Книга - Passport to Happiness

Passport to Happiness
Carrie Stone
















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HarperImpulse

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2019

Copyright © Carrie Stone 2019

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Carrie Stone asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008123109

Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008123086

Version: 2018-12-14


Table of Contents

Cover (#u9532be20-d507-5de3-a8ac-8c1ab8b9c337)

Title Page (#u13147abb-1e89-5ce2-bebb-51e1e9a480a1)

Copyright (#uddbc8574-623f-5619-af33-c9c7d397d049)

Dedication (#u85503298-f721-5387-bbce-2e9468b6e448)

Chapter 1 (#u9e2d32b7-cd78-523a-9c03-e21f7df4513a)

Chapter 2 (#u97ee3254-e49d-590b-a01b-8b461c480c78)

Chapter 3 (#u81379d03-02ee-5640-bdca-af9337f3eeda)

Chapter 4 (#u67930d58-5861-5428-a1b5-dd2decbac000)

Chapter 5 (#u2b4014c0-3f5c-505f-8604-c4ec3380015f)

Chapter 6 (#u92e4752b-6ac9-533b-932a-af1d46211b26)



Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)



Also by Carrie Stone (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


For Primrose, my very own passport to happiness




Chapter 1 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)


‘I don’t usually date women over the age of thirty. But I’m making an exception for you. You don’t look your age – so it’s OK. You can easily pass for twenty-eight.’ He grins at me with the confidence of someone who thinks they have paid an exceptionally gracious compliment and I can’t help but feel strangely flattered and irritated all at the same time. If it wasn’t for his overly white veneers keeping me fixated on his mouth and the golden nuggets of wisdom that might come out of it next, I’d have long ago made an exit. As it is, we’ve only just finished the starter course.

‘Are you always so flattering?’ There’s a heavy hint of sarcasm to my tone but he doesn’t appear to notice. He’s too busy swirling the wine in his glass and continuing with his running commentary on why younger women are more appealing. Ironic really, given that he’s thirty-eight years young himself, which, thanks to his hair implants and copious fillers, I’m not supposed to notice.

He’d seemed so normal in our email exchange, at least in the sense that he didn’t appear to have an overly inflated sense of self. Yet in person he insists on dropping his achievements into every other sentence. I briefly wonder if it’s a cultural thing – he’s German – but quickly dismiss that thought as he tells me, with a very straight face, that he would like to write his life story because men ‘world over’ would benefit from his knowledge of how to seduce and attract any woman they desire. Perhaps I’d be able to take that idea more seriously if he was doing a better job at winning me over. As it is, I see straight through him. He’s lonely, he’s hung up on his ex and he’s tired of his sales director role at a mid- range hotel group. Let’s face it, he’s hardly setting the world alight. But then, neither am I for that matter.

I never dreamed I’d find myself in this situation at thirty-three years of age. I used to joke about the cliché cat woman and now I’m beginning to feel like one – without the cat. I don’t love being single and carefree no matter how much I try to convince others, and myself, that I do. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ‘need’ a man to feel complete – my life is busy enough. But being in a partnership is a bit like wearing a favourite bra; it’s uplifting, comfortable, it makes you feel secure and you’re somehow less vulnerable to life’s challenges when there’s that extra support.

I blame Jay. He’s gotten a lot of the blame these past three years, but it is his fault. We had it all, the great relationship, the holidays, the house. The ring on my finger that I thought would be there forever…

If it wasn’t for his ‘I need to focus on my career not tie myself down’ crisis, I wouldn’t be alone, perpetually broke and clinging to a job that doesn’t hold the glossy glow that it once did.

I’d always just assumed that by my early thirties we’d be happily settled, perhaps with a couple of children, and at least have ticked living abroad off my bucket list. Hell, I even thought I’d own a 4x4 by now.

But no, instead I wake up every day hoping for a miracle – some kind of catalyst or key to kick-start a much-needed domino effect. I refuse to believe that this is the life destiny has in mind for me. Not my one-bedroom flat that’s barely big enough to swing a hamster, nor the disastrous stream of unsuitable men I keep getting set up with and don’t even get me started on the grey roots, frown lines and thick, wiry hairs in inappropriate places that have decided to suddenly take residence on my being. Where did I go? Everly Carter with the crazy brunette curls and full lips.

This shell of a life I’m living isn’t fun, it isn’t fulfilling, and it isn’t me. I feel that I’m out of touch with that happy, adventurous woman that I was all the way through my twenties, excited by the prospect of what life might bring and dreaming of far-flung places I’d be visiting with Jay. I realise lately that I’m fed up. I’m tired, I’m lonely and I’m unhappy. There, I’ve said it. I’m unhappy.

‘Do the kids you teach ever annoy you?’ he asks suddenly, making me wonder how the conversation navigated itself from his rather detailed romantic conquests to my current teaching job at a comprehensive school.

‘Of course they do,’ I retort with a wry smile, thinking of my earlier biology lesson and the little shit of class 10C known as Terry Whittaker. There’s something very disconcerting about hearing a fourteen-year-old calling you a ‘MILF’. Especially when the connotation indicates that you’re old and a mother. Talk about rubbing it in.

‘They’re just kids though and so I don’t let it get to me.’ That’s not strictly true, because I do sometimes let it get to me – like the month-long period of crying in the school loos during lunch hour. And all because a pupil asked why I wasn’t married – the day after Jay, my fiancé of five years had told me he could no longer see a future with us. But I’m not about to let my date, Florian, know that.

‘Have you been to Switzerland?’ I ask quickly and randomly, changing the subject before the conversation gets too deep and I start to unravel into a pathetic mess over my ex. He looks at me oddly, as if I’ve asked something very meaningful and complex. ‘Seeing as you’re German’ I add rather lamely, as if by explanation.

‘Yes, when I was younger. I skied a lot.’ He looks thoughtful for a moment and I start to fantasise about visiting Zurich just as his face suddenly lights up and he launches into a running commentary of his Swiss escapades. I realise in that moment that this is what I’m missing. Fun. Excitement. Spontaneity. And mostly, adventure. A little spark begins to burn inside me, and I grin as a crazy idea forms in my mind.

He doesn’t even notice as I discreetly tap my mobile into life and open up a travel website. I’m nodding in all the right places, smiling when he smiles and laughing when he laughs. Ever the egoist – he’s too wrapped up in himself to see me scanning flights. It’s laughably easy to excuse myself as our main course arrives and he takes the opportunity to charm the attractive young waitress serving our food.

Before I know it, I find myself in the toilet with my clutch purse and mobile, impulsively booking flights to Switzerland for the coming week. It’s school half-term – it’s late spring and I have little to look forward to except lazy lie-ins and re-runs of television series I’ve already seen. Why didn’t I think of this sooner, I muse to myself, as I tap in my credit card details.

By the time I return to the table he’s already halfway through his main course and I internally seethe at the lack of consideration – although he has the good grace to stand as I approach. I’m torn between a hasty retreat or being polite and staying for the entirety of the meal despite knowing I have zero intention of seeing him again.

I notice his suggestive wink at a group of women on a nearby table and instantaneously decide to make an excuse to leave because quite honestly, I’ve been insulted enough for one night. I’m too long in the tooth to be wasting time on things that don’t make me happy. And I’ve been doing way too much of that in all areas of my life – as my current predicament suggests. Florian is not a happy pill. He’s a fuckwit and I’ve had enough of those lately to last me a lifetime.

I join him as he sits back down, and he gestures to his plate with his knife. ‘The steak is good, very tender.’ I watch as he stabs a piece of meat and chews noisily. ‘The potatoes are good too. Although, best you go easy.’ He grins and his eyes dart to my stomach and even though I know he’s joking, I don’t smile in return.

‘Listen Florian, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to make a move.’ I rustle in my bag for my purse and pull out a few notes. ‘I had a call from a friend and it sounded urgent. I’ll have to cut dinner short.’ I unobtrusively place some money on the table and he watches with a sour expression. We both know it’s a lie but seeing as he’s already pretty much finished his food, I’m fairly certain it’s not going to be a problem.

‘No wonder you’re single if you keep running out on dates,’ he retorts, cool and collected, sitting back in his chair and surveying me with narrowed eyes. ‘But I think it’s obvious you aren’t my type anyway.’

‘Yes, I gathered that.’ My smile is tight, and I refrain from responding that I’d rather eat my elbow than waste another minute with him.

With that thought, I acknowledge that this date is about to set the new tone of my life going forward. No more wasting time on the wrong options, waiting for lighting to strike – it’s time to make things happen. I may not have control over when my Mr Right appears, but I do have control of chasing my dreams and finding my happiness again.

I pick up my bag and push back my chair, noting this time that he doesn’t stand but instead reaches across and helps himself to the seared duck breast on my plate. No shame at all.

He barely looks up as I say goodbye, but just mumbles an inaudible response.

Feeling relieved that I’m not forced to spend the remainder of my Saturday evening suffering his company, I make my way out of the restaurant, smiling to myself. For the first time in a long time, I’m enlivened and fired up about something.

‘Time to go on an adventure, Everly,’ I whisper, walking out into the surprisingly cool evening air.

Because if not now, then when? It’s time for Everly Carter to make shit happen.

First stop, Zurich.

*

Why on earth, given all of the countries I could have chosen, did I choose Switzerland? It’s not that I’m regretting it, as I heave my far too heavy suitcase onto the baggage check in at Luton airport – I’m just wondering why I didn’t book say, Italy or Spain or even Portugal? Basically, anywhere cheaper and sunnier.

But it’s famous for its luscious chocolate, I tell myself reassuringly as I try not to think about the extortionate cost of my inner-city hotel room. Besides, Switzerland is every skiers dream!

Although therein lies the problem; I’ve never skied and I’m wondering if my end-of-holiday two-night trip to the nearest mountainous resort Laax, is going to be a total disaster. It was only after discovering that the mountain I’ll be skiing on is called Crap that I began to question the entire, insane, whimsical idea. What the hell was I thinking? The Mediterranean would have been so much easier. I haven’t even had time to plan what I’ll do for the first three days of my trip in Zurich.

If it wasn’t for Florian and his insults prompting me into booking a random flight, would I even be here? I catch myself sharply and take the Swiss guide book I bought yesterday from my handbag. I briefly flick through and observe a beautiful looking city in the north– words jump off the page at me; vivacious, chic boutiques, Italian speaking, lakeside… What’s to stop me day-tripping there? Absolutely nothing, I think to myself as I feel my pulse quickening.

It’s been so long since I did any solo travel, partly due to spending years in a relationship with stock trader Jay. The cheeky, charming, honey-haired banker that had once set my world on fire. We had so much fun in those years and holidays were a regular occurrence for him – he was always off with the lads but occasionally we’d have our own breaks, albeit mainly to places that Jay had chosen. Being flash with the cash was one of his downfalls, but then he had it to burn so the likes of Cannes, Dubai and Monaco became the places I grew to know. I can’t say I was overly enamoured with spending the majority of the time at swanky restaurants or champagne bars – I’d have preferred to explore a bit more of each country. Yet being in love with Jay was enough for me to forgive that side of things. He’d looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. I was his ‘Everly everything’ as he often said.

Except I wasn’t, was I? Because now he’s married to a woman called Sarah and they have a son called Jay Junior. Asshole.

The day he broke things off is still a blur of tears and heartache, even now. It had stung that he’d decided to offer me a sum of money to move out. It was his house after all, as he’d tactlessly put it. Never mind the fact I’d paid my share of the mortgage and bills for years, or that I’d lovingly decorated it to make it our home. The small upside was that the money served as a deposit to buy my own tiny flat and start afresh.

Laughably, I still have my ‘get over Jay’ list of destinations I had made to give me something to focus on after our split. But not a single one is ticked off…

Still, I guess that is what being single with a hefty mortgage, demanding work schedule and lacklustre lifestyle does for you – especially when you’ve been doing private tutoring throughout the holidays to help pay the bills. I’ve been working to live which wouldn’t be so bad if I still loved my job and life. But let’s be honest, I’d quite happily trade my lot right now for a more vivacious existence. I desperately need some kind of change. And I really want to feel like I’m contributing more to the world than I currently am. You know, making a profound difference in some way. Sure, I’m no Mother Teresa, but I can’t help feeling that I could be doing something more with my time and energy. But where do I start? It’s not exactly easy to go off on a carefree charitable venture when you’re already overworked and teetering on the breadline.

