5. Five

Iwake up the next morning to the sound of suitcases being wheeled down the corridor outside my room, and a sliver of bright blue sky peeping through the crack in the curtains.

The hotel. I’m in the hotel. I can’t believe I’m actually here.

The taxi ride from the airport last night took me along a narrow strip of motorway, with the looming shadows of mountains on one side, and what I’m assuming was the sea on the other, although it was pretty hard to tell in the pitch dark we landed in. When I got to the hotel, I was too tired to explore, but now I’m awake I throw myself out of bed and launch myself across the room, wrenching open the curtains and pulling at the sliding doors behind them until they finally open, allowing me to step out onto the balcony beyond.

It’s the first day of my new, cool life.

And it’s amazing.

Actually, scratch that: compared to the cold, gray weather I left behind in the UK, this place is beyond amazing. I almost want to cry with relief as I take in the infinity pool below me, which stretches smoothly down to the sea beyond it, the surface of the water sparkling softly in the morning sun. From where I’m standing I can see both a swim-up bar, and a straw-topped tiki bar, with jewel-colored liqueur bottles lined up on a shelf, ready to be turned into cocktails. A bit of the tension I’ve been carrying since I arrived at the airport yesterday slowly leaves my body.

I might not have a lot of experience with booking last-minute holidays, but even I know they can be a bit of a gamble; and trust me when I tell you, I am not a gambler. Or I wasn’t until just after midnight on New Year’s Eve, when I impulsively decided to jump online and book a room in the first hotel that had availability: which just so happened to be this one.

Hotel Martinez sits right on the coast, in what the booking site informed me is a ‘coveted beach side location’, with five separate swimming pools, plus a luxury spa. Now, the old Summer would probably have been put off by those words alone, knowing that luxury spas and beachfront locations are generally way out of her budget: which is something Old Summer took very seriously indeed — just like she took everything else.

No, Old Summer wouldn’t have looked twice at Hotel Martinez. Old Summer would have just scrolled on by, then filtered the search results from ‘low to high’ (Are there people in the world who filter from ‘high to low’? Because I would very much like to meet them, if so…), before booking herself a nice, sensible BB somewhere five miles from the beach, and with a sewage works and/or all-night karaoke bar right next to it.

But that was Old Summer; and she’s not here, is she?

No, new Summer is in charge now. Cool Summer. And Cool Summer is very much the kind of girl who stays in luxury hotels, and worries about the credit card bill later. Or she’s trying to be, anyway.

Determinedly pushing aside the little voice in my head that keeps on trying to tell me I don’t belong here, I lean over the balcony, trying to take in as much as possible. The hotel is huge and white, with little red-roofed turrets spaced at intervals along its walls, like a castle; only one with palm trees and tiki bars, and I think that’s a lazy river I can see winding its way down to the sea.

I’m the kind of girl who stays in hotels with lazy rivers and turrets now.

I think I’m starting to feel cooler already.

My shoulders descend a couple of notches as I allow myself to relax a little more, focusing on the faint tinkle of cutlery that tells me breakfast is underway somewhere just out of sight. If I listen really carefully I discover I can hear the waves crashing on the beach below us, and that’s approximately a hundred times better than the constant beeping of phones and clattering of keyboards that I’d be listening to if I was at work right now, like I would be if I hadn’t got on that plane yesterday.

It’s perfect.

And expensive, whispers Old Summer traitorously from somewhere in the back of my mind. So let’s just hope Linda doesn’t decide to fire you for taking time off without booking it 12 weeks in advance, you’re supposed to.

“Zip it, Old Summer,” I say sternly, taking out my phone to snap a quick photo for Libby and co. “No one asked you.”

It’s still early, but there’s already a handful of people claiming their spaces by the pool, plus one particularly early bird swimming lengths up and down it. I watch appreciatively as his muscular arms slice effortlessly through the turquoise water, sending droplets shimmering through the air. Just as I’m about to take a photo for the benefit of Libby and everyone else on Instagram, he reaches the end of the pool and pushes himself up and out of the water. I catch a tantalizing glimpse of a lightly tanned six-pack and taut stomach muscles as he balances easily on his arms, then he looks up in my direction, his dark hair slicked back and his eyes — one of which is surrounded by a large purple bruise — narrowing as he catches sight of me on the balcony above, the phone still raised in the air, ready to take the shot.

“Hey, Cool Girl,” he yells, making me almost drop my phone in horror. “You better not be taking photos of me from up there. You look like a stalker.”

Noooo. It can’t be? Surely my luck can’t be that bad?

I spring guiltily backwards, even though I’m not actually doing anything wrong.

There’s a soft click as my thumb reflexively hits the screen, and the phone snaps a perfectly framed photo of a half-naked Alexander Fox climbing out of the swimming pool, looking equal parts grumpy and gorgeous.

Oh. My. God.

It really is him: my own personal traveling Dementor. Here. In my hotel. With his … his muscles, and his scowl. Dementing.

I rub my eyes in the vague hope they might be playing tricks on me, but when I look back down over the balcony, he’s still there — swimming trunks clinging to his perfectly shaped backside as he wraps a towel around his tapered waist and pulls his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

I step quickly behind a handy plant pot that’s positioned on the balcony, peeping cautiously out from between the leaves of the orange-flowered plant inside it to see what he’s doing.

When I muttered goodbye to him at baggage claim last night and made a run for the taxi rank, I’d assumed I’d never see Alexander Fox again. But of all the hotels on all the island, he had to go and check into this one — and now my only hope is that he hasn’t actually recognized me from this distance, and just calls everyone he meets ‘Cool Girl’.

For, you know, no reason.

