9. Nine

Negative.

No messages. No missed calls. Not even from Chloe, who’s finally given up firing questions at me about where I am, and what the hell I think I’m doing.

(I didn’t tell her I came out here to find Jamie Reynolds, needless to say. The last thing I need is Chloe turning up to pull focus; which is exactly the kind of thing she’d do…)

I quickly check the phone settings, just to make sure it’s still picking up the Spanish network it connected to when I arrived, and that I haven’t accidentally left it on airplane mode.

Nope.

The phone is working perfectly; which means he just hasn’t bothered to call me.

It’s fine, though.

He’s probably busy.

Or… or sick! Yes, that’s it. Maybe he’s sick, and, even now, is lying on his deathbed, his trembling fingers desperately reaching for his phone as he tries to—

“Summer, are you in there, dear?”

I open the door to find Alice and Julian outside. Alice is riding a bright red motorized mobility scooter this morning, and Julian’s wearing a linen suit, which makes him look like he’s off to star in a classic movie, rather than just heading down to the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet.

“Are you coming to breakfast?” Alice asks. “You really missed out yesterday; it was superb, wasn’t it, Julian?”

“Indeed it was,” says her husband, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “There’s nothing like an all-inclusive breakfast buffet, Summer. You take it from me.”

“You can have champagne and everything,” Alice confirms. “Bucks Fizz, they call it. You know, like the band? Anyway, are you coming?”

“Er, no, I don’t think so,” I reply, looking down at my pajamas. “I’m just up. I need to have a shower and get dressed.”

“You young ‘uns,” says Julian jovially. “Stay in bed half the day, you would.”

I look at my watch. It’s 8am.

“Well, we’ll save you a seat, anyway,” says Alice, reversing rapidly, and almost running over a young couple who are walking by. “Don’t be too long, or Rita’ll have had all the fizz! Oh, I almost forgot: this was sticking out of your door.”

She hands me a leaflet advertising a bus trip to Mount Teide, the volcano Alex was talking about last night. I smile weakly and give a small wave as she speeds off towards the elevators, Julian trotting obediently behind her.

I close the door and turn the leaflet over in my hands, thoughtfully. The tour leaves from the hotel in just over an hour. If I skip breakfast and don’t bother washing my hair, I could…

No. I can’t.

What if Jamie calls while I’m up there? Do they even have phone reception on volcanoes?What if it erupts? What if the cable car breaks down, and —

“Stop it, Summer,” I tell myself firmly, going into the bathroom and switching on the shower. “You’re supposed to be taking risks, remember? Doing all the things you never did, even though you wanted to? So, do it. Make your younger self proud.”

Even though I’m convinced my younger self only added in the thing about climbing a mountain because she couldn’t think of anything better to write, the thought of being able to cross another item off my list does appeal to me. So I jump into the shower, and, thirty minutes later, I’m dressed, caked in SPF50, and banging on Alex Fox’s hotel room door.

“What. The. Hell?”

Alex opens the door bleary eyed and wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts that he’s obviously slept in. I avert my eyes and push past him before he can even think about trying to stop me.

“Right,” I say breezily, thrusting the leaflet Alice gave me at his chest. “Come on, time to get dressed.”

“What’s going on?” Alex says suspiciously, not bothering to move. “Why are you in my room? Am I having a nightmare? Is that what this is?”

“Nope, you’re awake,” I tell him, still trying to sound cool and casual, even though anyone who knows me would instantly be able to tell it’s just an act.

Fortunately for me, though, Alex Fox doesn’t know me. Well, not really well. Which means I can adopt any personality I like, and he’ll be none the wiser. This morning’s personality is Cool Girl. Easy, breezy Summer. The person I came here to be. It might have taken her a couple of days, but she’s finally arrived, and now she’s off to climb a mountain.

Well, to take a cable car up a mountain.

She just needs a little bit of moral support, is all.

“This was sticking out of my door this morning,” I say, pointing at the leaflet in Alex’s hands. “Right after we were talking about climbing mountains.”

Alex stares at me blankly.

“So?”

“So it’s a sign, isn’t it? From the universe.”

“If you mean it’s a sign that going up the mountain is the most popular day trip on the island, and that there are leaflets for it everywhere, then, yeah, I guess it is,” he says, handing the leaflet in question back to me. “If we’re back to talking about destiny, and fate, and all that nonsense, though, it’s way too early for me. I’m going back to bed.”

“It’s a sign that we should go up the mountain,” I say firmly. “And the bus leaves in half an hour, so we’re going to have to hurry.”

“We?” he says, still not moving. His bruised eye is looking a little less colorful today, but the furrowed brow is in place, as always. “There’s a ‘we’ now?”

