Page 57 of Never Gonna Happen

‘You said you fancied me rotten,’ he said, sliding his hands back on to her hips, his thumbs disappearing inside the waistband of her bikini. ‘Well, guess what? I also fancy you rotten.’

Emily smiled and pulled him into a tight hug, wondering what she’d done to deserve all this, but determined to make the most of every moment. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We might be away, but Friday is still a swimming day.’

Sam’s Café was exactly as he’d described it, with mismatched tables and chairs spilling off the wooden terrace into the soft sand. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly through the palm trees, filling the air with a soft glow as the sky worked its way through every shade of pink and orange and red. She and Jamie and Mr Hunter watched in reverent silence until the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the hubbub of music and chat returned.

‘Mr Charles!’ A woman appeared at the table with a tray of drinks. ‘They told me you were here, I’m so happy to see you.’

‘Ah, look at you, Jessie,’ said Mr Hunter, standing up to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘You’re more lovely every time I see you.’ Emily would have known anywhere that this was Sam’s sister; they looked like twins. She was a beautiful woman in her late fifties, wearing a pale blue linen dress with sandals, her dark hair hanging loose down her back.

Jessie smiled as she put a tall cocktail in front of each of them. ‘Piña coladas on the house,’ she said, smiling at Jamie and Emily. ‘Mr James, you are still too handsome.’

Jamie laughed and gave her a hug. ‘This is Emily, Jessie. She’s dad’s assistant, and also my girlfriend.’

‘My God, look at you,’ said Jessie, shaking Emily’s hand. ‘So beautiful. Your skin is like porcelain, be careful in the sun.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Jessie,’ said Emily, still reeling from Jamie introducing her as his girlfriend. ‘Sam has told me a lot about you.’

‘Ah, I miss my brother,’ said Jessie. ‘I hope you’re looking after him.’

‘Of course,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘He said he’s coming over later in the year?’

‘My daughter’s wedding in June,’ said Jessie, smiling indulgently. ‘Delphine. You must come.’

‘If I can, I definitely will,’ said Mr Hunter.

‘I’ll leave you to eat,’ said Jessie. ‘Shall I send out the usual?’

‘Of course,’ said Mr Hunter, smiling happily.

‘What’s the usual?’ whispered Emily to Jamie, sipping her drink. It was ice cold and tasted one hundred times better than the piña coladas she and Kelly had drunk in both of Chichester’s most sophisticated cocktail bars.

Jamie grinned. ‘Wait and see.’

‘The usual’ turned out to be more types of food than Emily had ever eaten in her life, mostly different varieties of fish and seafood and fruit that she’d never seen before, let alone tasted. The dishes came slowly, as though Mauritius operated on a different concept of time to everywhere else. Emily had grown up in a family where mealtimes were a battle to clear your plate and claim seconds, so this lingering over tiny plates felt entirely alien to her. But it was also wonderful to try new things and talk about the flavours and treat a meal like an experience rather than some kind of armed warfare.

‘Tell us about the hotel, Dad,’ said Jamie, waving at the waiter and holding up his glass and three fingers for more cocktails. ‘What do you need us to find out?’

‘It’s called the Lapis Lagoon and it’s an interesting concept,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘It’s not been open long. It’s all-inclusive, which is nothing new. But this one isn’t a big resort; it’s more boutique and minimalist. They’re targeting young travellers on a budget; it doesn’t cost much more than a hostel, really. You can get a double room there for the equivalent of fifty or sixty pounds a night.’

Emily raised her eyebrows – that sounded cheap, even by her standards. ‘What’s the catch?’

‘That’s a very good question. Meals are included, but there’s no menu or buffet. You eat whatever the chef is cooking, so there’s no waste. All vegan, so everybody eats the same. No alcohol, but plenty of bars along the beach if you want a drink. They make their money offering experiences for guests, but not the usual tourist stuff. Trips to hidden waterfalls, sunrise mountain climbs, that kind of thing.’

Jamie nodded. ‘It sounds pretty great. Are you thinking of buying it?’

‘They want to expand,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘Take the concept to other locations. Thailand, Indonesia, all the places young people travel. But first I want to know if it’s the real deal, what it’s like to stay there.’

Emily had been chewing her lip in silence for the past few minutes, but she couldn’t stay quiet any longer. ‘Mr Hunter, can I say something?’ she asked. ‘I understand what you’re asking, but I can’t give you a proper opinion on a place like that. I’ve got nothing to compare it to – the last holiday I had was in a static caravan.’ She held her head up, not wanting him to think she was ashamed, which she absolutely wasn’t. ‘How would I know whether this place is decent or not?’

Mr Hunter smiled. ‘I understand that, Emily, but with respect, what’s stopping you coming to a place like this? You could get a flight for £500, and ten nights in this hotel for the same amount, all your food included. Do I not pay you enough?’

Emily considered this and realised there was nothing holding her back other than her own perception of the kind of place where women like her belonged. ‘Of course, I didn’t mean . . .’

‘I don’t want a comparison to every other place you’ve ever stayed, I just want you to tell me what it’s like. Do a few experiences, eat the food, hang out by the pool, then report back.’ He smiled kindly. ‘Is there any reason why you can’t do that?’

Emily thought about all the times she’d been scared of stepping out of her comfort zone, that she wouldn’t fit in. But she’d taken the plunge and left Chichester, moved to London and got a job, made new friends. She’d found this job, got on a plane yesterday, and today swam half a mile in a bikini that fit her perfectly. It was stupid to think she wasn’t good enough, or that being somewhere like this was some kind of betrayal of her working-class roots.

She was twenty-nine with a good job and no kids. People her age travelled all the time, so what was she afraid of? Nobody here was judging her, looking at her like she didn’t belong. Quite the opposite, actually – there were a couple of guys at the bar whose eyes had been on stalks all evening (although that might be for Jamie, to be fair.) She could be a Chi girl AND a woman in a beach café in Mauritius.