Page 3 of The Island of Hopes and Dreams

‘Yeah, to some incredible places for work for photo shoots and interviews, sure?—’

‘Like Starlight’s album launch last night.’ Mirabel raised her glass.

‘But I’d like to have the chance to travel on my own terms, rather than in the guise of a PR manager and only seeing the inside of the venue and my hotel room.’

‘Ah, you’re young and single.’ Deni batted her hand. ‘There’s plenty of time for both of those things. What you should concentrate on is having fun, if you know what I mean!’

Lola refrained from rolling her eyes. Deni had her best interests at heart; all of her friends did. They just weren’t aware that a man was not what would make her happy. Most of all, she wanted somewhere that felt like home. It used to be her apartment, until it had been infiltrated by Jarek. It was hers and she’d ended things with him, yet there were reminders everywhere. The safety and comfort of home was missing. It was a simple dream, yet one she didn’t feel able to voice even to her friends.

Lola looked pointedly at Deni, whose cheeks were flushed with drunkenness. ‘What is it that you want?’

‘I want my husband back.’ Her easy smile disappeared.

Everyone stilled. The upbeat pop track overpowered the pause in the conversation.

Sarah glanced at the others, then turned back to Deni. ‘Way to go to dampen the mood!’

‘What do you mean you want him back?’ Mirabel’s tone was soft and her frown matched the worry Lola felt.

‘We’re fine, but not fine.’ Deni shrugged as if that explained everything. ‘I love him, but we’ve drifted.’

‘Is he okay with you coming to Sardinia on your own?’ Mirabel asked.

‘He’s relieved I’m doing something other than working. And he’ll be with me for the actual wedding – the important bit.’ Deni reached for Mirabel’s hand. ‘I need to work on us. I don’t mean we have to do everything together, but we do need time that’s meaningful. My dream is to get our relationship back to how it was ten years ago. But there we go, such is life.’ She let go of Mirabel’s hand and drained her champagne. ‘But you’re already living your dream and it’s only going to get better!’

Gone was the brief moment of seriousness as they all raised their glasses with a cheer. Sarah busied about topping up everyone’s drinks and Mirabel cranked up the music. It was good to talk to her friends and open up a little bit, even if she didn’t feel able to share everything.

Lola’s phone pinged. Out of habit, she immediately picked it up and clicked on the message before realising it was from a number she didn’t recognise.

Enjoying the hen do? Cornwall in August must be delightful. I bet Sardinia in September will be even better.

Dread shivered through her. She understood exactly who the message was from as she read it a second, then a third time. Innocent enough words that could be perceived as her ex just being nice, but she knew better, because this wasn’t the first time since she’d left him that he’d contacted her. He was always careful to not write anything that could be deemed as confrontational or untoward. The reason the number was unknown was because she’d blocked him. Bar reporting him to the police, which she hadn’t done because she didn’t think she’d be taken seriously, she’d done what she could to remove him and his damaging influence from her life, and yet…

Her stomach twisted as she reread the message and her earlier anxiety returned with a vengeance.

They’re just words, nothing more,she tried telling herself. Yet he knew where she was and where she’d be next month. However careful she was about what she put on social media, she couldn’t control what her friends shared and she had no idea who he was following… Who he was stalking, more like. Her heart raced. She tried to push down the fear and concentrate on the here and now. She was with her friends and safe. He just got a kick out of tormenting her because that was who he was.

Mirabel was saying something – making a toast. Lola swiped off the message and forced her eyes from her phone to her friend.

‘Here’s to love and happiness for everyone.’ Mirabel raised her glass and looked around, her gaze lingering on Lola. ‘And dreams coming true. Thank you, Lola and Deni, for organising this. Spending time with you all away from the madness of life in London means the world. I can’t wait for you to all join me in Sardinia to celebrate Fabs and me getting married.’ She lifted her glass higher and her face lit up. ‘I’m getting married!’

Lola desperately wanted to be happy, yet being away with a wonderful group of women celebrating the good things in life managed to highlight all that was wrong with hers. At least Mirabel had found a man worthy of her; Fabs was as kind and loving as Jarek had been conniving and controlling. He didn’t deserve a second more of her thought, yet months after she’d left him, he was still managing to needle his way into her life. She shouldn’t allow him to spoil this weekend, and yet somehow he already had, and she knew that had been his very intention.

2

Rhys Strickland didn’t know if he was pleased that the stag do was taking place in Bristol so he didn’t have to travel or disappointed that it wasn’t happening somewhere further afield; he could have done with a weekend in Prague, Amsterdam or Dublin. Anywhere really besides the city he’d thought of as home for the last fifteen years. It was a nod to their university days, and it made sense for it to be somewhere Fabs had lived for a chunk of time in his late teens and early twenties. They’d met in Freshers’ week and had cemented their friendship with countless nights out. It was a long time since he’d been on a pub crawl up Whiteladies Road, drinking to excess with his university mates, who’d scattered all over the place once they’d graduated. Whether they’d be able to recapture that optimism and ‘don’t give a shit’ attitude of youth, he wasn’t sure, but it would be good to try.

Catching his reflection in the hallway mirror, Rhys paused. He hadn’t known what to wear for a night out like this. A couple of drinks in the local pub with his new friendship group was his usual Friday evening, while this was a nod to the past, out with friends he hadn’t seen in a long time. Yet his nerves were shredded because Zoe would be there: the token woman and his ex-girlfriend. She’d always been one of the lads and as much a friend to Fabs as anyone else, so of course she’d been invited; it didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. She’d have kicked up a fuss if she’d been left out, plus it wasn’t Fabs’s fault that things were awkward between them since she’d walked out of his life a year ago. He hadn’t seen her since.

He cast a critical eye over himself, somehow a stranger in new slim-fitting dark grey trousers, a thin summer shirt and leather loafers. He’d worn socks, then taken them off because it was a hot and humid August day. Now he was wondering if he was trying too hard. To what, look cool? To look younger than his thirty-three years? To look less like a primary school teacher and more like the sexy student he’d once been – had he ever been that next to Fabs?

He looked away from his reflection. He was being too hard on himself. He really was looking forward to a night out with his old friends, it was just his nerves were getting the better of him.

His phone lit up. The Uber was outside; he’d have to do. Pocketing his phone, he grabbed his keys and left the house.

The trouble with his ex being part of his friendship group was that while they’d both been invited to things over the past year, he’d found himself making an excuse if he knew she was going, leaving the way clear for her. Not that he thought Zoe would be bothered if he did show up; she’d seemed to have moved on from their relationship effortlessly, but then again she was the one who’d fallen out of love and had abruptly left him. That was if she’d ever truly been in love with him in the first place.

His thoughts spiralled throughout the taxi journey from his house in Bishopston to the harbourside. By the time he was dropped off a short walk away from the bar, his heart was hammering and his palms sweating. The plan was to do a reverse pub crawl, yet the itinerary was a far more sophisticated evening than they’d ever had at the age of eighteen. Instead of starting off in upmarket Clifton and working their way down to a club in the centre, they would make their way up via a cocktail bar or two, have dinner at The Ivy and end the night with a party at Barnaby’s Clifton townhouse, while his wife and daughter were away.

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