Page 22 of The Heartbreak Hotel

She sighed and looked away at the framed picture of a crab on the back wall. Even its beady eyes were judging her. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Honestly.”

She met his unwavering gaze again. “How am I supposed to know if I’m a disappointment? You can call my mother if you like.”

He clicked his pen twice before twirling it between his hairy fingers. “That wasn’t the question, Ella, but it’s interesting that you connected those two elements together. Why do you think your mother is disappointed in you?”

Ah, shit.

While their mum accompanied Devin to each of his violin practices, their dad got lumped with ferrying Ella to the various extracurricular activities her parents had signed her up for, hoping she’d find her calling. Swimming, dance class, tennis, and a painful martial-arts taster, where Ella took a beating from a girl four years younger than her, splitting her eyebrow. The trip to A and E didn’t deter them, and the cool touch of her mother’s comfort grazed up Ella’s forearm. “We’ll find you something that makes you happy, darling.”

Ella had settled for netball. Her parents loved coming to watch the matches—Dad calling encouragement from the sideline, Mum in her Barbour jacket, scarf wrapped tight around her neck, and Devin sitting cross-legged on the floor, head deep in a science book.

But Ella didn’t feel the passion playing the way Devin did. She found hers perfecting the details of a project, finding the perfect font, and seeing the growth of her clients on her computer screen. Concrete proof that she was doing something that mattered.

But now she was useless again. No wonder her parents wanted to intervene.

She chewed at her lip, feeling it wobble. She didn’t want to open that can of worms. She looked down at the printed A4 resting on her lap, where a stick figure flailed its limbs helplessly, its top half attached to balloons and its lower to weights holding it in place. Words were placed inside. Disappointment. Lonely. Worthless. Shame. Guilt. Pain.

A delectable word cocktail. Ella was spoilt for choice. After yet another confusing yoga class this morning, with Riley blowing hot and cold and Pauline gushing about how amazing and life-altering the ruins were, Ella felt a connection with all of the words at once. Exploring her feelings about her mother and living constantly in Devin’s shadow would only make her feel worse. No thanks.

She readjusted her bikini strap under her top, moving it off her sunburnt skin. Falling asleep on the beach yesterday had come with the nasty price of a sore nose, chin, shoulders, and chest, too. Under Marco Marcos’s stare, it seared even more.

Without saying a word, he scribbled in his pad, eyebrows twitching like caterpillars crawling across his face. Then he flipped to a new page and leaned back in his cream chair with a creak.

“Often, when we feel stuck, identifying the root of these feelings can help us understand those emotions and navigate a way forward. There’s so much pressure in day-to-day life, Ella. Most of the time, these pressures are ones we needlessly put on ourselves. I can help you. I want to help you. But if you’re not honest with me, that makes it difficult.”

Ella clicked her tongue. All this talk was prickling her nerves extra hard today. She was trying. In her own way. It wasn’t her fault everyone else was better.

“You seem annoyed,” he commented. “Would you like to expand on that?”

No alcohol. No phones. No Maeve. No Riley. Every time Ella went to the beach, it tried to bloody kill her. Everything she said was monitored and picked apart. The way she moved and breathed, for Christ’s sake.

This place sucks. Worst. Holiday. Ever.

She imagined the giant crab crawling out from behind the painting and seizing Marco’s bald head in its shiny, red pincers.

“I’m fine,” she said, with a sigh.

His stare flitted over her face. Then he clicked his pen and started scribbling.

Get me out of here.

* * *

When the session finally drew to a close, Ella stomped out into the afternoon sun, her head still aching and her skin feeling like she’d been rolling around in nettles. A visit to the beach was out of the question. She didn’t want to see anyone, and she certainly didn’t want to see Riley.

Actually, the more she thought about it, the more appealing it sounded to get on the first boat she could see and return to the mainland. What were Winnie and her mum thinking, sending her here? She needed to hear her best friend’s voice and tell her how stupid this all was.

Goats, grazing on the hillside in their pens, bleated at her as she passed, while a bored-looking teenager sat on the crumbling stone wall offered a bob of his head. More people greeted her on the way, but Ella marched forwards, until she spotted the tree with the creepy fingers swaying at the top of the path.

She dumped her bag at the tree’s base and retrieved her phone from inside. After a quick glance around, she heaved herself onto the branch, wincing as her sore skin brushed against the bark. She gritted her teeth and kept climbing, letting out pained grunts until she reached the same place as the other morning. Her signal bar jumped up, and she switched her data on. Her phone immediately vibrated with notifications, and the corners of her mouth lifted.

See, you’re not a complete lonely loser.

But then her eyes scanned the words on her screen, and her blood ran cold.

No. She read it again. Then she clicked the notification, bringing up a picture of Maeve and Annabelle, beaming and holding Annabelle’s newly engaged hand up to the camera.