The Summer Switch-Off, page 14
I run my hand over it now, mirroring the gesture in my memories, but my fingers meet empty air quickly. I cut it, the day after the break-up. I donated the long curls he told me he loved, craving some physical change abrupt and blunt enough to reflect how badly my world had turned upside down.
How I’d turned it upside down.
My entire life for the last four years has been Liam; my entire life going forward was supposed to be Liam.
I miss you, he’d said, but does he really?
How is he adjusting to this new life without me?
I remember, all too suddenly, the girl from his Instagram. What if she was wearing a Casa Dorada T-shirt in that picture I saw? What if she’s spending her summer out here as a rep or something?
What if he comes out here with her?
I feel like that’s too crazy, but the way this week is going …
He’s allowed to move on. I don’t have any right to want him to miss me when I broke up with him.
But there’s a part of me that is terrified he’s moved on so easily, because it’d prove I meant so little to him. That the guy who told me he loved me, who said he understood when I was exhausted by parties and nights out and meeting new people, who spent quiet afternoons snuggled up with me and a laptop to watch a film on Netflix together, who’d tuck my hair out of the way and kiss my neck and tell me he loved me …
Had he still loved me?
If he hadn’t – when had he stopped?
When had I stopped loving him the way I used to?
When had that warm, rosy feeling and the butterflies in my stomach given way to familiarity and routine, and eventually been overtaken completely by a constant irritation gnawing at me, the stress that I wasn’t doing enough, the exasperation when he moped around, hungover or bored?
And I realize it’s not even really him that I miss. If anything, it’s a relief not to have to steel myself for a night out I don’t care for, be around a bunch of people I don’t really like all that much and struggle to keep up with. I’m not sorry to have left that messy room of his behind, with its overflowing bin of smelly takeaway containers and laundry he’d leave until it annoyed me so much that I did it for him.
What I miss more is the idea of the relationship we had. It was having someone who knew me, who I felt comfortable with.
Realizing that makes me feel like a horrible, horrible person. The darkness of the room seems to swallow me up, the shadows wriggling on the ceiling pressing in close, muffling the sound of Jodie’s breathing, Rory’s snoring, the sea outside the window, and I disappear into that guilt and worry.
But – would I really have done that?
Stayed with him, just … just because?
I didn’t just stay with him because I was scared of being alone. I am not afraid to be alone, I try to tell myself, but it doesn’t seem to stick.
Who do I have without Liam? I mean, really?
The crowd I’ve hung out with for the last year apparently couldn’t care less about me; they’ve clearly taken Liam’s side. Like some pet in a divorce he gained custody of. I haven’t really seen the gang from school this past year, and when we do talk it doesn’t feel like it used to. It doesn’t feel like it should.
I know that. I’ve known that for a while. But it never mattered because I had Liam, and we always had plans to do things together or with a group of people, and it was fine. I was fine.
I’m totally fine.
And I’m not afraid to be alone.
I repeat it in my head, scowling at the wall, until it feels like I can believe it. I do have some of my own friends at uni. Not a ton of them, not like Liam does, but a couple of friends from my course that I can lean on and laugh with, and that’s more than enough for me. I’ve got my big brother, my parents. And I suppose there’s always a chance I’m overreacting about my friends because I can’t talk to them right now. If I had my phone to go into our group chat, maybe I’d convince myself I’m just being silly.
That’s all this is: it’s me spiralling because I don’t have my phone and because this whole holiday is turning into some kind of disaster, rather than the week of luxury I was expecting. If I had my phone, I’d be thinking differently.
(And I definitely wouldn’t be wasting my time Instagram-stalking some girl my ex went to the pub with.)
I’m fine. Everything is fine.
I am not afraid to be alone.
And I am not imagining all the ways I should’ve replied to his text.
I miss you too
Me too. I’m sorry. Can we talk when I get back, please?
Was that a drunk text? Have you already moved on? Is she just a rebound?
