Page 70 of Never Gonna Happen

‘Piss and wind?’ said Jamie, clearly amused.

Emily shrugged. ‘It’s one of my mum’s favourite sayings.’

‘It’s very apt,’ said Jamie. ‘Can I also apologise in advance for Catherine?’

Emily grinned at him. ‘Yeah. I’m not scared of her either.’

There was a commotion on the terrace behind them, so both Emily and Jamie twisted round to see what was going on. Catherine was trip-trapping across the terrace in pink capri pants and kitten heels, carrying an enormous baby-blue handbag and wearing sunglasses despite it being dark.

‘Oh, thank God I’ve found you,’ she said loudly, making the family on the table next to them freeze with their forks halfway to their mouths. ‘Madeleine said you were here. The place Daddy’s gone to sounds nicer but I literally couldn’t face any more travelling.’ She kissed the air in the vicinity of Jamie’s cheeks, then turned to Emily. ‘We haven’t met, I’m Catherine.’

Actually we have, thought Emily, but decided not to mention it. ‘Hi, I’m Emily,’

‘Oh my God, I’m like, so exhausted,’ said Catherine, falling dramatically into a chair. ‘Who do I have to fuck to get a drink around here?’ She snapped her fingers and waved at one of the waiters, who hurried over.

‘Vodka and tonic. Slimline. No ice, slice of lime. And food, I need food.’ She surveyed the leftovers on the table and decided nothing Jamie and Emily had eaten was to her taste. ‘I’ll have a green salad, no dressing, no onions.’

‘Just a green salad,’ said the waiter, his brow furrowed with confusion.

‘Yes. Get a salad bowl and put in anything that’s green. Lettuce, cucumber, green peppers. But not avocado.’

The waiter looked doubtful. ‘You sure you wouldn’t like chicken with it? Or shrimp?’

‘Are either of those green?’ said Catherine rudely, like the man was an imbecile. ‘No. Just the salad. Although actually, what other kinds of fish do you have?’

Emily stared at Catherine and cringed, wondering what level of privilege it took to be this obnoxious. Jamie was scarlet, watching her with his mouth opening and closing like one of the many fish the waiter was currently listing.

‘Fine, I’ll have some kind of white fish, but grilled, not fried. And filleted, I literally can’t do bones. Next to the salad, not on it. Remember, no dressing.’

The waiter nodded and scuttled off, no doubt to instruct the kitchen to dress Catherine’s salad with every type of body fluid they could muster. She took off her sunglasses and reached over to squeeze Jamie’s arm, acting for all the world as if Emily wasn’t even there. ‘Isn’t this fabulous?’ she said, then plucked her phone out of her handbag with a perfectly manicured hand and took a selfie.

I am in hell and I can’t even drink, thought Emily, as Jamie mouthed an apology and sank further into his wheelchair.

Chapter Thirty-Four

After a week with Adam and Catherine occupying the two remaining bedrooms in the beach house, Emily was beginning to wonder if they ever planned to leave. She’d become expert at staying out of the way, blending into the furniture whenever Adam or Catherine passed by, and reverting to her teenage norm of being dull and invisible. She’d also never worked so hard in her life, just for an excuse to stay in Mr Hunter’s office and out of everyone’s way. On the upside, Adam was now ignoring her entirely, which Emily was absolutely fine with.

Time alone with Jamie was scarce, but they’d got into the habit of having breakfast on the terrace together when she got back from her swim, which was still a good hour before everyone else got up. Then Adam and Catherine would appear to spend some token time with their brother, usually bickering about something that Jamie didn’t care about, and Emily would quietly merge into the background and slink away to the office.

She and Jamie had also managed a few dinners alone, because Jamie preferred to eat at the beach house or go to Sam’s, whereas Adam and Catherine expected to be fed in the best restaurants the island had to offer. Mr Hunter had started to look haunted, and Emily really hoped they would leave him in peace before he had a nervous breakdown.

She had always suspected that the two older Hunter children had an ulterior motive for visiting Mauritius, because they definitely had nothing more than a passing interest in their brother’s injury or recovery. She frequently came across the two of them whispering in corridors, and pieced together enough snippets to establish that they were trying to get a clearer picture of their father’s business interests. Presumably their main priority was protecting their inheritance, whilst keeping a close eye on anyone who might get in the way. No doubt Emily’s name was at the top of that list.

One morning Adam took Mr Hunter off for a drive to Grand Baie in the north of the island, ostensibly to look at a house he and Victoria were thinking of buying, even though non-Mauritian citizens hadn’t been able to buy beach-front property on the island for years. Adam seemed to think there were loopholes he could exploit to get round that, and Mr Hunter was humouring him. Jamie was having a session with his physiotherapist in the garden, and Emily was enjoying the peace and quiet of time alone in the office to catch up on Mr Hunter’s emails.

‘Hey, Emma,’ said Catherine from the doorway, her voice disconcertingly friendly.

‘Hi,’ said Emily. She didn’t bother to correct her.

‘There’s nobody in the house, I was feeling super-lonely,’ said Catherine in the same whiny baby voice that Adam used. She wandered over to the desk and idly picked up a glass paperweight with a piece of pink coral inside. ‘Thought I’d, like, come and keep you company.’ Emily was immediately suspicious of this unlikely girl chat.

Catherine flopped into the chair by the window, and Emily had the opportunity to look at her close up for the first time. She must be in her early thirties, presumably a few years older than Jamie, but her face had been tweaked and moulded to a point where she could be any age between twenty and fifty. Her features were childlike, with big eyes and an adorable button nose, but the Botox and fillers had left her looking blank and expressionless, like a doll.

‘That’s such a pretty dress,’ said Catherine. Emily was wearing a halterneck cotton sundress that she’d bought for the equivalent of six pounds from the local market. It had large purple flowers on it and had been chosen for comfort rather than style.

‘Thanks,’ said Emily. ‘It’s vintage Pucci.’

‘It’s super-cute,’ said Catherine. ‘What are you working on?’ Her hybrid accent was pure Valley girl on the ‘sooper’ but the hard T in ‘cute’ was classic British upper class. It made her sound like a robot.