Sighing, I concentrate on my guidebook and get lost in option after option of Switzerland must-sees. By the time the tannoy announces that my flight is ready to board, I’ve made an action-packed list as long as my notebook on things I’d like to do. I figure that, as my impulsive decision to choose a last-minute holiday has already cost me an arm and a leg, there’s no point holding back on entertainment whilst there, even if it is going to be courtesy of Mastercard. Sometimes, it’s important to speculate to accumulate. Especially if I want to feel inspired by life again and find a new way forward.

Thanks to a bit of Googling, I manage to fire off a quick email booking myself lessons with a ski-instructor called Elena. She looks rather normal and friendly from her website profile and by the time I take my window seat on the plane, I’m already forgetting my earlier reservations. Something inside me is telling me that this trip to Switzerland is exactly what I need; a week away to sort out what I really want from life. I’ve been trying to control everything for so long, from work, to money, to men and yet nothing seems to be working in my favour. Maybe it’s time to throw caution to the wind, stop holding the reins and open myself up to letting go and inviting in the unexpected.

I rest myself happily into my unforgivingly hard budget airline seat and watch as the first droplets of rain begin to glide across the small window next to me. It’s a typical gloomy, wet and grey day in the South East and I can’t help but feel excited at the promise of slightly less depressing scenery where I’m bound for. Fine, I’ve never really been into mountains and snow … but it’s got to better than rain, right? And worst-case scenario, even if this trip doesn’t bring me answers to feel more fulfilled by life, I’ll still get to sample Sprüngli chocolate delights and authentic Gruyere cheese fondue. Yes, I tell myself with a certain smile. Switzerland is going to be the answer to my prayers.

It doesn’t even feel like minutes later when the aircraft engine fires into action and the small splashes of rain begin to speed away into watery trails as the plane picks up pace and prepares for take-off.

Zurich, here I come.




Chapter 2 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)


Well, what can I say – I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s not at all how I’d imagined. I’ve even peeled off my jumper and replaced it with a shirt as there’s sunshine! Yes, actual sunshine and the kind of heat that I usually associate with hot countries – it’s hard to believe that I’ll be skiing in a few days just a couple of hours’ drive away. And the shops! Don’t get me started on shops – I’m back from a quick coffee trip on bahnhofstrasse and the main boulevard is every woman’s dream. Plus, who knew Switzerland would be so clean? I’m walking around my hotel room in a daze. Despite being a small hotel, my room is a lot more spacious than I was expecting and my mind flits to the waiter that smiled at me as I’d passed the hotel restaurant on the way to the reception desk. He had a bald head which usually wouldn’t be my thing, but it was in such stark constant to his piercing green eyes and thick, long dark eyelashes that I couldn’t help but stare. Frederick was the name I’d noted from his metal badge. And since my stomach is making gurgling noises from a lack of food and it being nearly lunchtime, I decide there’s no better way to plan out the rest of my afternoon than a quick pit stop with a light snack and hopefully Frederick for company.

Grabbing my bag and room key, I pause as I pass the open bathroom door with its stark white and glass decor, quickly checking the mirror to see how dishevelled my appearance is. It’s a pleasant surprise when I notice that my smoky blue eyes, which have seemed more of a dull, moody grey of late, are sparkling bright again – so much so that they look almost sky blue. My untamed, curly hair, that I’d somehow moulded into bouncy curls, sits perfectly parallel to my cleavage and my light, natural make-up appears untouched.

The fitted white top I’ve changed into hugs my curves in all the right places, accentuating a hint of my generous bust and small waist. My dark blue skinny jeans are beginning to feel marginally uncomfortable, yet they do a magical trick where they make my legs appear much longer than they really are – something that nearly every five-foot-two woman aspires for. So I decide not to bother changing them, especially since I’m wearing gold ballet flats – I need all the extra leg I can get. I notice that I have a very healthy tanned glow that, thanks to my naturally olive-coloured skin, even my jetlag and slightly dry facial complexion can’t detract from. The overall appearance isn’t the one I was expecting to be greeted with. I look rather passable if I say so myself and briefly wonder if there’s something to be said for the mountainous air and whether I could bottle it to aid in feeling gorgeous in the future – something that hasn’t happened very frequently of late.

Walking through the hotel corridor with its plush red and gold carpeting, the smell of freshly baked bread hits me. I pick up my pace, eager to get stuck into a schnitzel or whatever it is they eat here. By the time I’ve arrived at the almost deserted dining area, I’m beginning to wonder if this was the best of ideas. The huge windows looking out onto the main street on which the hotel is situated shows a buzzing crowd of passers-by and the bright afternoon sunshine reflects off the highly polished cutlery at my lonesome table. There are only three other diners sat at the far end and the strange Morris dancing type music is so low that I can clearly hear their conservation. Plus, there’s no sign of Frederick. I’m about to change tactic as, through the window, my eye catches a little boutique selling semi-precious stone jewellery, when a menu is placed in front of me, making me jump.

I look up in surprise and Frederick stares at me with a broad smile. I immediately notice the perfect bow of his dark upper lip. Despite his shorter stature, his muscular frame is evident from the fabric of his crisp black shirt straining itself across his pectorals and biceps and I can’t draw my eyes away from his smooth, shiny hair-free head. There’s a twinkle in his sparkling gaze and I sense he is aware of me observing him and enjoying the ordeal a little too much.

‘Welcome to the Montana Hotel. And sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ His heavily accented English sounds alluring and seductive and I feel my face flushing with heat. There’s something about him that has me riled up which is rather odd since he’s not my type at all. I’m usually a fan of the tall, blond, chopped hair variety but maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong. I meet his gaze and frown when I see a small smirk forming where his smile was only moments ago.

‘Thank you, but there’s no need to apologise, I was miles away – I didn’t hear you approaching. I just want to grab a light lunch before I head off out to explore.’ I’m feeling slightly flustered as he’s staring at me oddly.

‘Can I ask if you’ve stayed with us previously?’ The way he’s pursing his lips and squinting his eyes at me suddenly makes me wonder whether I’ve misjudged the situation. ‘You remind me of another guest we’ve had here before.’ He places one hand on his hip and bites his bottom lip thoughtfully in an overly exaggerated manner that is reminiscent of my very girly and closest friend, Tilly. ‘Are you Monsieur Eugene Marcel’s partner?’

I’ve absolutely no clue who he’s on about but I’m certain it’s not me. I think I’d know if I had a very French and sexy sounding boyfriend. Trying to hide my disappointment at the prospect that he is either overtly feminine in his ways or – perhaps more likely given the way he is now pouting at me – gay, I politely shake my head.

‘No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m Everly Carter, I’m here alone.’ I make a move to pick up the menu and am taken aback when he breaks into yet another gleaming smile.

‘Oh, your accent is so very English!’ He places one hand on his chest in what appears to be delighted surprise. ‘You’re here alone – for work then, I assume?’

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m here for lunch or the Spanish inquisition, as he’s making no attempt to even acknowledge any food order. Yet, his energy is so infectious that I’m more than happy to entertain him.

‘Well, a holiday actually – I’m a schoolteacher. It’s my first time here in Zurich.’

‘First times are always the most exciting.’ He winks at me with a cheeky grin and finally points to the menu. ‘OK, I’ll give you a few moments to have a look and I’ll come back to take your order.’

He practically dances away, and I marvel at how upbeat everybody seems here so far. Since the minute I stepped off the plane, there hasn’t been a miserable or harassed looking person cross my path which I know is purely coincidental but it’s a far cry from what I’m used to lately. Especially since the news last month that my school failed its bi-annual inspection, with my department picking up flack.

I glance over my shoulder and notice the other diners must have already left during my exchange with Frederick and I’m now totally alone in the high-ceilinged dining room. Quickly scanning the menu, I opt for the enticing combination of Emmental cheese and stewed pear on fruit bread and wait for Frederick to reappear. As if by magic, he’s back beside me within seconds and as I relay my choice, he raises an eyebrow, seemingly impressed.

‘So what do you have planned for today?’ He seems rather disappointed when I stare at him blankly. ‘Zurich is a beautiful city that you should be out enjoying! It’s a beautiful day to take a cruise down the Limmat river and see views of the old town and city.’ He lowers his voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t sit in here too long. There’s so much else to see.’

River cruise. Now there’s a good suggestion. ‘That sounds good – I’ll look into it and I might do a little shopping too.’ At the mention of shopping, his face lights up and I finally get my confirmation that my suspicion is correct.

‘Oh, there’s no end to the fabulous shops here – especially on Bahnhofstrasse. My partner, Enriquo, works as an assistant at Cartier if you’re passing and thinking of buying anything.’

I stifle a snigger as I realise he’s very serious. I’d love to tell him that of course I’m going to be popping into Cartier for some new jewellery – I’m just waiting for my helicopter to arrive to collect me from lunch first. Still, at least I must look like I’m capable of buying nice things, even if the price of what is essentially a cheese and fruit sandwich has just given me a rude awakening. The problem is, once upon a time Jay would have treated me to such luxuries and our combined income meant I could often splurge on niceties. Now, what with living alone, my teaching salary just isn’t extendable to many luxuries. And I know life isn’t about handbags and watches, but I can’t help feeling like I’m missing out. I’m not living life to the max – I’m financially scraping by and that would be OK if I was enjoying it. But I realise with a jolt that the past hour and quarter since I landed in Zurich has been the most unscheduled excitement I’ve had in ages. And I want more of it.

‘I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for Enriquo as I’m passing,’ I say, knowing full well that there’s no chance I’ll be stepping inside the plush doors of Cartier anytime soon, unless my lottery numbers come up.

Frederick seems satisfied and nods, his dark lashes fluttering as he appears to consider an idea. Gosh, why does he have to be gay and taken? It’s not like I’d have been able to start a full-blown relationship with him what with me living in Essex and knowing precisely five words of high German, three of which are numbers. But as far as a little holiday fling goes … he would have been perfect. He goes to walk away and then stops and turns.

‘I’m going to Lugano tomorrow – it’s my day off. I’m visiting family there. It’s a place every tourist should see. You should check it out too.’

He’s looking at me keenly and despite having absolutely no idea where Lugano even is or whether Fred is a nutcase that could be planning to kidnap me and keep me as a sex slave, I nod my head in agreement.

‘Well, that would be fantastic if you don’t mind? Sure, I’d really like that.’

‘Huh?’ He looks at me blankly, before biting down on his bottom lip and pulling an awkward face. ‘Ooh, I see you … you thought…’ He lets the sentence linger and I feel my face flood with colour, a sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I burn with embarrassment as realisation hits. He totally wasn’t inviting me, was he? He was simply saying I should check it out.

His face creases into a warm smile and he claps his hands together. ‘But of course, you must come. It’ll be nice to have some company on the train.’

I know his overzealousness is purely to make me feel better for my humiliating misunderstanding and I can’t help but be grateful, even if I am still dying a little inside. ‘I can always check it out another day…’ I offer up lightly, tailing off.

‘No, it’s settled. I’ll meet you outside the hotel at ten in the morning. And I don’t usually do this, you know. Mixing with the hotel clients, I mean.’ I notice how uncomfortable his expression suddenly is. ‘But, anyway. you seem a little…’ He pauses and looks at me awkwardly. ‘Well, you seem a little lonely. And I hope you don’t mind me saying that but don’t worry – we will have you smiling in no time. Leave it to me.’

My cheeks burn, and I feel the tears instantly building behind my eyes. Mortified, I manage a wobbly nod as he squeezes my shoulder. God, what was I thinking inviting myself along to his day out! He clearly pities me. Miss Everly-no-mates.

‘OK, back to work for me.’

With a weak smile I watch him disappear and am left wondering why the idea of being told I look lonely hurts so much. I know it’s mostly likely because I am lonely. He’s hit the nail on the head. But to invite myself along? Isn’t that more desperate than lonely…

Sighing, I stare at my reflection in the shiny surface of the knife on the table beneath me and it makes wonder where the hell my knight in shining armour has gotten to. I realised shortly after Jay shacked up with Sarah that there must be another man out there meant for me … but shouldn’t he have been here by now? I can only assume he must be lost on his way somewhere. Knowing my luck, he probably broke down before he even started out. Still, I make a promise to myself that they’ll be no more tears on this holiday. Yes, less self-pity and more shopping, thank you very much.