I never should’ve broken up with you, especially like that. Can you forgive me? Can we work this out?
Please stop calling me, and texting. We’re done. We’ve been done for a long time
When did you stop loving me? Was it something I did?
Liam, I love you. I screwed up. I’m sorry
Eventually, somewhere between drafting texts to Liam in my head, thinking about the fact I haven’t really connected with most of my at-home friends in way too long and the wild possibility of Liam and his maybe-new girlfriend showing up here, of all places, I manage to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 17
Rory
~The Holiday Bucket List~
1. Write pros and cons list of actually doing the law degree you got an UNCONDITIONAL OFFER FOR
2. Write pros and cons list of doing literally anything but that.
3. Consider other degrees to apply to through clearing?
4. Write pros and cons list of a gap year, just in case
5. HAVE FUN! BE RESTFUL! PRACTISE MINDFULNESS!
6. Talk to strangers (make friends??)
7. Try something new!
8. Figure out how to tell Mum and Dad and Nic and Hannah I don’t want to do the law degree, never wanted to do the law degree, never will want to do the law degree, and might cry if someone mentions the law degree one more time
9.
10.
Alright, I think, looking over my notebook. (Which is thankfully not as ruined as I expected it to be now it’s dried out. The pages are crinkled and some of the writing is a bit warped, but it could be a lot worse.)
It’s not so ruined it won’t still look cute in pictures.
Okay, this isn’t so bad, see?
I tick off number six with a flourish and a grin. Talk to strangers and make friends – absolutely, check. After our phone jailbreak episode and sharing this shack, I reckon Jodie and Luna definitely count as friends at this point.
And I kind of hope they’ll stay that way once this week is over. I think some of my mates back home would like them a lot. Sammy from art club would love Luna: she’s an old-soul type, too. And the girls from netball would find Jodie an absolute riot. I cannot wait to tell them about the earlobes episode; they’ll get a total kick out of it.
As for being restful and mindful – screw that. This holiday is a goddamn shambles. Let’s not pretend otherwise, I think, and scribble it off the list. And as for trying something new … Hmm. Does aqua aerobics count? I don’t know exactly what I had in mind, but something a bit more exciting and … fulfilling than that.
Definitely something more worthwhile and uplifting than ‘blow up the hotel’s fuses and cause a cataclysmic flood that took out your entire room’, too.
I’ll leave number seven unchecked for now.
Which only leaves me with almost the entire rest of my Holiday Bucket List to try to do in the next few days.
I run my finger down the page, pausing at each item, debating over them.
Maybe I’ll just stick with one of them for now.
Right, pros and cons of a gap year. That’s no big deal. It’s just a list, I’m not committing to doing anything. And it’s just … postponing the law degree, which feels way less intimidating than not doing it at all.
I hear the girls start coming downstairs and snap my notebook shut. They’re chattering about a movie, I think, and are changed ready for the day. Luna has her massive bag slung over her shoulder, the bright strap of her bikini poking out from beneath her cover-up.
‘Took you long enough,’ I say, shoving my notebook out of sight, hiding it below the book I’m currently borrowing from the Travelling Library of Luna. I get up and drop both into her bag. I didn’t even think to bring a beach bag with me, but hers is plenty big enough for all three of us.
‘I couldn’t find my kaftan,’ Luna tells me. ‘And this one couldn’t find her lipstick. Then decided to take it off anyway.’
I squint at Jodie. Her lips look distinctly pink and full. She’s wearing mascara, too, and her skin has a dewy look that makes me think she’s slathered on suncream rather than concealer, like I would have if I were her. I ask, ‘Aren’t you wearing lipstick?’
‘She put it back on.’ Luna rolls her eyes.
‘Oh. Well, anyway. Remember the plan?’
‘It’s a horrible plan,’ Jodie tells me, biting her lip. I resist the urge to tell her not to because she’ll spoil her lipstick. ‘Ugh, I feel sick. No, I’m not doing it. I’m out. I’m so out.’
