“Well,” says Mum. “If you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.” I nod, staring out of the train window, watching fields go by. “I’ve done everything I came to do.”
After we’ve said goodbye and rung off, I hesitate, my phone in my hand. Then, on impulse, I open the Tesco website and log into my account, barely used over the past two years. I’m going to do a shop. A proper supermarket shop. I’m going to buy ingredients.
I click on onions. Stock. Carrots. Turkey mince. Come on. I can do this. I can run my life.
When my basket’s full, I survey it with a kind of pride. Not many people would call a Tesco online basket a thing of beauty, but right now this is all part of my new life. Where I look after myself. Where I value myself. And it looks beautiful to me.
Twenty-Five
After twenty minutes of the Mavis Adler art event, I’ve honed my line, which is, Stunning, isn’t it?
To be fair, the art is stunning, in a metal girders kind of way. The pieces are strewn around the massive ballroom, looking pretty incongruous against the peeling damask wallpaper and tattered curtains. They’ve all got titles, but I couldn’t say what any of them is supposed to mean.
But so far I’ve held my own in conversations with a lady from Sotheby’s, a man from some Cork Street gallery, and a local journalist. It seems most art experts are happy to spout on endlessly about their own opinion. So my method is: Let them do that while I get on with drinking the free champagne. And when they pause, say, Stunning, isn’t it?
Works a dream.
Cassidy is bustling around in a smart black dress, ordering the catering staff about, and she keeps catching my eye conspiratorially as though we’re family, which makes me feel ridiculously happy. Nikolai has brought me a kale cocktail, which I’ve discreetly disposed of. The place is so crammed that I haven’t yet spotted Mavis Adler, although I’ve seen Gabrielle, surrounded by people wanting selfies, and Jana, sitting behind a table, dispiritedly trying to sell catalogs.
“Sasha!” A voice greets me and I turn to see Keith Hardy, wearing a linen jacket and startling pink paisley cravat. “Good to see you, young lady! Still enjoying yourself, are you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Very much so.” There’s a pause, so I add, “Stunning, isn’t it?”
“The art?” Keith wrinkles his brow. “Wouldn’t know. Looks like a building site to me. But see that?” He jerks his head toward the huge draped structure on a podium. “That’s the new one.”
“Yes, I know.” I peer at the form, intrigued. It’s obviously a statue, about twelve feet high, but it’s hard to see what it might be.
“All the council are hoping it’s a statue of Young Love,” Keith says confidingly. “Bring in new visitors, boost the economy. Like a sequel. Young Love Two kind of thing.”
“But it’s called Titan,” I say dubiously.
“Could still be the lovers kissing,” says Keith, undeterred. “Like the Titanic. Kate and Leo.”
“Well, maybe …”
“Sasha!” Another familiar voice greets me, and I swivel to see Hayley and Adrian West, dressed up smartly, holding champagne flutes.
“Hi!” I say, taking in their happy, flushed faces. “I haven’t seen you around!”
“We’ve been … busy.” Hayley leans into Adrian, giggling. He nibbles her ear, whereupon she giggles some more. “Ade!”
“Can’t help it,” he says, smirking. “Gorgeous wife like you.”
“So things are good?” I ask.
“Really good,” says Hayley, and leans forward to breathe quietly into my ear. “Thanks so much. To both of you. I don’t know what you said to him—”
“Oh, it was nothing,” I say hastily. “Just a conversation.”
“Well, it was the right conversation.” Hayley clasps my hand briefly. “We’ve upgraded to the four-poster suite. Comes with butler service!”
“Really?” I’m intrigued. “Who’s the butler?”
“Nikolai. He puts on a tailcoat—keeps it on a hook in the corridor. Does his best, bless him. We haven’t wanted much, though. Just a bit of room service.”
“Do not disturb,” says Ade, pinching Hayley’s bum. “Know what I mean?”
“Got you.” I nod. “Loud and clear.”
“Oh, and we bought your Hula-Hoop!” adds Hayley brightly. “Haven’t used it yet, though.”
“My what?” I say, confused.
“Your Hula-Hoop? Recommended by Sasha?”
“What?”
“On the app.” Hayley peers at my blank face. “The Rilston app. Don’t you have the app?”
“I … um … something went wrong,” I say. “My notifications stopped. What’s ‘Recommended by Sasha’？”
“You don’t know?” says Hayley incredulously. She gets out her phone, searches for something, then hands it to me, and I see a series of texts from the Rilston app.
Welcome to the Rilston Hotel health range, as recommended by our resident wellness guru Sasha Worth! Yoga mats and Hula-Hoops are available to buy or rent at reception （limited supplies）。 #RecommendedbySasha
Follow Sasha’s lead and do beach yoga on our glorious sands!! Available every day, no charge. #RecommendedbySasha
The “Rilston” kale smoothie is now available. Created especially for resident wellness guru Sasha Worth, it combines health with flavor. Give it a try! #RecommendedbySasha
Remember, Kick-Back Night is a vital part of your wellness break. Half-price tequila shots at the bar tonight!!! #RecommendedbySasha
Maybe I should be angry, but all I can do is laugh.
“I wanted to ask,” Hayley is saying now. “Have you done an online Hula-Hoop tutorial?”
Have I done an online Hula-Hoop tutorial?
“No,” I manage. “Sorry.”
I guess I’m an influencer now. Maybe I could get a deal with Club biscuits. Or White Wine, no vintage. And now I really can’t stop laughing, because it’s all so ridiculous, so Cassidy, so Rilston, that when I see Simon approaching me, I almost want to give him a hug. He seems even more flustered than usual. He’s breathing hard, his shirt is all skew-whiff, and his hair on end, and as he gets near, I ask anxiously, “Simon, are you OK?”
“I have unfortunately just had to eject Mike Strangeways the magician from the premises,” he says, looking harassed. “It became a rather unseemly encounter—” He breaks off, frowning as though something’s puzzling him, then reaches into his collar and slowly pulls out six colorful silk handkerchiefs, tied together.
“Very nice!” I applaud, but Simon looks stricken.
“May I assure you, that was not deliberate. Clearly in my recent tussle with Mike Strangeways, one of his magic props made its way into my apparel.” He holds the silk handkerchiefs fastidiously away from himself with his fingertips. “Ms. Worth, these are not the high standards we expect of ourselves at the Rilston, and I can only—”
“Don’t apologize.” I cut him off with sudden fervor. “Please. Don’t apologize. Simon, your hotel is wonderful. Unconventional, maybe—but wonderful. I’ve had the most amazing, transformative stay here, and if I could give you ten stars on Tripadvisor, I would.” I gaze at him earnestly. “All the stars. All the stars.”