The food arrives, and I tuck into the scrumptious concoction. Fred, as he tells me to call him, returns to clear my now empty plate and places in front of me a hand-drawn map of nearby points of interest. I thank him again as I sign the bill and reconfirm the arrangement for tomorrow’s outing, silently musing that the men I seem to come across of late in the UK aren’t even half as considerate. Making my way back to my room, I grab my bag and a cardigan before heading back out of the hotel onto the backstreets of Zurich.

It’s buzzing around me as I weave between throngs of locals and tourists alike, passing designer shop after shop with window displays that make me squeal inwardly with longing and blanch outwardly at the hefty price tags. I come to the very quick conclusion that everyone living here must be extremely wealthy. I dread to think of the living costs. By the time I reach a pedestrian and road bridge crossing the river, I feel as if I’ve been transported into a serene reality. The sunshine reflects off the shimmering, gently rippling water that flows beneath me, as buildings both colourful and stone-walled, medieval and modern, line the riverbank as far as my eye can see. I stand with my elbows resting on the bridge ledge, gazing out across the water as the heat of the sun prickles against my skin.

‘So beautiful.’ I muse at how such a short flight can bring me to a place so very different to that which I’d imagined. It’s so refined and steeped in history, yet magnificently chic at the same time. I’m already in awe of the vibe of the city – from the tram that runs through the main roads, to the cleanliness, to the lack of high-rise buildings, to the swarms of well-heeled people that flit around me. It feels much less rushed than the fast pace of London that I’m used to and more efficient.

‘It is.’

Startled, I turn with a confused expression to come face to face with a man standing beside me. His tailored navy pinstripe suit and pink tie immediately make me think ‘banking.’ He has an air about him very similar to Jay and I shiver involuntarily.

‘I’m sorry, are you talking to me?’ Bewildered, I quickly scan behind me wondering if I’m mistaken but he grins and holds my confused stare. His dark, almost black eyes twinkle at me.

‘Yes, you said it’s so beautiful and I’m agreeing.’ He gestures to the view and turns, facing the water, his tall, muscular frame leaning itself against the bridge. ‘I come here sometimes after meetings.’

I take in his cropped black hair and dark olive skin. He doesn’t scream typical ‘Swiss’ to me. ‘Are you from here then?’ I ask before I can stop myself, suddenly self-conscious of my appearance. It hits me that he’s rather handsome with his square stubbled jawline and long dark eyelashes. He has large, masculine hands that I can’t help but admire and as he turns to me with a puzzled expression, oozing a charm and rawness I know he isn’t aware of, I feel my face flush. Damn. This is the type of man I usually avoid like the plague. The dangerous type that’ll have my knickers off in a flash, never to be seen again.

‘No, I grew up in Morocco. My mother is Spanish, my father’s from Tangier. But I live in a nearby canton, Zug and work for an investment company.’

Interesting. His ancestry explains his dark features. And I was almost on point with the job role.

‘And you? You’re here on vacation?’ His grin is subtle but the twinkle in his eye tells me all I need to know. He’s got me sussed out.

‘Yes, I’ve just arrived. Just a week’s holiday.’ I point across the water to where the river cruises are visible in the distance. ‘That’s where I’m headed now.’

‘Good choice. You’ll enjoy it. I’m Emir by the way.’ He holds out his hand to me and I notice the way his pink shirt strains across his taut chest with the gesture.

‘Everly,’ I reply, shaking it. ‘Any other tips on places I should check out?’ I’m feeling brazen and the fact he’s reached into his trouser pocket for a cigarette, assures me that he isn’t desperate to get away from me. Always a good sign. I watch as he lights up and inhales deeply, his face pensive.

‘How about dinner with me one night? I can show you around Zug. It’s pretty and there’s a great Italian that serves truffle pasta?’

Just the thought of pasta has my mouth watering and it’s not like I’m going to turn down a suave, handsome man offering to take me out. I shrug flippantly. ‘Yes, why not? Sounds nice.’

‘Where are you staying? I’ll come and collect you after I finish work tomorrow.’

‘I’m at the Hotel Montana.’ I point in an easterly direction. ‘But I’m not free tomorrow – I already have a day trip planned.’ It doesn’t escape me that this startling situation of offers from two men in barely one afternoon is frankly, unheard of. Even if the Fred situation was mainly of my doing. Still, I usually go months without a whiff of interest but here I am; it’s nothing short of a miracle and my stomach does an excited flip.

‘No problem. Let’s do the following night. I think I know where your hotel is but if not, I’ll find it. So, I’ll collect you from there at six?’

I grin, unable to hide my happiness as I realise that my first few hours on this trip have already gained me more impromptu adventure than I’ve had in the last month. ‘Perfect.’

He dots out his cigarette. ‘I need to get back to work. Enjoy your river cruise, Everly. Pretty name by the way.’

‘Thanks. See you on Thursday.’ I brush a stand of hair away from my mouth and watch as he re-adjusts his blazer.

‘Adieu.’ And with a cheeky smile, he walks away with a swagger.

I turn back towards the river and sigh contently. Fine, he’s not marriage material – his charming, suave demeanour has told me everything it needed to – and I know I’d sworn off men – especially after Florian – but this is a holiday and soon my reality will be creeping back upon me. So why not make the most of it?

I re-adjust my bag and put on my sunglasses. I’m determined to make this trip the start of something new – a new me that is open to saying yes to adventure and finding ways to shift the doldrums. And it seems that the universe is already giving me a helping hand.




Chapter 3 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)


My toes are burning by the time I finally make it back to my hotel room. I can barely walk with the pain and as I put my key in the door, I’m relieved to see that my room looks just as cosy and comfortable by night, as it did by day. The cruise was amazing. I got to see a lot more than I’d bargained for – backdrops of snow-tinged mountains and lots more of the city architecture, tall church spires and pretty pastel-coloured buildings, as well as endless hills and greenery in every direction. I just wasn’t expecting to have gotten lost on the way back. Although on a positive note, it did mean I happened to stumble upon a charming tiny restaurant with wooden furniture and chequered tablecloths and people indulging in fondue delights. Now don’t get me wrong, it was a little embarrassing to sit there alone devouring the cheesy moitié-moitié deliciousness with bread and potatoes, but I did it – and it made me feel very happy indeed, if a little gluttonous too. My feet are paying the price now though and as I slip off my shoes, I sigh with relief. It’s been pretty much the perfect first day. More so than I could have imagined, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

At the thought of the early morning start, I mentally decide on suitable outfit choices in advance. I have no idea what to expect of Lugano and I wonder how I’ll fare with Frederick who is practically a stranger. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that it’s barely nine-thirty in the evening. I resign myself to the idea of an early night in an oversized squishy bed with amazing poufy pillows. Tomorrow is bound to be a long day, if not an interesting one.

It barely feels like a few hours later when I awaken to the sun streaming in through my hotel room window and with a horrified glance at the bedside clock, realise that it’s already late in the morning and nearly time to meet Frederick. ‘Shit,’ I mumble to myself, throwing back the covers and heading straight for the shower. How on earth I’ve managed to sleep a full interrupted twelve hours, I have no idea.

Fred is waiting for me by the cream stone wall of the neighbouring building when I exit the hotel. He’s looking exceptionally different from the man I spoke with yesterday. Gone is the hotel uniform and in its place are skinny jeans showing off his muscular legs and a tightly fitted T-shirt showcasing an exceptionally chiselled chest. He spots me, and I watch as his eyes crinkle in recognition and his mouth breaks into an infectious, delighted smile. ‘Hello! I thought you weren’t coming. You’re late.’

I wave shyly, aware that I feel a little intimidated by this new look. ‘I’m so sorry, I woke up a bit late.’

‘It’s OK. We still have time. The train doesn’t leave for twenty minutes. Let’s walk this way but we need to hurry.’ He points left and sets off at a fast pace. I follow him past scores of scrupulously neat workers on their morning commute. By the time we make it to the main train station, it’s thriving with people and when Fred offers to deal with purchasing the tickets, I nod gratefully and head towards a small patisserie with an enormous window display of goodies. Not five minutes later and armed with vibrant coloured macarons, I rush to the platform where he’s already waiting next to the door of the plush double decker train that’s beeping its last warning for boarding.

‘After you’ he says, gesturing for me to hop aboard. ‘And go to the right, the left is the quiet carriage.’ We find seats opposite one another, separated by a small table and I gaze happily out of the window as the train engine starts to chug into life. I open the box of macarons and offer them to Fred.

‘So, who are you visiting today?’ I ask, watching as he takes a blue one before I wonder which one to take for myself. Obviously, I bought a dozen, what with the journey being two hours…

Fred takes a bite and raises an eyebrow in approval. ‘My sister, she lives in Lugano with her husband and children. But don’t worry, I know you’re not going to want to invite yourself to that too.’ He grins and in return I cringe shyly. ‘I’ll show you around the main streets before I head off and then you’ll be able to explore – there’s lots to see.’

‘Thanks, sounds good.’ I polish off the remainder of my peach macaron and don’t hesitate in reaching for a second. I am on holiday after all. ‘I have to say, you look very buff when not in your uniform.’

‘Not what you were expecting?’

I laugh. ‘Not at all. But it suits you.’ I hear the flirtatious tone in my voice and marvel at how I seem to be able to flirt easily and confidently knowing that he is gay. But had he been heterosexual and this a date? I’m pretty sure I’d be choking on my macaron by now and spraying his face with crumbs. After so long with Jay, it still gets me into a tizzy having to flirt with handsome men.

‘I noticed on the hotel system you’re only staying for the next couple of days – do you have other plans for the weekend?’ he asks.

‘Yes, I’m going up to Laax to try a bit of skiing. I’ve never been before, and I figured I couldn’t visit Switzerland without doing some kind of snow sport.’

He brushes away the air in a brusque dismissive manner. ‘It’s very easy, you’ll master it in no time.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ I add, doubtfully. Clearly, he has no idea that my balance is a bit like an elephant on a spinning top. Still, his faith in me fills my mind with visions of myself elegantly speeding down black runs, my hair fanning out behind me gloriously. However, I’m very aware the reality is that I’ll be arse over tit with most likely a broken leg and frostbite by the end of the first day.

After some more chit chat, I begin to feel like I’m sharing the journey with an old friend, Fred is so easy to get along with. As he wanders off to find the on-board loo, I shrug off my jacket and relax into my seat. We’re already well into the journey and the city of Zurich is long behind us. I’ve been eyeing the scenery whilst chatting but having the quiet time to fully gaze out of my window at the breath-taking green valleys that lie beyond, is overwhelming. Rolling hills of the greenest pastures flit by me, a backdrop of magnificent snowy topped mountains behind, their grandeur intimidating as the sun peaks above them and spills down onto the picturesque landscape below. Traditional Swiss wooden chalets dot the land and I feel like I’ve been transported into an episode of Heidi.

By the time Fred returns, the landscape has changed to another lake and as I look at the glittering blue water, I feel overcome with the desire to change my life in a profound way. This is it – that defining moment people talk about. The one where you supposedly have a lightbulb moment and realise you need to make big, serious changes. I want lakes and mountains in my life more often. I want impromptu random meetings with people like Fred and I want brightly coloured macarons – lots of them! I just need a plan.

‘Can I ask, do you like working at the hotel Fred?’ I suddenly wonder if he’s also going through inner tumult or if it’s just me that has totally hit the wall with my regular life.

He nods his head wistfully. ‘I love it, I get to meet some wonderful people and I always wanted to work in hospitality. It’s taken many years to work my way up, but I’m enrolled on the Montana management course and it begins in a few months’ time.’ His face lights up. ‘It’s what I’ve been working towards and then once it’s completed, Enrique and I plan to explore the possibility of living and working abroad.’

‘Wow. That would be amazing. I guess there’s plenty of hotel management jobs all over the world?’ I note the fervour in Fred’s face as he’s talking – he has something I simply don’t. Excitement about the future.

