My thoughts exactly. Whilst Zara and Jess seem pleasant, excited, Chloe doesn’t look hugely comfortable at the prospect of this retreat. I understand her concerns, but her immediate sense of suspicion and the way her defences are raised is a bit deflating. I’m trying. I really am. I even ran a brush through my hair. That said, there is also something in her eyes I’m trying to read. She looks tired. Not just physically but you can tell she’s sad, lost perhaps.
‘She also questioned the car,’ I tell Phoebe sadly.
‘But it’s a SEAT Ibiza, it’s totally on-brand,’ she says. ‘Was she expecting a limo?’
‘Who knows, but I’m going to have to do some work there,’ I explain, finally getting to the front of the line for the machine and paying for my ticket. ‘Jess also asked about the spa treatments…Seriously… what did you tell people about this retreat?’
‘You can massage people. You knead bread, don’t you?’
‘Phoebe!’
‘I’ve seen you baste joints of meat, ice cakes…it’s all the same skill set really…’
I start heading back to the car. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me this before these women arrived?’
‘Just make it all foodie and healthy. Remember when I was ill and you made me juice shots with ginger? Just get those down them. Cucumber for the eyes. Ashwagandha.’
‘Who the fuck is ashwagandha?’ I ask her.
‘Who bloody knows but I saw it on Instagram the other day. Babe, just Google it all.’
If only we were all as chilled as Phoebe. I turn the corner of the car park to see the three women sitting there and chatting in the cool of the car air con. I truly hope they’re engaging in mindless chit-chat about the island’s verdant palms and not dissecting this experience so far. ‘Is the pool ready? Did you roll the towels? Get nice dressing gowns?’
‘I did. I also embroidered their initials onto them,’ I tell her.
‘You did not. And if all else fails, just cook without a top on. You’ve got abs. Give them something to look at.’
‘Way to cheapen this all completely, Phoebe. Thanks.’
‘Have we just met? I’ve got to go. Love you! You can do this!’
She disappears from the screen. I tasked the wrong sister with this, didn’t I? Phoebe who, we think, may graduate from university this summer because of Google, ChatGPT and sheer charm. But I can do this. I’m a grown-up man who has lived with three sisters his whole life and survived the experience. I get to the car and open the door. There’s an immediate silence.
‘Thank you for not stealing my car,’ I say as I sit in the driver’s seat and put on my seat belt. I notice Chloe to my right, in the passenger seat, quickly closing a Facebook page on her phone.
Zara and Jess laugh in the back while Chloe studies me as I put the ticket in the sun visor and take off my cap, running a hand through my unfortunately sweaty hair. I think she’s still judging the car.Was she expecting more branding across the doors? Or something more impressive? It’s the yellow, isn’t it?It’s not very subtle.
‘Ladies, there’s water in the doors if you’d like it. I also baked some pastries this morning,’ I say, reaching for a bag in the footwell. ‘No one is allergic to nuts, are they? They contain almonds.’ I retrieve a box inside the bag, open it and a cloud of icing sugar erupts into silence.
‘You made these?’ Chloe asks, her tone implying that she can’t believe I’m capable of it.
‘I did,’ I say.
Zara’s hand reaches in; she’s less suspicious of my claim to being a baker and she bites into the pastry immediately. ‘Oh fuck me, that is good.’
This convinces Jess who takes one and delicately nibbles it. ‘Man alive,’ she says licking the icing sugar from her lips.
I offer the box to Chloe.
‘I can hold that while you start driving,’ she says. She places it on her lap and then reaches for the bottle in the door. I see her checking the seal to see if it’s been tampered with, turning the bottle upside down and checking for leaks.Crap, she really doesn’t think much of me, does she?I want to find her reaction incredibly insulting but I have to supress a smile at the way she side-eyes me, trying to work me out like a bad cartoon detective.
‘So, did you manage to find me on Facebook while I was paying for the ticket?’ I ask Chloe as I start the car, looking for the exit sign.
‘Ben Allbright. Two ls,’ she replies. ‘You really should adjust your privacy settings,’ she tells me, sniffing her water before she takes a sip. ‘Well done on the London Marathon two years ago.’
‘Thank you.’
I hear giggles in the back of the car. ‘Chloe, if you’re not partaking in the pastries then I would gladly take another,’ Zara says. Chloe stretches around to the back seat and I notice a slice of her stomach on show. I avert my eyes, looking back at the road. ‘These are bloody delicious, Ben. Thank you.’