‘Noooo!’ Luna says, putting an arm around Jodie to usher her forward and drag her towards the door. I loop an arm through Jodie’s to join in the frogmarching. ‘Come on. You can do this! Just don’t bring up last night.’
‘What do I do if he does?’
‘You laugh it off.’
‘Tell him you were drunk,’ I suggest. ‘Usually works for me when I do something embarrassing.’
The nerves are rolling off Jodie in waves, though. She fidgets with her clothes like she wants to bury herself inside them. ‘This is a really bad idea. You – you guys should come with me. I think you should come with me. Make sure I don’t make a complete fool of myself.’
‘I think you already managed that,’ I point out. ‘It can’t get any worse, right?’
She pulls a face at me while Luna locks the villa door behind us. She comes back with a big, beaming smile all for Jodie, who only looks more nervous for it.
‘Come on, you’ll be great! We have a plan, right? It’ll be fine – trust us.’
‘What if he says no? What if he’s not even there?’
‘Then you can stop panicking about it and come hang out with us by the pool, and if he says no, you know he’s not really interested, so you don’t waste the rest of the week swooning over him. It’s win–win,’ I say.
‘Hmmm.’
I squeeze her arm. ‘Glad you’re onboard. Now go. Flirt your melones off.’
Jodie gives us an uneasy look, but takes a breath to steel herself and nods, determined – the girl who was ready to snap Esteban’s head off the other night, not the one who spilled an entire drink down herself in front of a cute guy. I reach out to readjust her baggy camisole so it flatters her cleavage instead of hiding it, but she’s so in her head she doesn’t even seem to notice.
‘Okay. Okay, I’ve got this. I can do this. Right, I’ll … see you guys later.’
She leaves us to head down the beach towards the bar, instead of the hotel pool with us. She let me plait her hair this morning and the fishtail braid hanging over her shoulder really suits her, and the shorts with crochet detail on that Luna convinced her to wear look adorable. She thought I had long legs, but hers look great in this outfit.
Gabriel will have to be a fool not to go along with our plan.
Well, Luna’s plan. Luna’s pretty great with plans, it turns out. It was her idea for Jodie to ask Gabriel for a little one-to-one class on how to make cocktails, which we plotted out while getting ready for breakfast this morning. It’s totally genius.
And foolproof, we hope, given how she went off the rails last night.
I have to bite the insides of my cheeks so I don’t laugh again, thinking about the way she sent her stool clattering to the floor when she ran out of the bar, and the bewildered look on Gabriel’s face before Luna dragged me after our new friend.
I so wish I’d had my phone to immortalize the moment in video.
‘She’ll be great,’ Luna says, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. And she kinda sounds like a mum who’s just dropped her kid off for their first day of school. ‘She’ll be fine.’
‘Hey, at least if it fails miserably, she should have a funny story to tell us.’
We’ve barely been by the pool for an hour when someone moves into my sun, and stays there.
‘Ah, Miss Rory, there you are. I missed you at breakfast.’
Esteban. I suppress a sigh. Of course it’s Esteban.
I turn my book over before I put it down to keep my page (Luna’s books are in pristine condition, and I don’t think she’d thank me for dog-earing it), and I roll over so I can see him. I don’t even care enough right now to pretend to smile at him – and after a bad night’s sleep on that shitty sofa, I can’t even feel too sorry about accidentally cutting the power yesterday.
‘Oh, uh, yeah. I slept in.’
Luna, bless her, had brought me croissants back from the buffet after I passed out on their bed partway through getting dressed to go to breakfast.
‘I have been looking for you.’
I glance at Luna, who tilts her head to peer at me over her sunglasses, ignoring her book now to listen in on our conversation.
This can’t be good.
‘Oh?’
‘After your little … incident yesterday, with the hotel electricity, we are still trying to restore power to several rooms. It is most inconvenient, as I am sure you can imagine. And it appears to have damaged one of our freezers, which has cost us several hundred euros’ worth of food we have had to dispose of.’