“I can still see you, Summer,” Alex calls up to me, dashing yet another hope. “That’s a terrible hiding place, you know. Nice PJs, by the way.”

I dart back inside before he can say anything else, closing the balcony doors firmly behind me, then pulling the curtains back over them for good measure.

Okay, calm down, Summer. It’s not the end of the world. This is a huge hotel. One of the biggest on the island, according to the leaflet on the dressing table. I probably won’t even see him again. Just as long as I avoid the swimming pool. And… everywhere in the vicinity of the swimming pool. I can do that. There are four other pools! I’ll be fine!

And they are nice PJs. So there, Alex Fox.

Feeling a little better, I open up my suitcase, which I was too tired to unpack last night, and start transferring my meager collection of clothes to the wardrobe. They hang there, looking almost apologetic in their luxurious new surroundings, which I try not to think about the cost of as I take a quick shower … which turns into a much longer shower once I discover the selection of free products that have been left for me by the double sink.

Once I’m dressed again — this time in a perfectly nice sundress which somehow looks much shabbier in the Spanish sunshine than it did in my flat back home — I send a quick message to Chloe (Who finally noticed I wasn’t in the pub around 10 hours after I left) and my parents, to let them know where I am, then I sit on the bed, realizing I’ve run out of things to do in my hotel room.

I’m going to have to venture outside.

The door of my room opens out onto a long corridor which stretches the length of the building, and is open on one side, with a view out over the distant mountains. They stand out so vividly against the blue sky that they look almost like someone’s painted them onto it, and I can’t resist stopping to snap another quick photo, which I upload to Instagram.

‘First day of the rest of my life,’ I type into the caption box.

No, too cringe.

I hit backspace a few times, then try again.

‘New beginnings, endless possibilities’?

Waytoo cringe.

‘Good day for a fresh start’?

Cringe-tastic.

“How about ‘first day vibes’?” says a voice from over my shoulder. “Me granddaughter, Hailey, she’s always bangin’ on about ‘vibes’. It’s what the young folks say these days.”

Please God, no.

I whirl around to find Gerald standing next to me wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and a lot of gold jewelry

“Oh, it’s you, Summer,” he says, pleased. “Are you stayin’ here as well, then?”

I nod, then there’s a swish of tires on the polished tile floor and I look around to see none other than Julian and Alice making their way along the corridor towards me, Julian carrying a large inflatable unicorn and looking dapper in his neatly ironed shirt-and-shorts combo, and Alice balancing a pile of towels on her knee as she wheels herself along.

Seriously?

Them too?

Did everyone from my flight end up at this hotel, then? “Ooh, there you are, Summer!” says Alice delightedly. “We were wondering where you got to last night, weren’t we, Julian? We didn’t see you on the airport bus.”

“That’s right,” agrees Julian, his face almost hidden by the unicorn. “We were worried we might not get to find out what happened with you and that Jamie chap. But here you are! Young Alex will be pleased!”

“Speak o’ the devil,” says Gerald, “Isn’t that him?”

My heart thuds frantically as I quickly scan the corridor, expecting to see Alex coming striding wetly along it in his swimming trunks. Then I realize Gerald’s pointing at my phone, which is open to the camera roll, with the shot of Alex getting out of the pool front and center.

“Er, no, that’s not Alex,” I say, closing the screen and shoving the phone into my bag. “That’s a completely different, er, really good-looking guy.”

“Jamie Reynolds?” says Alice, beaming.

“Tim McGraw?” asks Gerald.

“Summer?” says someone else, joining us. “Oh, it is you! I thought it was! Well, isn’t this lovely? All the gang together again! Game of Crones!”

It’s Rita.

Of course it’s Rita.

Well, everyone else from my flight seems to have ended up here, so why the hell not?

I look furtively up and down the corridor again, half-expecting to see April from check-in, or bride-to-be Libby approaching for a quick catch-up. The corridor, however, remains mercifully empty, sunlight filtering through the concrete archways that make up one side of it, and reminding me that there’s a whole island out there to explore; if only I can figure out how to extricate myself from the small group of pensioners who seem to have attached themselves to me.

“Right, shall we go down to breakfast?” says Gerald, producing a pair of mirrored sunglasses and putting them on. “Table for five, is it?”

“Why don’t you guys go on ahead?” I say quickly. “I’m not all that hungry.”

Right on cue, my traitorous stomach rumbles loudly, making four sets of eyebrows rise in unison.

“I have a few things I want to do this morning,” I tell them. “It’s my first time here, you know? I thought I might head out to explore; just get my bearings, see some of the sights.”

“On your own?” says Julian, aghast. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? A young woman like you, out on her own … anything could happen. And we’re your new Fairy God…folk. We have to look after you.”

Gerald opens his mouth, clearly about to offer to accompany me, but Alice comes to my rescue, nudging her husband in the side with a bottle of sunscreen.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Julian,” she says. “Summer’s a strong, independent young woman, remember? She can look after herself. Can’t you, Summer?”

Everyone including me looks unconvinced by this, but I nod gratefully at her all the same.

“That’s right,” I say, as much for my own benefit as theirs. “I can look after myself. I have Google Maps on my phone in case I get lost. And how difficult can it be to find my way around a holiday resort, anyway?”

Everyone looks worried again. I take out my phone to reassure them, putting it hurriedly away again when I touch the ‘home’ button by mistake and the photo of Alex Fox flashes back up on the screen.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell them again, firmly. And then, before anyone can try to argue with me, I toss my hair over my shoulder, adjust my heart-shaped sunglasses, and stride off down the corridor, feeling four pairs of elderly eyes follow me as I go.

“First day vibes,” I say out loud, earning a look of surprise from a passing housekeeper. “First day vibes, indeed…”