Chapter 9 Kate

9 KATE

NOW

First real love?

She can’t get Darcy’s comment out of her head. Why would she say Jacob was her first love?

Back in her villa, she thinks of Elijah, Darcy’s real first love. The boy whose death has overshadowed the rest of Darcy’s life, including her marriage to Jacob. Elijah Morrison was just nineteen when he died, a handsome soccer player, in his second year of a chemical engineering degree at Exeter University. Darcy said she had never stopped loving him, and that she realized she had never loved Jacob. Kate knows Darcy isn’t the sort of person to say such things lightly.

She’s obviously reading way too much into it, she tells herself, but she can’t let it go. Darcy has told her so much about that chapter of her life, about Elijah, that it’s almost as though she’s lived it.

THE NEXT MORNING, SHE SLEEPS in past breakfast, enjoying a coffee on her balcony while she writes in her notebook. Ideas for her novel are beginning to prickle in her mind, a plot twist ascending from the silt of memory.

At ten, she puts a clean dress over her swimsuit, then heads to the spa. Darcy and Camilla are waiting in the lobby already, surrounded by potted orchids and statues of Buddha.

“Babe,” Camilla says when she takes the seat next to her, “you all right?”

“Missed you at breakfast, Kate,” Darcy says gently. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine,” Kate says, fanning herself. “Just my arthritis is acting up. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh no,” Darcy says. “It’ll be the heat. It’s aggravated your joints, hasn’t it?”

Kate nods reluctantly. “Bloody perimenopause. Cold in here, though.”

“I’m getting my estrogen gel,” Camilla says, rising. “Seriously, I had the same thing and it worked within days—”

Kate pulls her back down. “I’m fine,” she says.

“Thank God for air-con,” Darcy says. “And a massage should help the symptoms.”

“I’m not sure,” Kate says. “I’ve never actually had a massage.”

Darcy reaches for the treatment menus on the coffee table. “Maybe avoid the strenuous ones,” she tells Kate, drawing a finger down the menu. “What about this one? The Frangipani Cocoon? ‘A nourishing wrap that helps you relax while mood-altering oils work their magic.’?”

“Jesus Christ,” Camilla says. “?‘Mood-altering’? Maybe this place is a front for drug runners. I bet magic mushrooms would help a ton , Katie baby.”

“At this point,” Kate groans, rubbing her elbow, “I’ll give anything a try.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Camilla says, flicking a long strand of black hair over her shoulder, “I was thinking we could do the dolphin cruise tonight.”

Darcy shrugs. “Sure.”

“Maybe,” Kate says, less enthusiastic. “How long does it last?”

“I think it’s an hour,” Camilla says. “And it’s not exactly taxing. You just sit on the boat and look over the edge at the dolphins while drinking cocktails.”

“I think that would be nice. Though I might stay away from the cocktails.”

“Good idea,” Darcy says. “That breakfast prosecco really went to my head.”

Camilla rolls her eyes. “Lightweights.”

“Should we invite Jade?” Kate says, spotting her through the glass wall to their right.

“There’s the husband,” Darcy says, as Rob passes by. He’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt open at the neck, tight red shorts. He lays an arm across Jade’s shoulders, pulling her to him.

“She’s so jumpy around him,” Kate observes.

Camilla nods. “My guess is he’s beating the shit out of her.”

“God,” Darcy says sadly. “Hopefully not? I mean, it’s their honeymoon….”

“Hope all you like,” Camilla says. “Her body language is screaming it.”

“Wouldn’t she have stood him up at the altar if that was the case?” Kate says. “I mean, why would someone go through with it if they’re being battered?”

“There are a thousand reasons why someone would marry someone who’s beating them,” Camilla says, a little too loudly. Darcy nudges her, telling her to shush.

“Which are?” Kate asks.

“Well, it’s like being on a burning train that’s steaming along the track at a hundred miles an hour,” Camilla says. “You could jump, couldn’t you? Or is it perhaps too scary, the thought of jumping from a train going so fast?”

The spa manager, Chinda, greets them with a bow, and asks for their chosen treatments.

“Deep tissue,” Camilla says.

“We’re both getting the Frangipani Cocoon,” Darcy says, indicating Kate.

With another bow, Chinda invites them to follow her to an inner courtyard, a large lily pond with fountains pouring delicately, a stone bridge leading to another building. Inside, they find a darkened room lit softly by candles. Soothing music plays from a speaker, and three massage beds are set out side by side.

Chinda nods at the disposable knickers on the beds and towels they can use for modesty.

Camilla’s the first to strip, tossing off her kaftan and bikini with zero hesitation. “Shit,” she says. “I forgot to bring a hair elastic.”

“Here,” Darcy says, taking one off her wrist. “I always keep a spare.”

Kate slips out of her clothes awkwardly before scooting herself onto the table and covering herself with the towel. Finally, three female masseuses appear, each taking her position at the head of a table.

Kate’s head is throbbing, her muscles aching in that familiar way that feels like she’s been trampled by elephants. She wonders if she should call it quits and go to fetch her medication. But the masseuse has started, quietly rubbing a fragrant oil into her back, asking in soothing tones if the pressure is all right. It feels nice. Kate lies perfectly still as the woman massages her arms, her shoulders, her calves, then her scalp. Slowly, the pain in her limbs subsides. Perhaps she should have tried massage before now.

“Turn over, please,” Kate’s masseuse says, and she lies on her back, feeling the warm pressure of a hotel towel wrapped around her, then another.

“Now, you relax,” a voice says, and the three masseuses leave the room, closing the door.

“I forgot to ask,” Camilla says then, shattering the quiet. “How was Charlie when you left, Darcy?”

Silence. Kate turns her head to see if Darcy’s all right. She hears a whimper and realizes that Darcy is crying.

“Darcy?” she says.

“Oh, Darcy ,” Camilla says, jerking upright. “Me and my stupid mouth.”

Kate manages to get off the table, cocoon of towels held in place with a firm grip, and plucks up a box of tissues for Darcy. She reaches down and gives her a hug.

“Sorry,” Darcy says, dabbing her eyes. “I’d hoped Charlie would start talking to me before I left. But…” She trails off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin our spa day.”

“Don’t apologize,” Kate says soothingly, squeezing Darcy’s hand. “You’re not ruining anything.”

“You love your boys,” Camilla says, and Darcy nods.

“More than anything.”

“You know, when Natasha was Charlie’s age,” Camilla says, “she bloody hated my guts for a while. Nothing to do with a divorce. Just… being a teenager and deciding that I was the devil. And do you know what I did?”

“What?” Darcy says weakly.

“Exactly what you’re doing now. I cried, I felt guilty, I thought she’d hate me forever. Nothing worked, and I mean nothing .”

Kate frowns. Camilla isn’t the most tactful woman alive, but this doesn’t sound very comforting.

“And then what happened?” Kate prompts.

“She got over it,” Camilla says. “As soon as she turned sixteen, bing ! Like a light bulb. Whatever had come over her seemed to fade away.”

“He’ll come round,” Kate tells Darcy.

“Do you think so?” Darcy says. “It just feels like five minutes ago he was a tiny baby and now he loathes me.”

“Honestly, teenage hormones are the worst,” Camilla says. “The years between eleven and sixteen are a bastard.”

Darcy laughs, then throws them both a tearful smile. “You two,” she says, “are bloody brilliant. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Kate feels Darcy take her hand in hers, and the sensation sends shivers up her arm. It has been so long since someone held her hand. Two years ago she didn’t know either Darcy or Camilla existed, and now they’re close friends.

Funny how quickly things can change. Sometimes for the better.