Page 24 of Beach Bodies

My second,Fine. If she fires me, I kill her.

Third thought,No! If she fires you, you appeal to Vic…

Then her mouth curves up and her eyes crinkle and she laughs.

‘Oh my god! That’sright! Theguidelines…What a bunch of bullshit, right? You and I both know that what people want is to be skinny!’ She burps. ‘Can we just be real… Lily? You’re legit. We can talk, like… honestly. One of my performance metrics? For my job? Is pounds lost per guest.’ Both her arms fly up, fingers pointing to the ceiling. ‘And Clean… Clear… Slim… whatever it’s called… not only is it gonna help those pounds melt off. There’s a huuuuge commission in it for me too. Hey, you should help me! If we can get more, erm…’

If she says ‘fat people’, I swear to God I’m going to—

‘Guestshere, and enrolment climbs, I get a lot of money, and…’ She sighs and leans her head back against the wall, exposing her neck. Her thin, vulnerable neck.

OK. Time for me to go.

Call me soft, but I don’t fancy rotting for thirty years in the Saint Lisieux prison for Serena. I’ve researched it, and let’s just say that conditions are less than ideal. Their version of a toilet is a hole in the floor, and the number of prisonersthey cram into each cell can’t possibly be up to fire code. Extradition would be marginally better, but still, one could hardly call that living one’s best life.

The voice in my head whispers,Then again, isthisyour best life?

I shut down that intrusive thought as fast as I think it.

‘Hope you feel better tomorrow,’ I say, and make for the door.

This time, she doesn’t try to stop me.

Outside, in the silence of the hall, I stop. Brace my hands on the textured wallpaper with its ivory bamboo pattern. Let my head hang. Everything in my brain is fizzing, my whole body shaking. I slam a fist into my palm once, twice.

Every year, I come back to the most triggering place in the world. I come looking for this, don’t I? For that one person to pull my trigger…

Not true.That’s not how I do it. I’m not reactionary. I’m purposeful. I get on the plane. I switch into Resort Lily mode. I come here coolheaded and survey my options, and make a plan. I’m sensible and self-controlled.

I don’t explode.

Why does it feel different this year? Why am I feeling so off-kilter? Is it the poolside room? It threw me down memory lane, and I haven’t managed to recover? Am I that fragile? I think of my mom that day, standing tall in her Revlon lipstick with the cast-iron skillet in her hand. So strong.I want to be like her.She seemed like an avenging goddess. It wasn’t just lipstick. It was blood. Splattered on her and splattered on me, like some ancient sacrifice.

I reach for the hair tie at my wrist, but it’s not there, so Islap my own face, as hard as I wanted to slap Serena’s. Then again, for good measure.

I have to be detached, like last year. And the year before that. And before that. Invested and detached. Presentandremoved. Here, but not here. That’s just how it has to be, or nothing gets done.

‘We have to stay calm, Lily, or nothing gets done.’ Mom. Sitting on the couch, her arm around me, as we looked down at the boyfriend. Trevor. Handsome. Mom had a weakness for beauty. ‘We can’t panic. Cooler heads must prevail.’

She was looking at the body appraisingly, like she was shopping for a new pair of shoes.

‘We’ll wrap him in the shower curtain,’ said Mom, her hand mindlessly rubbing my shoulder. ‘I’ll borrow Ed’s truck. After dark, we’ll just go for a drive.’

I rub the stinging spot on my face. Serena’s name now has a huge star next to it on my mental roster.

I give one final glance at her door, then call the elevator.

The gym is open 24/7. I’ve never been into working out, but desperate times, etc., etc.

It’s two levels down. I let myself in with my key card. The gym is dark, but I don’t turn on the lights. I glance at the wall clock– nearly midnight.

I choose the treadmill at the end of the line. The lonely one at the edge. The screen wakes up at my touch. I’ve never used one of these, but thank God it’s intuitive. I programme it to a nice jogging speed and hop on. I’m not a runner, but I feel like I could sprint a marathon. Twice. I increase the speed. I add some incline. Increase the speed again. My legs burn. My heart burns. My feet pound the rubber. I’m breathing throughmy teeth, trying to wrestle my feelings back into whatever place they normally go.

I’m not supposed to be feeling all this emotion.

I increase the speed again. My legs are a blur beneath me.

I go. And I go, and I go, and I go.

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