Page 1 of The Island of Hopes and Dreams

1

Clutching a bottle of rosé champagne to her chest, Lola Wild dragged her suitcase along the uneven paved path towards a wood-clad beach house. After feeling queasy from the train journey from Paddington followed by fifteen minutes in a taxi with a chatty driver, the Cornish air was a tonic and a reminder of carefree summers when she was a child. St Ives had been a pain to get to on a Friday afternoon, but away from the town, she couldn’t fault the location; perched above a rocky bay and nestled between grassy hills, there was nothing else in sight besides the sea.

Lola reached the bleached-wood front door and paused. The light was fading and the humidity of the mid-August day had been dispersed by the breeze rolling off the Atlantic Ocean. Animated chatter drifted towards her and she assumed everyone was outside, gin and prosecco flowing as her friends made the most of the summer evening. She was the last to arrive. Her long and delayed journey had been broken up by the frequent updates popping into ‘Mirabel’s hen weekend’ WhatsApp chat. She’d seen the photos of her and Mirabel’s room and the rustic kitchen piled high with snacks and drinks, plus a selfie of everyone on a terrace with just the glinting expanse of ocean behind them. All day she’d been longing for the journey to be over and to finally arrive, yet now she was here, her nerves fluttered and her heart stalled at the thought of being sociable, of pretending that she was okay. Holding it together was exhausting.

Lola took a deep breath, put her game face on and navigated her way round the side of the house, past a border packed with coastal grasses that sighed in the breeze. And then her senses were assaulted by raucous chatter, the mouth-watering aroma of burgers grilling over a fire pit and Mirabel twirling on the terrace in a lemon-yellow midi-dress holding up a champagne glass.

Lola forced her tired frown into a beaming smile as first Mirabel, then the others, clocked her, their chatter morphing into welcoming cries.

‘You finally made it!’ Mirabel greeted her with a kiss, her smile as tender as her hug. She looked effortlessly cool in oversized sunglasses and bare feet. Her long chestnut-brown hair was enviably glossy – every bit the bride-to-be.

With the hen do this weekend and a leaving do at the end of the month before the epic Sardinian holiday and wedding in September, this was the beginning of the end – at least that was how Lola felt about her best friend moving away. For Mirabel, it was the start of an exciting new chapter.

Holding a bottle of prosecco in the air, Deni was next to greet her with a cry of, ‘The party has officially started!’ before she wrapped her arms around Lola.

Entertainment lawyer Deni was usually straight-laced and serious in a smart trouser suit, so when she did let her hair down, she did it with abandon and could be rather full on. She was easy to bounce off though, particularly when Lola wasn’t feeling quite so bubbly.

Lola was introduced to Mirabel’s old school friend Jenny, the only person she hadn’t previously met, before Mirabel whisked her away to dump her luggage and swap the clothes she’d travelled in for a floaty summer dress.

‘Sorry you had such a hellish journey.’ Mirabel hooked her arm in Lola’s as they strolled back through the beach house to join the others.

‘It was to be expected on a Friday. If it hadn’t been for the album launch, I’d have headed down this morning with the rest of you.’

‘It went okay though?’

‘Like a dream.’ Lola chuffed a laugh. ‘I might be all partied out, though. Those girls know how to have fun.’

Mirabel snorted. ‘They’re the hottest pop band in the world right now; I would expect nothing less.’

They reached the living room. Sliding doors opened onto the terrace and the glow from the fire pit flickered across the happy, drunken faces of their friends, who were silhouetted against the sunset wash of pink and orange and the rippled silver of the sea.

‘Won’t you miss that side of things, all the socialising when you’re miles away in Sardinia?’ It was a question Lola had thought of asking many times over the last few weeks as Mirabel’s wedding inched closer and her time as a music agent at Rhythm was wrapping up.

‘Maybe. Probably.’ Mirabel sighed and tightened her grip on Lola’s arm. ‘But let’s not talk about stuff that’s going to leave me an emotional mess. Tonight is about celebrating and spending time with my friends.’ She tugged Lola towards the joyful laughter on the terrace. ‘Andyouneed a drink.’

Lola was swept up by the merriment, but she was way behind on the drinking and felt on the periphery; that sense of detachment had constantly followed her in recent months. So many of her friends had moved on in their lives, whether through a career change, getting married, starting a family, buying a house or making a commitment to the person they loved. Mirabel getting married and moving away was a loss and as heart-breaking as an actual break-up. Yet Lola was happy that her friend had found Fabs, her Italian husband-to-be, who was the nicest man ever, an all-round good guy with the looks to match. Mirabel finding happiness gave Lola hope that not everyone out there was a bastard – even if that was pretty much her experience of men and romance.

‘Lola will be next to get married.’

At the sound of her name, Lola switched her focus from her thoughts only to be confronted by five pairs of eyes.

‘I’m the only one left who’s not married, that’s why,’ she said coolly before taking a swig of champagne.

She glanced around. Mirabel, of course, was just weeks away from marrying the love of her life, while their mutual friend Polly, who they’d first met at a spin class, was happily married with two young children. In her early forties, Deni, a colleague at Rhythm, was the eldest of the friends, married but childfree through choice, while Sarah – a close friend and neighbour of Mirabel’s, who Lola had got to know well over the years – was married with two teenagers. Jenny was also married – whether she was happy or not was another matter. All it did was showcase how far away, at the age of thirty-two, Lola was from having a functioning, normal relationship, let alone a blissfully happy one.

She raised her glass to her lips again. ‘But getting hitched requires having a boyfriend first.’

‘I’m sure we can help with that – again!’ Deni said with glee.

‘Yeah, because you all did so well the last time you set me up!’ Lola covered her discomfort with a laugh, but her insides churned at the memory of the last wedding she’d been to in May – one that had ended in disaster, knocking her already dented confidence when it came to men.

Jenny leaned forward with wide eyes. ‘Ooh, do tell! What happened?’

Lola shook her head as Deni and Sarah started to tell the story. With her cheeks getting hotter and hotter, Lola escaped inside to raid the fridge for a cold drink. She didn’t want to relive the mortification of ending up in a situation she was never going to live down, particularly when it was still fresh in her mind – fresh in Deni, Sarah, Polly and Mirabel’s minds too, unfortunately. Nope, she didn’t even want to think about it.

‘Anyway,’ Sarah was saying as Lola returned outside with a large glass of gin and tonic, ‘it gave us all a laugh, even if Lola here missed out on a helluva night with a sexy groomsman.’ She turned to Lola as she sat back down. ‘Although, to be honest, I was gutted when you split up with Jarek. I really thought you’d found “the one”.’

Lola gulped back a heady rush of distress and shifted in her seat. Mirabel met her eyes and gave a subtle nod, a soothing look that said ‘talking about him doesn’t mean anything bad will happen’. Because Mirabel had been the only person Lola had told the truth to about what had happened between her and Jarek. Actually, the semi-truth because even Mirabel didn’t know everything. There were some things Lola had kept to herself because they’d been too hard to talk about, as if saying them out loud made them more real than they had been when she was still trying to understand how someone she believed had loved her could have behaved in such a destructive way.

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