‘There’s many jobs. I know many people working in good hotels in Dubai and a friend works in Spain. It shouldn’t be hard to find something.’ He looks at me curiously. ‘What about you?’

‘You mean with my work?’ I hesitate, wondering what to say. Because really, what is there to say? With Jay, I thought I would have children so I didn’t think long-term about my career because I’d be a mum and a wife. I realise now how pathetic that sounds, even to myself. In my younger, pre-Jay years, I’d once dreamed of achieving Head of Department status but now the reality of that role holds no illusion. It’ll be a heck of a lot more work, headache and responsibility for not a lot more money.

‘I’m OK where I am – I’ve been with the same school for six years and it’s a good place to work,’ I answer truthfully. Then I find myself backtracking. ‘But I don’t know… I’m not loving it as much as I once did.’ I stumble for words, realising it’s the first time I’m voicing my concerns aloud. ‘Recently, I’m starting to feel like I need something more from life. A bit more adventure, I guess.’

‘Do what I plan to do then.’ He says it so flippantly I almost don’t catch what he’s referring to. He seems to understand I’m confused. ‘Get yourself a job abroad.’ His phone suddenly beeps and before I have time to respond, he answers it, immediately drawn into an engaging conversation in German.

I turn to stare out of the window and chuckle to myself at the absurdity of his throwaway comment. Me, working abroad? How would that even be possible? I mean, yes, I’ve thought many times about how lovely it would be to just hop on a plane and relocate to somewhere hot and tropical. But it’s a fantasy. How would my family react, what about my mortgage, what would I do for work, not to mention finances? You can’t just up and leave everything behind and start afresh alone, can you? No, not if you’re already at an age where you’re supposed to be settled and have it together. Pre-Jay that would’ve been possible. But at thirty-three?! Life doesn’t work like that. But then I hear a small voice inside myself whispering, ‘Or does it?’. I push it away and quietly tell myself to stop daydreaming.

By the time we reach the Italian region of Switzerland and are just a couple of stops away from Lugano, the vast difference in the appearance and energy of the places we’re travelling through is evident. We pass small backyard vineyards and finally, we reach our destination, which appears to be halfway up a steep hillside slope. Fred is already standing up.

‘We’re here. Welcome to Lugano.’

We disembark and I straight away notice that the Mediterranean influence is much more prominent in this part. Italian conversation drifts all around me as we walk the short distance to the strange, one-car railway service that Fred has informed me will take us down the mountain and deposit us in the heart of the old town. I feel quite a world away from Zurich.

We squeeze into the already crammed carriage and begin our descent.

‘So, I will point you the direction of where to browse and have a coffee and then I need to be off to meet my sister, is that OK?’ He looks at me slightly concerned, as if he feels I might have been expecting him to chaperone me for much longer.

‘Of course, that’s perfect. I’ll happily look around by myself and make a day of it.’ I realise he might be wondering about whether I need his assistance for the return journey. ‘And I’ll make my own way home. Now I know the way, it’s very simple.’

‘You’re sure?’ he asks, as the funicular pulls to an abrupt stop, eyeing me like I’m a child.

‘I’m certain. I’m a big girl – I think I can handle it.’ I wink, and he laughs, as we join the flurry to leave the small carriage, greeted by a wave of pleasant heat and bright sunshine. We walk towards a square and Fred begins pointing out places I must explore as he tells me we’re headed for the lake. We pass palm trees gently blowing in the breeze and a waft of sweet-smelling fig trees, inviting small shops selling random wares and many high-end luxury designer stores. It’s clear from the many banks on corners, men in business suits and well-heeled women tottering the cobblestones in stilettos that this is not just a laidback, lakeside vacation stop. It’s a financial hub. Yet, everyone looks slightly more relaxed here, with carefree expressions and a slower pace of walking.

I take a delighted breath as the road opens out onto a long promenade and an expanse of beautiful freshwater lake sits magnificently before me.

‘Goodness – this is beautiful.’

Fred nods, a small smile on his face. ‘It is. There are many beautiful places in this canton. And if you happen to decide to stay longer, you could do a trip across to Lake Como. It’s an hour’s train journey from here.’ He points across the horizon.

My mind is suddenly awash with visions of myself coasting along Lake Como on a sailboat, dressed in oversized sunglasses and a headscarf as I wave to George Clooney who is perched on the balcony of his hillside villa. I reluctantly remember that I’m not a film star and my bank balance is already hazarding in the danger zone. Plus, I don’t even own a headscarf or a sailboat. The Lake Como fantasy will have to be shelved.

We arrive at what appears to be a public park entrance and Fred stops. ‘OK, so I need to leave you here – you should try the park though, you’ll like it.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I have to go now, Sandra is expecting me.’

‘No worries.’ As I thank him, and we say our goodbyes, I get a fresh wave of pleasure at the absurdity of my situation. Who knew just a fortnight ago that I’d soon be walking along a beautiful lake in a part of Switzerland I never knew existed?

The hours fly by as I explore the magical city, taking particular delight in the giant chess game, its pieces half the height of my body. I stand and watch as two elderly locals, with flat-caps and walking sticks, banter in brisk Italian as a third man obediently moves their pawns upon their order. No matter which direction I stroll, the views from the lake are bewitching from every angle – the majestic deep green mountains in the distance, a sharp contrast against the clear blueness of the water. I contemplate a boat ride but decide against it, instead spending my time exploring my picturesque surroundings, revelling in the darker tan lines I see appearing on my arms.

By late afternoon I’ve ventured into the higher part of the city, taking a larger funicular to Monte San Salvatore and following the footpath to the Chapel. As I reach the rooftop that I’ve heard so much about from Frederick, I’m mesmerised by what lies before me; breath-taking views over the city and out beyond onto the lake. In that moment, I realise that there is a vast expanse of beauty that I’ve not even touched upon in my limited travels and Frederick’s comment re-enters my mind.

‘I should look for work abroad.’ I find myself rolling the idea around in both my mind and my mouth. It’s not actually that absurd come to think of it. What’s to stop me from finding a teaching position in Europe? I’d still be close enough to travel home often and maybe, just maybe, it’s the new life I’m looking for? Heavy doubt creeps into my reflections. And what about the language barrier? I don’t have a natural ear for other languages, hell, I barely scraped through French classes during my own schooling years. But then, others do it, don’t they? I rebuke myself for once again letting myself drift into fantasy land and instead focus on the view.

After a considerable time drinking in my surroundings, my stomach grumbles and my feet begin to throb again. A sharp chill in the late afternoon air brings me to my senses and I know it’s time to make my way back down the mountain to the lake and finally head back to Zurich. I begrudgingly begin to wander with the throng of people headed towards the funicular, the cool breeze reminding me that I’ll soon be back to my normal life in England, my small apartment, swamped with school drudgery and bills to pay. My heart drops and I sigh in reluctance.

The journey back to my hotel feels long, and although the relaxing and warm train allows me the time to contemplate the experience of Switzerland so far, leaving Lugano has already given me a wistful sense of nostalgia. Frederick’s comment floats back to the forefront of my mind and as much as I try to reason with myself that it’s a silly notion that’ll never happen, I can’t help but fantasise about making the possibility a reality.

A few hours later, when I’m finally back in my hotel room, soaking in a hot bath filled with an entire bottle of designer complimentary bubbles, I start once again thinking that although my life isn’t bad, it could be way more fun and exciting than it is and it’s at that moment that I finally decide it’s time to take some sort of serious action and liven things up. Jay might have ruined my idea of a future, but I haven’t exactly been trying my best to carve a new path for myself. I’ve lost my way and floated along without really considering what it is I truly want. It’s not enough anymore to sit back and hope that things will change for me. I’ve got to be the one to initiate things. And surely that first change has to be finding more fulfilment – through work perhaps? After all, happiness is an inside job, right?

It’s time to become a woman on a mission. Everly Carter’s life is getting an overhaul…




Chapter 4 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)


‘Are you actually serious?’ Amy’s tone is bewildered and although I can’t see her expression because the Skype video won’t load, I know she’s frowning.

‘Dead serious. I’ve been looking online all morning – there’s loads of jobs on this site. You should see some of the places listed.’ I can hardly believe it myself.

‘You’re supposed to be on holiday, enjoying yourself, not sat in the hotel on the internet thinking up some crazy escapade purely because you have shit luck with men.’

As much as I love Amy, and I do love her because she’s my little sister, it’s not quite the happy enthusiasm I was expecting. She could be a little more supportive. But then, this is Amy who met her childhood sweetheart Jack at sixteen. Eleven years later they’re happily married, with two children, a lovely house and a dog. She’s never really been in a position to understand life being crap. Not that she’s had it easy, but she most certainly hasn’t had it like me; she’s never been heartbroken or had the rug pulled out from under her feet, nor has she had to work every hour under the sun to put a poky roof over her head. She’s content with her life, never aspiring for more, just happy and peaceful with her lot.

‘This isn’t about men though, Amy. This is about me.’ I walk across to the window of my room, pushing aside the curtain to peek at the view and simultaneously re-adjust my earphones. ‘I just feel like I need to try something different.’

‘Well, whatever. Just don’t go handing in your notice whilst you’re there – this Switzerland trip was random enough. I reckon you’re having a mid-life crisis.’

My Wi-Fi signal isn’t the best and the line crackles, but I can hear the disdain in her voice.

‘I’m not bloody having a mid-life crisis. If anything I’m closer to a quarter-life crisis thank you very much and anyway, it’s just an idea. It doesn’t mean I’m sacking off my job and floating off to India to ride elephants next week.’

‘Good, because Jack has a work colleague he wants to introduce you to. He’s apparently a really lovely bloke, so you never know…’ She breaks off and I immediately feel irritated but before I can butt in, she’s off on one again. ‘Oh, and Lily made a clay rabbit for you at school. Although it looks more like a rat.’

I soften at the thought of my niece Lily and feel my annoyance vanish. ‘How sweet. OK, I’ll pop round next week. I’ve got to go, I’m off out soon.’

‘Thank god for that, go get your head cleared of this moving abroad crap and enjoy your vacay. Send me some pics.’

I bite down on my tongue and cheerily agree, before saying a hurried goodbye and hanging up.

‘Well, that’s put a dampener on that,’ I mutter to myself, closing my laptop and wondering if Amy is right. What the hell am I thinking? I mean, yes, the teaching site I found has tons of jobs abroad, but do I really want to spend a year in Azerbaijan even if the salary and package is ridiculously generous? I sigh, letting the truth sink in. Probably not.

I decide to head out for lunch and after a quick pit stop via the concierge desk to catch up with Frederick, I find myself heading towards the shops. I’ve got my dinner date later and as much as I know it’s highly unlikely anything will come of it, or that Emir will even show up, I can’t help but get excited at the prospect of dinner with such a handsome, intriguing man. I decide to throw caution to the wind and really enjoy myself. This holiday is the perfect opportunity to do whatever the hell I like, and no one will ever be any the wiser.

A couple of hours later, armed with my purchases, I head back to the hotel to prepare for Emir. I’ve managed to spend a vast amount of money on my credit card, but I’ve got a gorgeous navy dress and new make-up to show for it. I set about the lengthy process of making myself look as attractive as possible, even adding some hastily bought tinted moisturiser to heighten my tan. The final outcome is better than I could have hoped for and as I study my reflection, I grin happily. The Swiss water has been amazing to my hair and it sits in bouncy long curls, framing my oval face. The dress accentuates my cleavage in a delicate way and stops just above the knee, making me appear slimmer and taller than I really am. My eyes are complimented by lashings of mascara and my mouth is tinted with nude lipstick. Jay had always said I reminded him of a curly-haired Rachel Weisz and it strikes me tonight, that perhaps he was right after all.

‘That’s as good as I’ll get,’ I mutter aloud, padding across to my makeshift wardrobe to collect my coat. I glance at the clock and am happy to see that I’ve just ten minutes until our agreed meeting time downstairs. My stomach does a somersault as I consider, for the hundredth time, that he might not show up and this has all been in vain. Then I rebuke myself – it’s his loss if he doesn’t and if that’s the case I’ll just go to the hotel restaurant and treat myself to some lobster and champagne.

And try not to have a meltdown and cry into my bubbles.

I bravely collect my purse and walk to the door, giving one final plea to whoever is out there in the sky to make sure I don’t get stood up.

