Page 6

I am the daughter of two very poor listeners. My mother is a controlling meddler, and my father favours weak parenting to keep the peace. I promptly burst into noisy sobs (his kryptonite) and blurt out what has happened. I can hear my mother trying to grapple the phone from him in the background.

In an unusual move, my father, sounding rather like he is defending a pro-wrestling title, confirms that I’m not to worry and that everything will turn out for the best. Then I run around the house searching for keys, my passport and some money. There is a flight to Alicante leaving in two hours and come hell or high water, I am going to be on it. I yank my centuries-old, tatty suitcase out from under the bed, the handle coming easily away. Fortunately, I know where I can get a far newer one. She’ll never miss it, and besides, if it weren’t for her treachery, I wouldn’t be packing my whole life up like this in the first place.

Somehow, and I’m truly not proud of myself – not by a long stretch – within minutes, I’m bitterly lugging a full case back from my sister’s room. I heave it up onto the bed and survey my new essentials: my sister’s luxury face creams and her GHD Platinum straighteners. As I search for her Chanel sunglasses, I come across her collection of bikinis, flip flops and sarongs from her life-changing jaunt to Koh Phi Phi in search of her ‘inner truth’. She’ll not be needing them any time soon, not with her newly acquired, high-powered job of sacking people for a living. My phone pings to warn me that I have only five minutes before the taxi comes. Just enough time to fling in all of my bits and pieces; the sum total of my life so far and everything I’ll ever need to start a new one, far from here and, more importantly, far from Ava.

A minute and a half later and I am done. I survey the open case, satisfied that, in the interests of restoring balance, the passport and the handful of assorted knickers at least are mine. And I’m confident that by the time I land in Spain, I will no longer be quite so livid… or light-fingered. One thing I know for certain is that I AM NO LONGER A PEOPLE PLEASER. No matter what you do for them, they will only disappoint you and let you down. I’ve not even had so much as a single ‘happy birthday’ from any member of my family.

* * *

A whirlwind two-hour flight later, and everything suddenly feels real. As the cabin crew wave me off the plane and wish me good luck, I give them a brave smile. Apparently, the noise of the engines does not drown out a person’s heaving sobs in the rear toilet cubicle, as much as I had assumed it would. The gentle knock on the toilet door was followed by a warm smile and four miniature bottles of vodka and doll-sized cans of Diet Coke for me to take back to my seat. I am now officially going to be living in Spain until I can come up with a plan. A plan that involves more than just running away, that is. I have booked myself into a spa retreat (the ‘stress buster’ package) for three days before heading over to my family’s holiday villa in Albir. Not only is it my favourite place in the whole world, but crucially, it is Ava and mother free. We’ve hardly used it over the last few years, due to my parents discovering booze cruises.

I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I follow the crowd of passengers through to the terminal.

Deep breaths. What am I doing?

Deep breaths. Have I gone completely insane?

I am approaching thirty years old. I have no friends, no real command of Spanish, no job. But I am not going to panic. I will stay at our family getaway and figure things out, right after this mini panic attack I appear to be having. My lungs are billowing from my chest like bagpipes.

‘Are you okay?’ asks a tall man with a strong Scottish accent in the passport queue next to me.

Where to bloody start? My life is in a catastrophic mess of exponential proportions.

‘Yes, of course,’ I snap at him.

Some people are so incredibly nosy.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

A wave of exhaustion envelops me as I struggle for air in the heat. My hand flies instinctively to my chest. I’m definitely going to have a heart attack and it will be all Ava’s fault.

‘I just thought you looked a bit⁠—’

‘No, I’m fine,’ I say defensively, turning to see who this intrusive person is who’s towering over me and offering unsolicited opinions. ‘If anything, you’re the one who looks “a bit”.’

I watch him physically regret ever having made the enquiry as he hastily turns to gaze in the opposite direction. Why do people think they have the right to interfere? He seems about my age. He should put his AirPods in and block out the world like a normal person, but instead we are stuck awkwardly with each other in this, the world’s slowest queue. He rakes a hand slowly through his dark hair, letting it fall messily back into place. He looks very tanned and is wearing a cool T-shirt that hugs his biceps, and shorts that fit him perfectly given his height. Maybe he is a paramedic. He certainly has the well-toned arms for it. And the long legs. And the stubbled chin. And the kind eyes.

‘I just thought you looked a bit upset,’ he says, catching me eyeing him up and down. I stare blankly back.

Upset? Upset? Of course I’m bloody upset, who wouldn’t be with the day I’ve had?

His eyes are brimming with sympathy. He tilts his head to one side, inviting me to share my heavy burden. Suddenly, the pent-up fury of this afternoon explodes out of me in loud, gurgling, uncontrollable sobs.

‘WHAAAA!’ I howl, clutching tightly on to him for balance. ‘It’s my sist… ahhh! My back-stabbing, awful bloody sist… er… errr… aaaahh!’

My wailing is attracting the attention of everyone in the vicinity while he stands rigid, taking a moment to process, scanning my face.

Christ but it’s hot. I wheeze, unable to catch my breath.

‘When? When did this happen?’ he asks in a worried tone.

I sniff up my tears, gulping for air. ‘Today. Literally this mor-or-orning.’ It still feels like two minutes ago.

‘It’s been going on all day?’ His eyebrows rise with concern.

‘Yes. Yes, it has.’ I double over, grabbing my knees. ‘Can you believe it? One minute you’re fine and dandy and the next… your whole life is in the balance.’ God. Where is the air? Where is all the friggin air?