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‘Coach trip?’

‘Yes. The singles coach trip you are organising.’

‘You mean we are organising. And it’s not a coach trip. It’s a sort of coaching journey.’

‘Sí. Journey as in trip?’ She waves Google Translate at me on her phone.

Gaaah!

‘No. It’s not a trip. It’s very much a journey!’

‘What is the difference between a trip and a journey?’

I stop to think. I have been speaking this language since birth, and yet I have no clue how to answer her.

‘Erm, the difference is that one is more of an actual trip to somewhere, and the other is more of a journey to somewhere.’ I’d never make a teacher. ‘Actually, no. It’s the context. A journey can be a spiritual… No, what we are organising is much more of an event, really. It is a life coaching event to take people on a journey, but without physically moving.’

Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen looks understandably confused.

‘Please tell me you have not been booking people onto an actual coach trip? You’ve explained that it is more of a coaching experience with some singles and business activities involved?’

Whatever the heck that means.

‘Sí.’

She has done nothing of the sort.

‘You can go now,’ I tell Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

I’m a grown woman. I will handle this.

22

I spend the next two panicky hours rooting around the internet, looking for fun activities that would benefit both single people and sole-traders and involves some type of life coaching. It is nigh on impossible but has distracted me from the dread of seeing Ava back at the villa.

Before I pack up to go home, I flick through the Life Coaching Handbook which is full of advice that makes me uncomfortable. I come across a quote that makes me stop and think. It says, ‘Resentment is like swallowing poison and expecting the other person to die.’ It recommends writing a list of all the things you resent about the person.

There isn’t enough paper in the land to list everything I resent about Ava. I simply wouldn’t do that to all those innocent trees. But I could compile a mental list.

It’s dark by the time I finally face up to returning home. Even driving up to the villa and seeing all the lights blazing away and knowing my sister is relaxing and enjoying herself fills me with resentment. I hesitate at the door. I almost feel like knocking. This place no longer feels like my place. I really must get a grip. I can’t keep going to pieces every time I have to face her.

People go through far worse, don’t they? I mean, there are far worse things than being stabbed in the back by your entire family. Of course there are.

Reluctantly, I hear Oliver’s words about dusting myself off and getting on with my life echo round my brain.

It’s time to confront Ava and sort it all out.

I take a deep breath in and open the door. The delicious aroma of something cooking fills my nostrils and lets my stomach know immediately that I forgot to eat again today. I can’t really remember the last time I ate a proper meal.

The music is blasting out, and even though I hate to admit it, I can see she’s managed to make the villa seem homely and inviting. The dining table is set with two plates, cutlery, glasses and a bottle of wine. She’s obviously invited that handsome bugger from the airport over already. Probably to help her get over the break-up with my ex-on-again-off-again-boyfriend, Dan. Or maybe she is still seeing him. Maybe she is playing the field while she is here in Spain. She still hasn’t even had the decency to admit that she was having an affair with him behind my back. Morally bankrupt – I will put that on the list. I watch as she opens the oven door to release a burst of heat and clouds of glorious-smelling meaty, garlicky fumes.

‘Ta-dah!’ she sings joyfully. ‘It’s your favourite.’

I follow her gaze to the oven dish inside, bubbling away. It’s chilli chicken. It smells incredible. I see she’s been chopping salad and toasting pittas and then I try to smother a gasp as I clock the huge homemade cheesecake. There’s no denying that my sister does make incredible cheesecake. We once worked out that it contains over ten thousand calories.

‘Look.’ She sweeps her arm over to the table. ‘I’ve gone to so much trouble. It’s had 374 likes already.’

It’s all about her. See how easy it is to be resentful? Much easier than not being resentful. My mind instantly pictures her wearing the cheesecake and how many likes it might get then.