Emir is leaning against the un-manned concierge desk as I head out of the lift and even from this distance I can see that I wasn’t wrong in remembering him as drop dead gorgeous. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s actually there and as I fidget one last time with my dress, he spots me and breaks into a smile.

‘Hi.’ He leans in to kiss my cheek and I’m overcome with a waft of his strong woody aftershave. ‘It’s good to see you again. You look very nice.’

‘Thank you.’ I survey his outfit choice and reluctantly notice it’s a bit more casual than I was expecting. Gone is the business suit I’d first seen him wearing and in its place are jeans and a wine-coloured jumper. I suddenly feel a little overdressed but the thought is swept away as he grabs my hand and ushers me confidently out of the hotel.

‘I’m parked a little out of the way, near to my office – it’s a thirty-minute drive to my hometown of Zug, but the restaurant is booked for seven so we’ve plenty of time.’

We make chit chat as we walk to his car and I discover he’s a director at a multinational insurance company and has lived in Zug for over eight years. He’s also been single for all eight of them and I can’t help but wonder why. As we approach a gunmetal-grey Porsche, he gets out a key fob and unlocks the vehicle.

‘This is me.’ He gestures to the passenger side. ‘Excuse the mess as you get in. Just put the files on the floor.’

I try not to look shocked as I open the car door and see the interior littered with what appears to be paperwork and food wrappers, and instead scoop his files onto the footwell as instructed.

‘I’m good at what I do workwise but I do have a tendency to be untidy outside of the office.’ He grins, and I notice that both the leather dashboard and gearbox have what appears to be some kind of sticky drink covering them.

‘I can’t say I’m the same – I’m a bit of a clean freak.’ I don’t add that it’s already annoying me to have to sit amongst such a dirty interior in my new dress.

‘Clean freak or control freak?’ he asks with a chuckle as his mobile ringtone interrupts us. He answers with Bluetooth and I’m immediately surrounded by a loud female tone, speaking in what I recognise as Spanish. I try not to feel disdain as he launches into conversation, occasionally glancing sideways at me as he clearly tells the woman at the other end of the line about me. I hear my name mentioned twice and notice by the car display that almost twenty minutes has passed by the time he ends the call.

There is no explanation of who was calling or an apology when he finally turns to look at me and begins to point out the passing sights. I can’t deny they’re beautiful views, but it bothers me that he doesn’t find it rude to answer a long call in another language without a simple ‘excuse me for that’. I wonder if I’m being pedantic or overly ‘English’ and try to get back into the excitement I was feeling at the beginning of the date. But it’s already rapidly seeping away, replaced by a dread that perhaps he’s just going to be like all of the other disastrous dates I’ve been on lately.

We approach a sign for ‘Zug’ and I feel relieved that we’ll soon be out of the car. As we drive further into the area, I notice a glistening lake on my right side and a mountain in the distance ahead.

‘Welcome to the town named “Train”.’

Puzzled, I look at Emir for explanation.

‘Zug means train in English.’ He shrugs his shoulders and grins as I raise my eyebrows. ‘Yes, rather strange name, huh?’ He points in the distance and I follow his gaze. ‘This road is Chammerstrasse and if you look to the left in a moment, you’ll be able to see my apartment building just up ahead.’

We pass a small church, lit up prettily against the evening dusk. The town seems quaint, peaceful and very well-kept, and the bustling busyness of Zurich is nowhere in sight. It’s barely five minutes later when Emir parks the car and we get out, heading across cobbled stones through narrow streets with imposing buildings reminiscent of gothic times; pastel coloured facades and windows adorned with shutters.

‘This is a pretty town,’ I say, trying to watch my step as my heels threaten to get stuck between the cobbles.

‘This is one of the historical squares, the Italian restaurant we’re going to overlooks the lake. I’m certain you’ll like it – it’s just here.’

We arrive at a small wooden door and are greeted by a waiter dressed fully in black. We follow him and climb a winding staircase which opens into a large spacious dining area. There’s not a wall in sight as the front half is surrounded by windows looking out onto the moonlit lake water.

We’re shown to what appears to be the prime-situated table in the busy restaurant and I can’t help but be impressed at the elegance of the surroundings and the gentle ambience, not to mention the clientele. I had thought this would be a casual Italian but ‘fine dining’ springs to mind instead. As we are seated the waiter turns to Emir.

‘Your usual, Sir?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Emir nods and I wonder what the usual is, hoping it isn’t something I won’t like.

I don’t have to wait long as a bottle of red wine appears almost instantaneously beside us. I watch as Emir samples a taster and approves with a smile, before turning to me. ‘It’s a reserve, very good red, you’ll like it.’

Not wanting to be rude or share that I’m not particularly fond of red wine, I try my best to look pacified as the waiter fills my glass. I was rather hoping for a glass of white but as I taste, I’m pleasantly surprised by the subtle fruity flavour.

‘I’d recommend the lobster linguine with truffle oil or the wild boar.’

‘Hmm, OK.’ I stare down at the menu I’m handed and immediately see the pumpkin ravioli option and decide there and then, that’s what I’ll be having.

After a few more minutes’ small talk, the waiter returns to take our order and I’m more than surprised when Emir pipes up my selection for me.

‘Two lobster linguine please.’

‘Er, actually I’m going to go with the ravioli,’ I say with a polite smile that I know doesn’t actually reach my eyes.

A flicker of irritation flits across his face as he shrugs. ‘Fine, do as you please.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I will.’ Although I’m grinning as I say this, I can’t help but feel put out by his change in demeanour. That’s when I realise that this is going to be yet another totally wasted evening. By the time the food arrives, we’ve had a further twenty-five minutes of chit-chat and I’m no longer enthralled by his movie star looks or his suave clothing. Emir is proving himself to be rather self-indulgent and, quite frankly, a little boring. I’ve managed to glean that he travels endlessly for his work and his salary allows him to do as he pleases, materially speaking. Yet, I can’t fathom for the life of me why he even wanted this date. We’re like chalk and cheese in everything we’ve been discussing. The thing about him that reminded me of Jay is long gone. This one is all about himself.

I pick at my pumpkin ravioli which, as it turns out, is nowhere near as good as the lobster linguine he practically forced me into sampling to prove his point. Still, I won’t be letting him know that. He’s been rabbiting on about some conference he’s just been a guest note speaker at and it’s just as I finally pay decide to pay him some attention, that my ears prick up.

‘Bermuda? Oh, my friend lives there. She’s a lawyer, works in a firm over there. She’s originally from the same town as me though.’ I picture Tilly and suddenly feel wistful for our many Saturday lunches. We used to be so close and yet since her relocation to Bermuda four years ago, I haven’t made much of an effort to keep in touch. There’s always something that comes up and makes me forget to reply. I make a guilty mental note to message her later.

‘It’s a beautiful place. You should visit sometime.’

I notice the bottle of wine is fast emptying into Emir’s glass and as the conversation moves into work talk, the wall clock behind him is a constant taunt of all the things I could have been doing with my evening. It’s clear to both of us there’s little mutual ground and if it wasn’t for his love of over-sharing insurance chit-chat, we’d already be in dangerous awkward silence waters.

I think about Tilly and Bermuda again, not to mention his previous comment. Of course, I should visit. Why didn’t I think of that before?

I make it politely through another hour of small talk, when Emir graciously decides to relieve me of my hopefully-not-evident boredom by ordering the bill. It’s dark outside as we leave the restaurant and make our way towards the lake, Emir pointing out small points of interest along the way.

‘My apartment is just a short walk from here,’ he says, taking my hand and making every part of my body stiffen. With reluctance, I realise I’m going to have to say something fast. This is not good. Gone are the thoughts of a passionate, guilt-free, one-night stand. As hot as he is – and it’s been seven months since I’ve had any sort of action – I just want to go back to my hotel, take off my make-up, and dress, and jump into my oversized hotel bed alone with my book and a cup of tea made with the complimentary refreshment teabag I’ve been saving. I almost laugh aloud at myself. This is the Everly Carter that has spent the last three days convincing herself she needs excitement and change, and here it is, handed on a plate, yet…

‘I’m sorry, as much as I’ve had a wonderful time, I’m going to head back to my hotel.’ The words are out of my mouth before I’ve had time to talk myself back into making the most of wild, no-strings sex with a rich, willing man.

Emir looks surprised but recovers quickly. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll drive you back if you want to go. That’s no problem.’ He runs his hand through his hair and I can see from his miffed expression that it’s the last thing he wants to be doing. I realise in that moment that he never expected to have to take me home. He just assumed I’d be staying. He’s clearly not happy.

‘No, I don’t expect you to do that. I’ll take a taxi; you bought me a lovely dinner and that was more than enough.’ I point to the nearby waiting taxi before I lean forward and give him a swift thank you kiss on the cheek.

I watch as he takes a step backward, already planning his rapid exit. ‘OK then.’ He appears at a loss for words as he scratches his chin. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you Everly. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

I barely have a chance to reply before he turns and walks away. Quietly sighing with relief, I walk in the opposite direction, wondering why I’ll never learn my lesson when it comes to men. Is it me, I wonder? Am I drawn to men with low self-esteem because I want to fix them, to subconsciously fill a void within myself? That void which seems to be caused by a longing to do something more fulfilling with my life, which until now, I’ve been ignoring…

Settling myself in the back seat of the taxi and wondering with a stomach full of dread how much Mastercard will have to fork out this time for the fare, I muse on the two more positive outcomes of the evening. First, my realisation that I no longer need to waste time on inappropriate men. There’s no point searching for love until I’ve filled my own emotional needs and found a new purpose; a new mission to provide the satisfaction that I’m lacking. After all, how am I going to attract a healthy, balanced partnership if something inside me isn’t addressed first? Secondly, and perhaps less profound, but still important; the reminder of my good friend Tilly. Isn’t it about time I got in contact with her?

*

I look down at my ski boots and up again at Elena. I can tell she’s losing her patience, it’s not the first time she’s told me I have to use the edge of the skis when slowing down. I sigh and try not to wince as I shuffle my bruised feet forward. It’s safe to say that skiing isn’t my forte. I honestly didn’t think it’d be this hard.

Sure, it was fun for the first day upon arrival at my log-cabin-style hotel with its roaring fire and hot wine. Then there was the excitement of my first time in full ski attire, the thrill of the cable car looking down on the white expanse below and the adrenalin of my first time on the slope. The après-ski however, was a slightly different affair. Instead of the jet-set fashionistas I was expecting, it’s mostly been Jägerbomb-loving men in baggy clothing. And let’s not forget the panda-eyed, middle-aged ski instructors acting like vultures around every single, female beginner that crosses their path. In all, it’s been a positive experience and I’m pleased I spent my final few days here. Now though, I’m over the skiing and most especially this final tutorial. Carrying poles in one hand and heavy skis on my shoulder whilst slipping and sliding in my robot boots is wearing thin. I’m cold, tired and looking forward to a hot chocolate and a pastry in the café. My mobile vibrates in my pocket just as Elena wraps up the lesson.

‘That’s it then, you’re all set for the time being.’ She smiles at me as she pulls up her goggles and reaches for her poles. ‘You’ve got enough basics now to enjoy the bunny hill for the rest of your stay. Did you say you’re off home tomorrow or was it Friday?’

‘Tomorrow morning actually.’ I shuffle alongside her, watching as she effortlessly seems to glide. ‘It’s been a great break but reality beckons. Back to the grind I go.’ Laughing lightly, I feel a sense of dread at the thought of home and the mountain of work that awaits.

‘Reality is what you make it,’ she says matter-of-factly, turning to me with a bemused expression. ‘I couldn’t imagine being back in Russia or doing any other job but this. I really enjoy my life here.’

Following her gaze, I stare at the expanse of snow-tipped mountains surrounding us, against the backdrop of an icy blue sky etched with sun rays. ‘It’s picture perfect here. You’re really lucky.’

Elena shakes her head, a wry smile on her face. ‘Luck doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just worked hard and took the risk to come here. Life is only ever about the risks you’re prepared to take. In my case, it paid off.’

Chastised, I nod my head in agreement. ‘You’re right. I guess I need to start taking some more risks then!’ Smiling, I turn in the direction of Café Matterhorn. ‘Thanks for your help with the lessons. Sorry for being a bit useless.’