He’s really not making it easy for me to be ‘cool’ here, is he?

“Yes! I mean, no! Or only in the sense that we’ll both be there at the same time. But there’ll be a busload of other people,” I reply, opening the bathroom door for him. “So you’ll hardly have to see me. Come on, Alex,” I add, when he still doesn’t budge. “It’ll be fun. Probably. And it’s not like you have a busy schedule you’ll have to rearrange, do you? You’re on holiday!”

He looks at me for an agonizingly long moment, then heaves one of his characteristic sighs.

“Fine,” he says, reaching up to rub his eyes and wincing slightly when his hand makes contact with the bruise. “Anything to get you to stop badgering me. I’ll just be a few minutes. Wait here. And don’t touch anything.”

The bathroom door closes behind him, and I flop down on the little two-seater sofa next to the balcony door, looking around curiously.

Alex’s room is identical to mine, except everything is reversed, so his bathroom is back-to-back with mine, and so is the bed. I squirm in my seat, thinking of the thin wall that would’ve been the only thing separating us last night as we each lay asleep.

No, that’s weird.

I am not going to think about sleeping next to Alex Fox. Not even with a wall between us.

Reversed-room aside, the other big difference between Alex’s room and mine is how neat his is. My room currently looks like a hurricane just blew through it, with clothes and makeup scattered over every surface, even though I’ve only been here for two nights. This room, by contrast, shows almost no sign of habitation, other than the unmade bed (Which I did just drag him out of, to be fair…), and a huge bunch of pink flowers in a vase on the dressing table, which…

… wait. Why does he have a bunch of flowers in his room? I definitely don’t have one in mine.

I frown, trying to remember if I’ve ever stayed in a hotel room where I’ve been presented with flowers upon arrival.

No, would be the answer to that.

(To be fair, until this holiday, the last time I was abroad, I was sharing a room with my brother. But still. Surely hotels don’t normally give flowers to their guests? Do they? And the thought of Alex going out and buying himself a bunch of pale pink roses is even weirder. So how did they get here?)

I know Alex told me not to touch anything, but as I look at the flowers, I notice a little card lying next to them in an envelope, and that’s far too much temptation for me to resist, so I get quickly to my feet and cross the room to look at it, letting out a little yelp of pain as my foot makes contact with something solid on the floor.

I freeze, looking guiltily in the direction of the bathroom, while praying that the noise from the shower is loud enough to have covered the sound. The water continues to flow, so I glance down to see what I’ve hit, and…

It’s an ice bucket.

Or the base of an ice bucket, rather.

The rest of it is right there in front of me, containing an unopened bottle of Veuve Clicquot, which… seriously?

Don’t tell me this one’s ‘compliments of the hotel’ too? Why does this guy keep being given champagne everywhere he goes? And what do I need to do to get in on that?

That’s a question for later, though. For now, my sights are once again set on the flowers; which, now that I’m closer to them, I can see definitely have a card with them, presumably containing the name of the sender — and maybe even a message, too.

Feeling a bit like I’m in a spy movie, I tiptoe closer, almost within reach of my goal.

“Summer? What are you doing?”

I spin around, flushing with the embarrassment of being caught in the act. Alex is standing just outside the bathroom door, water glistening on his bare chest, and a small white towel around his waist.

A very tiny towel.

And a very toned waist.

Let’s just say it’s a good job I’m already blushing.

“Well?”

Alex glares at me accusingly, crossing his arms over that impressive chest of his.

“I’m just taking a closer look at these gorgeous flowers,” I tell him, all wide-eyed innocence. “I bet they smell amazing. Mmmmm!”

I take a step closer, and pantomime the act of leaning forward to sniff at them ostentatiously, my eyes flicking regretfully to the little card next to them, which I seem doomed never to open.

Not that I should have been even trying to open it, anyway.

I can’t believe I did that.

Who knew Cool Summer was going to turn out to be such a snoop?

“Are you, um, celebrating something, then?” I ask, nodding towards the champagne bottle. “Is it your birthday?”

“Well, I’m hoping to be able to celebrate you not asking me any more questions,” he says pointedly. “But it doesn’t look like that’s going to be anytime soon, so—”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” I point out, relieved to have distracted him from the fact that I was about to try to read his card. “So, is it, then? Your birthday? What age are you, anyway?”

“God, you don’t give up, do you?” he says, turning and starting to rifle through the wardrobe, which is as neat as everything else in this room. “I’m 35, if you must know. Happy now?”

“Is that why you’re so tetchy all the time, then?” I ask thoughtfully. “Let me guess: you don’t like birthdays? Or you’re upset because you’re almost 40 and you haven’t done anything with your life yet?”