‘Uh, that’s …’ I clear my throat, shuffling on my seat and sitting up straighter. Where’s he going with this, exactly? ‘That’s annoying.’
‘And, of course, you left the bath running in your room, which caused damage to the renovated rooms below yours, including some personal items belonging to our guests.’
Fuck.
‘Um,’ I say, then try to joke, ‘just as well there weren’t any electronic devices there, then?’
Esteban smiles thinly. ‘Perhaps you’re not aware, but part of the Casa Dorada policy covers intentional damage to hotel property by guests, and the payment for such damages. Cost of reparations. It was all detailed in our booking terms and conditions. There is approximately five hundred euros of damage to other guests’ property, and in the range of eight hundred in supplies and labour costs to repair the ceilings and paintwork … This will be offset against the fact we are not charging you for the accommodation for the remainder of the week, of course, but we shall have to bill you for the difference.’
‘Payment?’ I repeat, my mouth turning dry. ‘Reparations?’
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
He can’t be serious.
I would switch places with Jodie’s ‘lovely earlobes’ moment in a heartbeat.
I am so screwed. So unbelievably screwed.
I swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t go anywhere.
I probably couldn’t even afford to pay for dinner right now, never mind all that.
And I cannot ask my sisters or my parents to send me God only knows how much money to fix the mess I made here. They thought this week was going to be good for me. It was supposed to help. It was supposed to … fix me.
I ruin everything.
Then Luna bursts out with, ‘What?’ before I can try to come up with a proper reply to Esteban. ‘No, I’m sorry, but that wasn’t intentional damage. It was a complete accident. You were there! You saw. You can’t possibly call that intentional damage and expect her to pay for it. It would never have happened if you weren’t messing around with the plumbing for your renovations!’
Esteban turns to regard Luna for a long moment, one eyebrow arched at her, distinctly unimpressed. She falters quickly, ducking her head.
I wish Jodie were here. Jodie would really put him in his place.
Then he looks back at me and says with that awful, smarmy smile of his, ‘You will be able to find further details on this in –’
‘The information pack?’ I mutter, stomach churning.
His smile stretches wider, one side of his twirly moustache twitching. It makes him look like a knock-off cartoon villain. ‘Precisely, Miss Rory. I will be adding the cost of these damages to your final bill.’
He turns sharply on his heel, hands clasped lightly behind his back as he begins to step away, and all I can think is, Hannah and Nic can never find out about this.
I have to fix this. I have to – to – to do something, anything, to make those charges disappear from my final bill. Is this the sort of thing you can claim on travel insurance? I wouldn’t even know where to start with that, and what if it didn’t even cover the cost of these damages anyway? Maybe whatever policy they’ve got wouldn’t stand up if I tried to fight it, but that’d probably require a lawyer, and it would definitely lead to my family finding out.
I can’t. I can’t bear that.
I cannot go home from this week, which is supposed to do me so much good, and look them all in the eye and say that I broke the hotel and now need someone to bail me out to the tune of hundreds of euros, and, hey, guess what? I am still a complete loser, who even fails at going on holiday for a week.
Bolting up from my sunlounger, I cry, ‘Wait! Esteban – what if … what if there’s some kind of compromise we can come to here?’
He turns back, blinking at me patiently. ‘A compromise, Miss Rory?’
‘Yeah. Something … I don’t know, something I can do to … um, so you won’t … charge me for the damages,’ I stammer, floundering. ‘Like, I could … help out at reception? I’m good with computers. Or I could, er, wash … dishes?’
I’m aware of how batshit crazy I sound even as I’m saying it all, and even Esteban looks mildly amused by my desperation, but I can’t just let him walk away and slap some huge fine onto my bill. If I were more like Jodie maybe I’d stand here having a go at him until he backed off – but I’m not, and she’s not here to do it for me.