‘Not at all useless!’ She laughs. ‘But perhaps just not a natural.’ She grins and pushes off with her poles. ‘Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

The warmth of the café hits me as I take refuge inside. Shaking off my jacket, I slot myself into a corner seat and check my mobile. I’m surprised to discover that Tilly has already replied to the catch-up email I’d sent her after my night out with Emir. What with her usually hectic work and social schedule, it’s rare to receive anything back in less than a week. I begin to read and unsurprisingly find myself giggling within seconds. It seems I’m not the only one with a disastrous string of dates of late. By the time I get to the end of the email, she’s picked up on my original hint that I would like to visit her and there’s an overwhelming, eager demand for me to ‘Book that flight ASAP!’

Filled with excitement at the green light to visit her in just a few short months, I’ve barely started typing a response when she appears online and a new message pops up:

‘Can I call if you’re free?’

‘Strange,’ I mutter to myself, wondering if something’s wrong and typing an immediate reply.

‘Yes, I’m free. Call now.’

By my calculations of time difference, she’s mid-morning at work and should be snowed under.

I answer on the second ring, just as a tall thin glass of hot chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows is set down in front of me. ‘Hey, how are you? It’s been a while…’

Tilly’s giggling scoff bounces loudly at me. ‘A while! It’s been about three months since we last spoke. You need to up your game, miss.’

‘I guess I do, but you know how it is, places to go, mountains to see…’ I joke, feeling instant relief that things are fine and she obviously just wants to chat.

‘Sounds like you’re having a great time. Except the bloke part of course. I mean, it’d be nice for one of us to have some decent guy news for once. But no, the world is full of assholes.’

‘Yep, tell me about it.’ I sigh, thinking that if Tilly, with her slim, enviable figure and long, poker-straight brown hair, not to mention endless long legs, can’t meet a decent guy, then I definitely don’t have any chance.

‘So, Switzerland?’ she prompts. ‘Let me guess, you thought the slopes would be full of rich, handsome, single, athletic men?’

‘I haven’t met one.’ I laugh, realising that it’s true. ‘But yeah, Switzerland was a bit of a whim to be honest. I was fed up, Tilly. School’s getting me down a bit and I just needed a break.’

‘God, I know the feeling. I’m under such pressure here at the moment. My boss is being a bit of a bastard too. I swear, he thinks I’m after his job. You should’ve told me when you booked it, I would have joined you.’

Taking of sip of my hot chocolate, I listen as she fills me in on the past couple of months, in turn updating her with my news and most especially, my revelation that I need to be a bit more adventurous and live a more purposeful life.

‘You do! You’re absolutely wasted at that school. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve put every hour under the sun into giving them 150 per cent and they shaft you every time. I don’t know why you don’t look for a different school.’

‘It’s funny you say that…’ I begin, relaying my findings about teaching internationally and all the opportunities I’d seen online.

‘Oh Everly, you have to do it!’ Tilly cuts in. ‘Coming here to Bermuda was the best decision I ever made. I’ve never been so happy or settled and I can’t imagine what life would be if I hadn’t.’

‘You’re different to me though, you’ve always been more of a risk-taker.’ I say, reminded of Elena the ski instructor’s words. ‘You’ve always applied for jobs beyond your ability, invested in things that others think are nuts and…’

‘And it’s always worked out!’ she replies, exasperation in her voice. ‘It didn’t mean I wasn’t scared or questioning it every time though.’

‘I know,’ I say quietly, knowing it’s true. I remember having to spend many a night encouraging her that her decision to relocate to Bermuda was a good one. ‘I really want to do it.’ I hesitate for a second, thinking of my conversation with Amy. ‘I just don’t know if it’s a mistake to do it at this point.’

As soon as I say the words, I realise that’s what’s holding me back from making serious changes. ‘I mean, I’m thirty-three. Surely, it’s time to be thinking about marriage and babies, not upping my life and beginning from scratch elsewhere.’

‘Oh, quit the crap. You were at the marriage and babies stage with Jay and look where that got you! You’re only thirty-three. So am I for that matter, and I’m in the same boat – single and childless. And we both should know by now that it doesn’t matter where you are, you can’t manipulate meeting the right guy. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to.’

Sighing loudly at the cliché, I roll my eyes. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘Oh god, I’ve got to go,’ Tilly says, her voice hushed in annoyance. ‘My boss is back, and he’s got a right face on him. Promise me you’ll think about the teaching abroad thing though.’ Tilly’s tone is serious.

‘I will.’ Hanging up, I take a long sip of my now-cold hot chocolate and glance at the time. If the last two days has taught me anything, it’s that I’d underestimated the physical toll of skiing and the comatose power of being subjected to continual fresh, mountain air. It’s not the evening for making life-changing decisions. Instead, I decide on heading back to the hotel and a hot bath and room service. My last night in Switzerland will be spent relaxing.

*

‘Plus your lemon cheesecake and your apple crumble with the coconut topping?’

Amy laughs at the other end of the phone. ‘Yep, I’m doing those too. I knew you’d ask. Besides, Lily already made me promise her I’d make them. I swear she takes after you with her love of food.’

‘So what if she does? At least she won’t be a skinny rake like you.’ I listen as Amy huffs and pretends to be insulted but we both know she naturally takes after our super-slim mum. ‘I’ll be at yours for three o’clock then. My flight doesn’t land until one.’

‘Perfect. See you tomorrow. And don’t forget Harry’s magnet.’

‘Of course not.’ I smile and hang up, glancing across to the small metal Swiss flag I’d bought earlier for Harry, my nephew.

Putting my mobile to one side, I shift myself from the bed, tightening the fluffy bathrobe I’ve donned and begin to put my belongings in my small case. It’s only nine o’clock but I’ve decided on an early night. I’ve barely managed to fold three things when a message notification dings loudly. I pad across to the bed and noticing it’s Tilly, scan the content, heart racing as my eyes dance across the words and linger on the final paragraph.

‘It’s a six-month maternity cover at the international school just ten minutes up the road from my place. As I said above, they need someone ASAP so I’ve put your name forward (don’t be mad at me!). I’ve told Carolyn you’ll be in touch with your CV.’

I stop reading as my heart threatens to burst from my chest. ‘She can’t be serious. Surely not?’ I whisper to myself, breathless with anticipation and adrenalin. Before I think twice, I’ve fired off a reply.

‘Oh my god! But where would I even live?? PS. I don’t even know what the pay is!’

It’s less than a minute later and the response makes my breath catch in my throat.

‘You’ll live here with me, of course! As for the pay – it will undoubtedly be at least double that which you’re earning. This is Bermuda baby!!!! It’s going to be awesome. Send that CV!’

‘Oh, my goodness. Are you really going to do this Everly?’ I say aloud, wondering how this has even happened in the space of three hours since our phone call. And what if this is ‘it’. That chance I’ve been looking for to lead me into new circumstances…

It doesn’t take much convincing, and I find myself spending the next hour preparing my CV and trying to ignore the niggling doubts that float through my head, that small voice of insecurity taunting me as I dare to dream that I’ll be successful in the application.

It’s almost midnight by the time I feel confident enough with what I’ve prepared and after taking a deep breath and scrolling back through my messages with Tilly to find Carolyn’s contact email, I copy and paste it into the ‘To’ field, letting my finger hover over the ‘send’ key.

‘Do it Everly, this could your change life.’ I’m aware of the words I’m speaking to myself as I tap on ‘send’ and in a final gesture of hope, close my eyes and send up a silent plea.

‘Please, let this be what I’ve been waiting for.’

And that’s all I can do now. Wait.




Chapter 5 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)


‘Are you out of your flipping mind?’ Amy looks at me incredulously and Lily stares wide-eyed, her spoon mid-air. ‘What will you do with your place? Not to mention the fact you’ll be a maternity cover.’ She purposely says the word slowly, empathising her point. ‘It’s ridiculous, you’re going to be giving up your entire life and security for a six-month jolly in the sunshine. And then what?’

I open my mouth to respond but she’s not yet finished. ‘I’ll tell you what. Then you’ll be back here with your tail between your legs with no job and nowhere to live. That’s what.’

‘But I’ll have an amazing tan?’ I venture, wondering why on earth she’s so riled up and trying lightly to defuse the situation. Fair enough, I hadn’t expected Amy to take the news of my application breezily, but I wasn’t expecting such harsh reality either.

‘This isn’t a joking matter, Everly.’ She looks at me earnestly and I feel myself relenting. ‘I just don’t want to see you throw away what you think is a boring life, for something that is only a short-term fix.’

She has a point. But I’m not about to let her know that. I’ve spent the last seven hours contemplating how I really feel about this opportunity. Yes, it’s great in theory and it is everything I could have hoped for, but I also can’t help but wonder if I might be making an impulsive, irrational decision. On the other hand, I’ve just recounted my entire Switzerland trip to Amy and mused about how much fun I had, how enlivened I felt and how many opportunities popped up as a result of that impromptu journey.

Sighing, I try not to let her negativity rub off on me. ‘Well, I’ve only put my CV forward at this stage. It’s not like they’ve actually offered me the job. So maybe it’s best we shelve this whole idea until I get an answer.’ I pick up the serving spoon and cut myself a large second helping of crumble, winking at Lily as I do so and noting her best efforts to stuff the last spoonful of cream into her mouth. ‘Besides, I’m certain they’ll have loads of applicants already in Bermuda and won’t even need anybody flown in from overseas.’

‘That’s true. You probably won’t get it anyway,’ Amy says, standing as she picks up her plate. ‘Oh, and before I forget…’ She stops talking and scoops up crumbs from the table with a used napkin. ‘Jack wants to know when you’re free for this get-together with his colleague?’

‘Not interested.’ I try not to show my exasperation, but I feel my frown deepening, boring yet more lines into my forehead. Gee, thanks Aim.

‘Oh, don’t be like that. This could be the man of your dreams.’ I watch as Amy turns towards the sink and then glance at Lily and roll my eyes. She smiles back in amusement, knowing full well her mother is annoying me. Unaware, Amy carries on. ‘Anyway, stop getting so bitter about men. Jay might have ruined your life as you always put it, but you’re lucky to be able to jet off on holiday and be wined and dined. Even if you often meet losers, you still get to have fun.’

There’s really no point arguing with my sister about this, she’s clearly on a mission to keep me working locally or marrying me off to whoever will have me. It doesn’t appear to have sunk in to her brain that I’m unhappy with the way things are going. In her eyes, I’m free, independent and able to do as I please. Therefore, I’m not allowed to be disgruntled with life.

‘Oh, you never told me about Natalie?’ Deciding to change the subject, I stand up from the table, collecting the remaining empty bowls as I do so. I hear my mobile ring in my bag on the adjacent worktop just as Amy launches into her story, so I ignore it. It’s an hour later by the time the washing up is done and we’ve finished discussing the ins and outs of Amy’s neighbour’s marriage.

‘Auntie Everly, do you want to watch Barbie’s vacation with me?’ Lily asks, padding back into the kitchen in her unicorn motif pyjamas.

I glance at the clock, knowing that if I don’t make a move soon, I’ll have limited time to prep for the start of school next week. ‘Sorry darling, I’ve got to go home now. But I’ll see you next weekend and we can watch it then, yeah?’

‘Okay then.’ Lily pulls a disappointed expression that tugs on my heartstrings and for a brief moment I long for a little Lily of my own.

Grabbing my bag from the worktop, I bend down to kiss my little blonde niece on the head. ‘Bye darling. Don’t forget to give your brother his magnet.’

‘Actually, they should be home from football practice soon,’ Amy says, looking at her watch as we walk to the front door.

‘Thanks for dinner.’ I lean in to hug her slim frame. ‘Tell Jack I said hello and give Harry a kiss from me.’

‘I will do.’

Opening the door, I’m not surprised to see the beginning drizzle of rainfall. Pulling my cardigan tightly around me, I run to my car, thinking of all the things I still need to do when I get home – namely, unpack. I sigh at the mundaneness. So much for an exciting Friday night.

By the time I get home my head is imploding with the to-do list of things that need to be addressed. School starts back up on Monday and even though I’ve got the entire weekend, I’m way behind. Panicked, I put the kettle on and decide a coffee is in order.