“I think that’s you you’re thinking of,” he replies, without turning around. “I’ve done plenty with my life, thanks. And I’m not ‘almost 40’.”

“Neither am I,” I retort. “Oh, happy birthday, by the way. Sorry, I should really have said that first.”

Alex doesn’t bother to reply.

“Er, anyway,” I say, looking at my watch. “Are you ready?”

“Do I look ready?” Alex replies, gesturing to the towel that I’ve been determinedly trying to ignore.

“Maybe I’ll just wait for you outside, then,” I tell him, almost tripping over myself as I rush to the door. “I’ll be right here! Take your time! Or, you know, don’t take your time, actually — I think I can see the bus arriving.”

The door to Alex’s hotel room slams shut behind me just as a large white tour bus comes into view through the archways that look out onto the mountains. I watch as it pulls up outside reception, and a small group of people start to file onto it. I’m sure that’s Rita’s sunhat I can see near the front. And Gerald’s bald spot.

At least Alex won’t be spending his birthday alone, then.

Although… isn’t it a bit weird that he’d come out here to celebrate it on his own? Or with me, Gerald, and Rita, which is possibly even worse?

Who does that? Like, I know I’m here on my own, but it’s not my birthday. If it was, I don’t think sipping champagne alone in a hotel room is how I’d want to spend it somehow.

I wonder if he’s lonely?

I wonder if I should—

“Ready?”

Alex is standing behind me, now fully dressed, and with his ever-present sunglasses hiding his bruised eye. Today’s vibe is very ‘rich guy who plays tennis on the weekends’ — all glossy and expensive, even though he’s just wearing shorts and a polo shirt, and has only had a few minutes to get dressed.

“That was quick,” I comment, following him down the corridor at a slow jog. “It always takes me ages to get ready.”

“I bet,” he mutters darkly over his shoulders.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as we reach the elevators that will take us down to the ground floor reception.

Why does he have to make every single thing he says to me sound like an insult?

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s just… well, you seem pretty high maintenance.”

His eyes move slowly down my body in a way that makes me wish I’d worn a less revealing pair of shorts.

“Are you seriously going to wear those?” he asks, staring at my feet. “To climb a mountain?”

“What’s wrong with them?” I glance down at my bright red, platform-soled wedges as the lift doors ping open. “You said it was a cable-car ride? No climbing involved, remember?”

“The cable car only takes you so far,” he replies, walking in and pressing the button to go down. “If you want to go right to the very top, then yes, you have to climb. And it’s… well, it’s rocky. As you’d expect. Because it’s a volcano?”

He’s looking at me with a ‘Can you believe this idiot?’ expression.

“But you didn’t tell me any of that last night,” I protest. “You made it sound easy.”

“I didn’t know you were going to head up there the very next morning, did I?” he says crossly. “And wear… that… to do it.”

This time his gaze takes in my short denim cutoffs, and the knotted white shirt which keeps riding up to reveal my midriff. I pull my bag quickly over my stomach, almost feeling his eyes move over me.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll go back upstairs and change.”

I reach out to press the button for our floor, but Alex’s hand darts out to stop me.

“No, just… just leave it,” he says, sounding a bit strange. “There’s no time now. The bus is about to leave.”

We’re on the ground floor now, and the lift doors open to a view of the huge, tiled reception area, the bus in question just visible through the glass doors at one end of it.

“Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Alex says, looking at his watch. “You just probably won’t make it all the way to the top, that’s all. I think you need a permit to go all the way up anyway, and they only issue a few per day, so it might not matter all that much.”

“Oh. Right.”

I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that my childhood dream of climbing a mountain is probably going to end just short of the summit. Then again, it was a “childhood dream” I’d totally forgotten about until I read about it in my diary, and I’m not sure I even meant it at the time, so maybe Alex is right. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

“It’s the taking part that counts, anyway,” I say, following him out of the lift and across the sunlit reception to the waiting bus. “Isn’t it?”

“If you say so,” comes the reply. “Is that something you saw on Instagram? It sounds like one of those stupid motivational quotes people post, with a picture of a sunset behind them.”

“No. Well, yes. Quite a few times, actually. But it’s true, though,” I persist, talking to the back of his head as he stops outside the bus, waiting to board. “Or it is in my case. The old me didn’t even take part a lot of the time. Now she is.”

“Great,” says Alex, unmoved. Could the old you — or the new you, or whichever you this is — maybe hurry up and get onto the bus, then, before it leaves without us?”

“Yes, she could,” I reply, refusing to take the bait. I smile brightly as I brush past him to climb up the bus steps. “New Summer, reporting for duty.”

I’m off to climb my first mountain.

My thirteen-year-old self would be so proud.