Page 55 of Never Gonna Happen

‘Come on, what is it?’

Carol sighed and patted Emily’s arm. ‘You’re the last of my babies, and you’ve all moved away, but you feel different from the boys. This job, riding horses, now a rich boyfriend and fancy holidays.’

‘It’s not a holiday, it’s work.’

‘I know, but still. It feels like you’ve got a different life now.’

Emily took her mum’s hand and ducked her head so she could look her in the eye. ‘Don’t be daft. It’s my job, but you’re my family. You and Dad and David and Simon. And Kelly too. This will always be home.’

Carol’s eyes swam with tears, although Emily couldn’t tell whether they were prompted by wine or genuine emotion.

‘And what about Jamie?’ sobbed Carol. ‘What if he offers you a new kind of home? One with horses and a fancy swimming pool?’

‘We’ve been going out a couple of weeks, Mum,’ Emily said softly. ‘But even if he does, it won’t change anything. You’ll still be my mum. In fact, you’ll probably end up being his mum too, because the one he’s got is a bit shit.’

‘Poor soul,’ said Carol. ‘He seems like a nice lad.’

‘He is, Mum. I like him a lot.’

Carol squeezed Emily’s arm and emptied her glass. ‘All right, then. You’re a good girl. Send me a postcard and buy me something swish from the airport.’

Emily laughed. ‘No problem. What do you fancy?’

Carol thought about it for a moment, then broke into an excited grin. ‘Get me one of those massive Toblerones.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Half an hour after leaving the airport in a sleek silver Lexus driven by Paul, Mr Hunter’s Mauritian driver, Emily decided she could live a thousand lifetimes and never see anywhere as breathtakingly beautiful as Mauritius. She’d read a Lonely Planet guidebook on the plane and looked at hundreds of pictures of white sand beaches and crystal blue waters on her phone, but nothing had prepared her for the rolling green landscape, the mountains and the bustle and colour of cars and villages and people.

But all of that faded into the background when she saw Mr Hunter’s beach house on the west coast of the island; a five-bedroomed, white-painted villa with a grey tiled roof and a thatched poolside terrace. She stood at the end of the path just a few metres from the lapping waves, her bare feet warm on the flagstones, and couldn’t even begin to find words for the dazzling tableau of gold layered over turquoise layered over white.

Jamie appeared at her side and stroked her arm, bringing her out in goosebumps despite the heat of the afternoon sun on her skin.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘I mean, it’s no Bognor, is it?’

Jamie laughed and took her hand. ‘Come on, Madeleine has a drink for you.’

Emily let him lead her up to the terrace, where Mr Hunter was helping himself to a green coconut from a tray held by the housekeeper. She was the local equivalent of Anna, but considerably more friendly. She also smiled, which Emily had never seen Anna do.

‘Merci,’ said Emily, taking a green coconut and sipping the water inside through a straw. It was unexpectedly tepid, but still refreshing.

‘We can speak English if you prefer,’ said Madeleine with a warm smile and a sing-song accent.

‘It’s OK, I speak French,’ said Emily with a shy smile. ‘Maybe we can do both.’

Jamie raised his eyebrows at his father. ‘Did you know Emily spoke French?’

Mr Hunter shook his head. ‘I must have missed that on her CV. Clearly dazzled by her many other accomplishments.’

‘I’m not really fluent,’ said Emily, blushing a little, ‘and it’s pretty rusty. My first proper job after college was working for a French building contractor, and I might have slightly exaggerated my language skills at interview. So I did online classes in the evenings for two years while I worked there.’

Mr Hunter laughed. ‘I can see you’re going to put us both to shame.’

‘Never been to France though,’ added Emily, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

‘Well, this is the next best thing. Everyone here speaks French, lots of people speak English, and the locals speak Creole, which is a rather wonderful language. Lots of French influences, but it has its own unique style.’