My phone beeps and I’m suddenly reminded of the missed call from earlier. Retrieving it from my bag, I glance at the display and my stomach jumps into my throat. There’s a missed call and a voice message from an international number. It can only mean one thing. Quickly calling my voicemail, I place my mobile on loudspeaker, setting it down on the dining table.

‘Hello Ms Carter, this is Carolyn Smith from Bermuda International School. I’ve received your resume in response to the maternity vacancy we are looking to fill, and I’d be very interested to talk with you further regarding this. Please can you call me at your earliest opportunity.’

Hands shaking, I glace at time on my screen – 7.30 p.m. – and calculate that it’s still only early afternoon in Bermuda. Without letting my nerves get the better of me, I decide it’s now or never. Pressing the call button, I hold my breath and cross my fingers.

It only takes three rings before it’s answered.

*

‘Why are you packing that?’ Cynical, Amy shakes her head and tuts.

‘Can you stop interfering in my clothes choices and instead take those bags out to the hall?’ I nod at the two holdalls that are blocking the doorway of Lily’s bedroom. AKA my temporary bedroom of late.

‘You’re going there to work though, not to go clubbing.’

Sighing, I don’t rise to the bait. For the fiftieth time this morning, she seems to want to remind me that my new job in Bermuda is solely for work, no fun allowed. She’s wrong though. Tilly’s already got loads of events lined up. She’s even decked out the spare room for me. Still, I won’t be telling Amy that – it’ll only annoy her even more. She already thinks I’m insane, irresponsible and reckless to have accepted this job. It’s been made worse by the fact that I decided to rent out my flat, fully-furnished, on a yearly contract. It’s taken her the last two weeks to come to terms with the fact that I’m OK with someone else using my sofa, and no, I won’t be homeless if I come back early, because there’s always our parents to stay with, or even here until I sort something.

‘Are you really sure about this, Everly?’

Trying not to roll my eyes, I finish packing the final pair of shoes into my suitcase. ‘Yep, I’m certain. And please can you quit asking me because even if I did have doubts – which I don’t by the way – it’s a bit late to be backing out now. I’ve already left my job, my flat, basically my life here and my flight is less than twelve hours away. It’s a done deal.’

I still can’t get my head around the turn of events. I went from phoning Carolyn back, to being interviewed the very same evening via Skype and offered the job. Luckily for me, my skillset in my particular curriculum had been hard to find locally. And even more surprising, I’d been the only overseas applicant – owing to Tilly giving me the heads up before they’d officially had time to advertise. The salary and package had been an even bigger incentive than the picturesque photos I’d browsed of the school location. It was double and a half what I was earning, plus a relocation package and inclusive flights. There was absolutely no way I was going to say no. Even if this just turns out to be six months of a new life, surely that’s better than six months of same old? Besides, it’s my new mantra to be more of a yes to adventure person.

Marching back into the room, Amy watches as I secure my case. ‘Are you going to eat dinner with us?’

‘Of course, unless you plan to turf me out early with an empty stomach?!’ Laughing, I stand up and take in her drawn, anxious expression. ‘Oh Aim, come here.’ Stepping towards her, I take her into a bear hug and stroke her back. ‘You need to stop mothering me, I’m going to be absolutely fine and Tilly will look after me.’ Releasing her, I notice the tears in her eyes.

‘I’m just going to miss you. I’ve gotten so used to you being nearby since you and Jay split.’ She looks at me shyly and takes a deep breath. ‘I guess, I just don’t want you to leave because then I’ve lost my best friend.’

‘I’m going to miss you too, you silly moo, but six months will pass so quickly.’ Lily bounds into the room and giggles at us both standing face to face holding hands.

‘Can I join in?’ She’s clutching a raggedy teddy and with her sweet little toothless grin, I feel my heart melt.

‘Of course, let’s all do a group hug,’ I say, smiling at Amy as we huddle together. It’s just moments later that we break off as the doorbell rings and they rush off to answer it, leaving me alone in the bedroom.

Before I can help myself, I wipe a tear away from my eye. I am going to miss the children and Amy so much, despite the newness that lies ahead. If I’m honest with myself, they’ve been the ones that have filled the void of Jay since he left. They’ve been the support I needed and relied on. What if it is a mistake to leave?

Dismissing the thought, I instead tell myself that the heavens must have a plan for me. Just like the song says…

Because if it wasn’t for that awful date with Florian, for the impromptu, ill-thought out trip to Switzerland, for Frederick, even for Emir making me realise it’s not about finding love just yet, but about trying to discover more purpose and fulfilment – there wouldn’t be a new life waiting for me in Bermuda, would there?

Everything is just the way it’s supposed to be and I’m going to trust that the new adventure I was hoping for, has begun. I pick up my case and half-drag, half-carry it to the hallway, my stomach fizzing with nerves and excitement.

I notice my bikini on the radiator and quickly retrieve it and shove it into my holdall. Who’d have thought I’d end up working in a place where rich people holiday? Smiling to myself I make my way to kitchen, trying not to get carried away with thoughts of myself beaching and boating.

It’s Everly dream come true…

*

I draw in a sharp breath. ‘Wow, it’s out of this world, absolutely stunning.’ But even that doesn’t feel quite enough to describe the view. Crystal clear turquoise water shimmers along the horizon in front of me, the sweet smell of sea and heat filling my nostrils. I’m unable to draw my eyes away, but I’m aware of my cardigan clinging to me and discreetly notice sweat patches already forming on my top. ‘Gosh, it’s so hot.’

Tilly laughs and brushes a stray hair from her face. ‘It’s the humidity that gets us here. It’s intense. Hope you thought to bring light clothing.’

We stop at a traffic light and I marvel at how tropical everything looks. Lush greenery and colourful plantation greet me everywhere I look. Houses with white pitched roofs painted in every pastel colour imaginable line the horizon at varying levels. It’s an assortment of colour and beauty, and I’m full of delight as the road leads us closer to the sea, it’s shimmering vivid, intense blue-green allure causing me to smile. ‘It’s so beautiful, I’m never going to want to leave.’

‘You will, give it a couple of months and you’ll have rock fever. You’ll be itching for fast-paced civilisation and better shopping like most ex-pats.’ She grins and turns back to the wheel. ‘I can’t actually believe you’re here, you know.’

Laughing, I drink in the scenery as we pass a stately mansion and a group of businessmen in braces and Bermuda shorts. ‘Neither can I. Thank god I don’t start work until next week, I will need at least a week to settle in and find my way around.’

‘Well, don’t get too comfy, I’ve already got us a night out planned for later. Don’t think you’re in for a tea and sofa evening. No way, missy!’ Tilly grins, flashing her overly white teeth at me and I know for sure that means she’s arranged something epic.

The thing is, until Tilly arrived at airport to collect me, I’d sort of forgotten just how animated she is. There’s this crazy vibe about her, the type of energy that is both magnetic and slightly unhinged. In the past I’ve seen her go from overly excited to wildly depressive within minutes. It’s hard not to want to be around her – she’s infectious with her zest for life and living to the full. However, I know I also need to try to keep a bit of distance from her unrestrained antics, especially if Bermuda is going to be my new home. Tilly isn’t always the best influence…

‘And tomorrow I thought we could have a beach day?’ She’s looking at me zealously again. ‘I’ve also got to walk down to the marina to check on my new boat.’

My eyes open wide in shock. I’m confused. ‘A boat? You bought a boat?!’ I turn to her, noticing that the car is slowly stopping, and she’s clicked on the indicator to turn left. ‘And aren’t you supposed to be working tomorrow?”

She shrugs and dismisses me with a wave of the hand. ‘Meh, work schmerk. And yes, I bought a boat. It seemed a waste for me to have a free marina space with my apartment and not make use of it.’

‘Oh, of course,’ I say lightly, trying not to sound sarcastic. ‘Yes, makes absolute sense to fork out thousands on a boat rather than let the space – which I’m guessing isn’t worth as much – go to waste.’

She laughs and shakes her head at me. ‘Don’t be so boring. You do realise this means we’ll be out boating practically every weekend. And there’s Non-Mariners coming up.’

I have absolutely no idea what’s she’s on about and she seems to gather this as she pats my leg and says, ‘Hundreds of boats together in a party, drink fuelled raft up. It’s fucking awesome. It’s all to do with a boat race but we’ll just anchor up and get on the champs. You’ll probably have to drive us home though as I’ll be undoubtedly smashed.’

I feel my pulse quicken in excitement. The last time I was on any sort of boat was a chartered speedboat, which we shared with random other couples. That’s when I realise she means drive the boat home, not just the car.

‘Sounds fantastic, but I’m not sure I know how to drive a boat though. I haven’t got a licence!’ My slightly high-pitched, giggly tone betrays my nerves and as Tilly looks at me with a huff and roll of her eyes, I know it’s going to happen regardless of whether I want it to or not. Still, there’s worse things in life that could be happening than being forced to drive a boat. Like waking up at this exact moment in my poky flat in the UK, to start yet another dull day at work.

‘This is us.’ Tilly’s voice breaks into my thoughts and I lean forward, peering out of the windscreen at the baby pink building with a snow-white roof which we are pulling up to. The sea sits only metres away from my passenger door.

‘Wow, you live here? Right on the marina?’ I unclip my seat belt as she pulls up the handbrake and turns off the engine.

‘Don’t you listen to anything I say? I’ve told you a hundred times that I live on the marina.’ I watch as she opens her door and hops out. ‘Come on, let’s get inside and I’ll show you around.’

Wasting no time in following orders, I’m out of the car at high speed and before I know it, we’ve managed to drag all three of my bags into her ground floor apartment.

It’s hard not to be impressed as I survey the spacious, open-plan setting before me. Sunlight floods the room thanks to a large double window that showcases the turquoise ocean so beautifully, I have to refrain myself from wanting to take an immediate selfie with it.

‘This is your home? My goodness, I’d never go out if I lived here!’

Tilly laughs, coming up behind me and taking off her sunglasses. ‘Well, that’s not true because now you do live here and we’re always going to be out!’ She walks over to her ultra-white kitchen and fills up the kettle. ‘I’m guessing you’re very tea-hydrated.’ She giggles, reaching across for the teabags. ‘I bought some bits at the supermarket for you, but you’ll probably find it’s easier to eat out quite a bit. It’s rather expensive here for groceries.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m used to budgeting,’ I say, as she takes two cups from the cupboard, places them on the side and then picks up one of my holdalls.

‘Right, follow me, I’ll give you the tour of your new home.’

Picking up my remaining two bags, I follow her into the hallway, her words echoing in my head.

My new home. I can’t help but feel fizzy inside with joy.




Chapter 6 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)


‘This is Abbi, she works with me.’

‘Hi, nice to meet you.’ The tall, willowy woman smiles warmly at me as she passes both myself and Tilly a glass of champagne from the table beside her. ‘We’ve heard lots about you. So nice to have a new face in our crew.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, stifling a yawn and taking a sip of champagne in the hope it’ll wake me up. ‘It’s been a blast so far and it’s only day three. I don’t feel like I’ve stopped yet.’ I grin at Tilly a little wearily. The thing is, we’ve been doing a lot more socialising than I’d anticipated and although it’s been fun, I’m tired.

‘I’ve kept you busy to help you from succumbing to jet lag.’ She giggles, draining her champagne quickly. ‘OK, let’s go over there and I’ll introduce you to Spencer and Jools.’ She points in the direction of a short, stocky guy who’s back is facing me. I can see his golden-blond hair flopping as he talks, gesturing wildly with his hands. Tilly leans in, whispering, ‘Jools, the taller one, is a bit OTT but he’s a good guy really. Just take him with a pinch of salt.’

I take a gulp of champagne, feeling it instantly going to my head, and follow her across the outside patio area of the prestigious hotel grounds that we’re enjoying our evening drink in.

‘Spence, there’s someone I want you to meet.’ Tilly taps the fairer-haired man firmly on the shoulder and I notice that up close he isn’t as short as I’d assumed. I watch as he spins around mid-conversation, wearing a surprised and slightly perplexed expression.

‘Huh?’ He looks from Tilly back to me again and I notice his eyes settle on my mouth. He’s attractive in a rugged way, but not quite handsome because his nose is a little too large for his face.

