles is alive (which I hope was always the plan) then someone has checked on him, which means he is able to communicate, and yet I still haven’t heard from him. ‘So that’s a good thing, right? You didn’t really want to kill him, did you?’ I brace for her answer.
‘Only half.’
‘That’s the issue with homicide though, Rox. It’s an all or nothing kind of thing. And to be frank, you’re terrifically unsuited for jail life. Sure, there’s no doubt you could run a prison gang, but you’re used to the finer things in life – hair, nails, beauty treatments. Imagine your skin care routine. There wouldn’t be one.’
She gasps. ‘The horror! I didn’t think that far ahead. Anyway, according to my sources, he suffered a fair bit since so that’s something.’
I fall back on the cloud-like pillows. ‘Does he know it was you?’
‘Apparently he suspects, but what’s he’s going to do? Get the police out to fingerprint the place? Not going to happen.’
‘The perfect crime.’
‘He might question his drink of choice in future. Anyway, enough about him, are you OK, Aubrey, really?’
I exhale all the lies that sit on the tip of my tongue. There is no point pretending with my sister – that inherent politeness that I use to make light of even the hardest situations won’t wash with her. ‘Not really, but I’m making the best of it.’
Rox grunts. ‘It’s OK to rant and rage and feel your feelings, Aubrey. All of them are valid. You don’t always have to slip on that veneer, you know.’
My sister is many things, but she has a good heart. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. If only I had her chutzpah, her complete disregard for the opinions of others.
‘Well, I have managed to find myself in a spot of bother. When I was asked where my sparkly brand-new husband was, I blurted out that he died a tragic death. Plunging down the gap.’
Rox guffaws down the line. ‘Oh my God, Aubrey – what made you do that? Wishful thinking, perhaps?’
I groan and hold a hand to my forehead. ‘I got flustered and it came out. I tried to backtrack and explain that he’s not really dead, but they take that the wrong way as well, like I’m talking about him in the afterlife, or as if he’s still around me, in a spiritual sense. I’ve quite made a mess of it. And not only that, but the story has also changed from person to person. Princess thinks he died eating death cap mushrooms. I’m not sure where that nugget came from. Then there was a mention of a sinkhole. Who knows what else they’ve conjured.’
‘Princess? These people sound fab! What a laugh.’ Trust Rox to find it amusing when it’s actually super awkward.
‘Yes, she’s a fabulous woman who introduces herself accordingly.’
‘I wish I was with you.’
We lapse into silence before I ask, ‘So I suppose it’s all anyone is talking about in the village?’
Rox waits a beat before saying, ‘Who cares what they’re talking about? We live in a village full of busybodies. They’d have been gossiping about you, married or not.’
‘True.’ Small-town life is a hotbed for gossip, good or bad. ‘I’ve met some lovely people on board already, there’s?—’
‘Any potentials? And don’t tell me it’s too soon. Newsflash – you’re thirty-nine years old. You’re almost forty. It’s time to make hay while the sun shines. Get all that sex in before you lose the urge. You’re a strong independent woman, who can shag whoever she wants, whenever she wants.’
I gasp, faux shocked. ‘Almost forty! I’m one step away from spinsterhood. Quickly, call the cat rescue, tell them I’ll take them all!’
‘Very funny. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s my sister, and a break-up like this will have you closing the metaphorical doors to your heart, and other regions, I might add, for years to come. If you don’t use it, you lose it. No, you simply don’t have time for a sabbatical of the heart.’