‘This is Everly, my friend from the UK – she’s just moved here and I’m doing the intros.’

He sticks out his hand and I notice his slender, well-manicured athletic fingers. ‘Hi, welcome to the rock.’ His unique aqua-blue eyes dance slightly. and I realise he’s merry on drink. ‘Bit of a change from Blighty, huh?’

His accent surprises me as I reach out to shake his hand, noticing his grip is rather firm. ‘Yes, very much so. You’re American?’

‘Unless you’re often mistaking New Yorkers for Aussies, then yes I’m from the States.’

‘He might as well be Bermudian though, the amount of years he’s been here,’ Tilly says lightly interjecting and leaning closer to the taller of the men who seems to be quietly observing me. ‘This is Jools by the way.’ She nudges him slightly and there’s something about his squinty, too close together eyes and downturned mouth that makes me wonder if he’s someone to be trusted.

‘You’ve got a good tan for someone who’s only been here for five minutes.’ Barely able to tear his eyes away from looking at my tanned chest, he grins to reveal tiny super white teeth. ‘Bikinis and beaching your thing, huh?’

Ah. One of those men. I notice a line of sweat forming on his upper lip and am about to reply with a sarcastic quip when Spencer waves his arm in my direction, barely missing me with spray from his glass. Clearly tipsy, he doesn’t seem to notice.

‘Leave her alone. You can’t talk bro, what with your British skin – you’re a lobster without your factor 50.’

Tilly laughs as Jools turns a slight shade of red. ‘Now, now boys. No fighting over us girls.’

I chuckle and am suddenly aware that Spencer keeps glancing at me and has angled himself closer. I catch his eye. ‘It’s OK, I’m very much used to it. Many a man has fought till the end in my honour.’

He smirks, and I watch as the corners of his twinkling eyes crinkle. ‘I don’t disbelieve it.’

I don’t know if I’m imagining it but I’m aware of an underlying energy between us. Next to me, Tilly makes a sudden turn to the bar and I glance at the empty glass in her hand. Before she has the chance to walk away, I make the executive decision to call it quits on my night.

‘Sorry everyone, but I think I’m going to have to head back. I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Got to set up a bank account so I can actually get paid.’

Tilly pouts, grabbing my arm. ‘Don’t go yet, one more drink and then I’ll leave with you.’

‘Yes, you should stay, one more won’t hurt,’ Spencer adds, turning to me fully. When he’s facing me, it’s hard not to notice how muscular his frame is. His thick neck meets broad shoulders and the stretched taut material across the upper arms of his shirt allow me to take in his biceps. My eyes flit back to his large nose and only then do I notice what looks like a hint of cauliflower ear.

‘I’m sure it won’t be the last we see of her,’ Jools cuts in and I’m surprised to see there’s a small smile.

I smile in return. ‘Of course not. Once I’ve kicked this jet lag, I’ll be a bit more social.’ Handing my drink to Tilly, I re-adjust my handbag and dig out my house keys. ‘Here, you take this. I’m going to make a move now and I’ll see you at home later.’ She’s looking at me with a sulky expression, but I choose to ignore it and finish saying my goodbyes.

The walk home is barely fifteen minutes and despite being eight-thirty in the evening, it’s still light and although tired, I feel full of the joys of life. It’s hard to believe how much Tilly has crammed into a few days. As I approach the marina, I spot her boat in the distance, bobbing ever so slightly on the water as a bigger cruiser’s wake draws closer.

I hadn’t expected something quite as luxurious as the almost-new eighteen-foot cabin cruiser with cream leather seating, which Tilly claimed to have bought ‘for a steal’. Even more unexpected was the fact that there are no requirements for a licence to drive it. As we’d taken our first spin on the water, Tilly in the driver’s seat and me opposite her, I’d felt like I’d been transported into a Bond movie. I’m not entirely sure she fully understood the maritime code, and I’m certain we were in the wrong channel at times, but with the sun burning into my skin and the spray of water as Tilly recklessly revved the throttle, I still couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Waving at other boaters we passed seemed to be the norm and once we reached the open water, the reality of Bermuda’s stunning delights hit me full force. The green turquoise sea had stayed calm and transparent around us. The abundance of darker reef – which I had been charged with the task of spotting in order to avoid crashing – were clear to see with the visible eye. Aside from the many fish, I certainly wasn’t expecting the turtles. Spotting two on our short journey as they swam a short distance from the boat, Tilly had laughed at my excitement, telling me to get used to it. It was the moment I realised that coming to Bermuda was the best risk I could have taken. The life here is so very different to that which I’ve left behind; there’s so much more adventure and opportunity available to me. There’s so much of the unknown and unfamiliar still to explore. Every day so far here has given me a new experience and I seriously can’t remember the last time I found life this thrilling or fun.

The heat hits me as I walk into the apartment and I shake off my shoes, immediately reaching for the air-conditioning remote. It might have only been a matter of days but as I open the door to the bedroom which I’m now able to call mine, I feel that sense of contentment that has eluded me for so long. ‘How lucky I am,’ I whisper to myself as I look around the neat, tidy room, thankful that Tilly had the foresight to clear out her clutter, as she called it, and make it homely for me.

I’ve barely settled on the sofa with a cup of tea, when my phone rings and Amy flashes onto my screen.

‘Hi, how’s it going?’ Amy’s high-pitched voice booms into my ear.

‘Wow, someone’s been on the happy pills.’ Giggling, I’m thankful that she can’t see the weird look I give to the phone. ‘It’s great actually. I’m loving it here. Today was another busy one – Tilly showed me Front Street which is the main parade of shops and we did lunch.’

‘Well, it’s alright for some.’ Her tone is sharp, and I wait for the return of the high-pitched excitement, but it doesn’t come. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be doing more important things than clothes shopping and playing at being a lady that lunches.’

‘That was as well as the important stuff I did earlier,’ I respond, a slight edge to my voice. ‘So, tell me what’s going on there.’

‘Oh, you know, the usual. Cleaning up after the kids, the dogs, Jack. Not to mention cooking breakfast, lunch, dinner and being a general skivvy all round.’ There’s no hint of the usual playfulness or irony in her voice – instead it’s a fed-up attitude that I seldom hear from Amy.

‘Are you OK?’ Concerned, I put down my tea and reach for my laptop on the table in front of me. ‘I’m about to load up Skype, do you want to do a face to face so that I can see you properly?’

‘No, don’t bother. I wouldn’t want to keep you from all your important tasks. You’ve probably got late night cocktails and new friends to waste your time on.’ The irritation and sarcasm in her voice is palpable.

‘Amy, what’s up with you? Why are you being so moody?’ I’m aware of the exasperated tone of my voice but I don’t care. There’s no way I’m letting her ruin my evening.

‘Nothing’s wrong, I’m just sick of hearing how perfect your life is. Anyway, I don’t want to argue about it. I’ve spoken to you now, so there’s no need to carry on this conversation.’ She goes silent and I can’t help but feel shocked. I’ve never in my adult years heard Amy be so catty towards me.

Taking a moment to gather myself, I bite my bottom lip in irritation. ‘OK, well clearly you’re in a bizarre mood tonight, so yes let’s speak another time.’

It takes less than ten seconds for her to say her disgruntled goodbyes and I’m left staring at the phone in disbelief. What the hell was that all about?

Hearing the key turn in the lock, I quickly switch on the TV and try to dispel my confusion. In our teenage years, we’d always been at one another’s throats. There’d always been a hint of competition between us and Amy had regularly tried to put a dampener on things when I was happy. But I thought we’d grown beyond that as adults? Sure, in the last few years – since becoming single – I might have relied more upon Amy’s support and opinion. And yes, that has sometimes led to contention due to her to believing that she knows what’s best for me. However, I honestly thought that me being so far away would’ve softened any doubts and antagonism she had about my choice to come here. It appears I was wrong. Hoping that she’s just having an off day, I try to forget the phone call.

Moments later, the door opens and Tilly strides in looking a little worse for wear.

‘Hey, you missed the best hour. A few more of my colleagues joined us and we had a right laugh. Plus, there’s this new – very cute – Australian guy, just arrived a few days ago. Anyway, we exchanged numbers.’

I watch as Tilly kicks off her shoes and disappears into the bedroom, pulling off her dress as she goes. ‘That was fast work,’ I call out. ‘What’s he like then?’

She pads back into the room, face animated. ‘Well, he’s quite tall and buff. He’s got really dark eyes and complexion. He looks like he could be Asian. He said he was from Perth.’ She bites on her bottom lip.

I suddenly think back to my introduction to Spencer earlier. ‘So, Spencer… I wasn’t expecting him to be American.’

She looks at me oddly. ‘Why not? He’s blatantly a Yank.’ I watch as she goes to the kitchen and pours herself some water.

‘I don’t know, I just thought he looked British.’

‘Well, funnily enough, he said the same about you – that you weren’t what he expected.’

She saunters back into the room as I feel my pulse quicken in unexpected excitement. Spencer spoke about me after I left?

‘God, Cullen is such a hottie. I wonder if he’s going to be yet another asshole?’ Tilly looks pensive as she considers it. ‘He came across so down to earth, he was even wearing surf stuff.’

My thoughts still on Spencer, I fail to register her comment until a few seconds later. ‘Hang on, is Cullen the Aussie guy? And surf stuff? What job does he do?’

‘Yes, and yes. He’s a kitchen porter. Passing through on a cruise ship headed for the Caribbean.’

I try not to let my face betray me as I simply say, ‘Oh OK.’ I do wonder about Tilly, she always seems to go for the men that aren’t materially on her level and usually not an intellectual match either. Not that it’s a bad thing but knowing that she’s fiercely ambitious, expects the finer things in life and stimulating conversation, I somehow can’t see a kitchen porter living up to those expectations long-term. But maybe I’m being harsh, he might be all of those things and more. If not, I hope she decides to one day date an equally ambitious man and see how it works out…

I change the subject, thinking of Spencer again. ‘So how long have you known Spencer and Jools?’

She sits down sideways on the chair adjacent to me, crossing her long, tanned legs over the edge. ‘Years, since I got here. Jools and I used to work together before he moved across to Anderson Granger. He introduced me to Spence and well, it’s so small here, I guess we just ended up always hanging out at the same places. He’s a sweetheart.’

Intrigue suddenly gets the better of me. ‘Have you ever had a thing with him?’

Tilly looks at me in shock. ‘With Jools? Gosh, no way. He’d do my absolute head—’

I cut her off, slightly irritated. ‘Obviously I didn’t mean Jools, I know he’s definitely not your type. Spencer, I mean.’

‘Oh Spence.’ She suddenly looks at me curiously. ‘Why? Are you interested in him?’

I feel heat creep into my face. For some reason I’m suddenly embarrassed, as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

‘Oh my gosh, you like him, don’t you!’ She’s smiling broadly at me and shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I just can’t believe that of all the people I’ve introduced you to, he’s the one you’re interested in. Mr cauliflower ear.’ She laughs and throws her head back. ‘How funny.’

Crossing my arms across my chest, I smile at her jest. ‘Well, I’m pleased you think it’s funny. So, have you or not?’

She splutters dramatically. ‘Bleurgh, Spence? Of course not! He’s like a baby brother. He’s also a bit pathetic. You might as well date a wet sponge.’

‘Don’t be so mean. He came across as really manly to me. And I assume he plays rugby so surely that means he’s a bit rough and ready.’

‘Yeah rough and ready for a soft play centre.’ She finds herself hilarious and I have to wait until she finishes laughing to continue. ‘In seriousness, he’s a good guy. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Just may be a bit too dull for you, in my opinion. But feel free to go ahead. I got the impression he liked you, so I doubt you’ll have to wait long for him to seek you out. You are fresh meat on this island.’

‘OK, that’s good to know.’ Unable to hide my delight, I feel the beginnings of a smile playing on my lips. I may have made a vow to concentrate on myself but there’s no harm in having a crush, especially on someone that Tilly says is a good guy. I’m perfectly aware that love isn’t the answer to my ultimate happiness right now, it’s more about personal fulfilment. Even if someone does happen to appear, I’m no longer foolish enough to let it distract me from the main thing I came here for; creating a new life and finding that passion I’ve been missing.





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