Page 3 of The Heartbreak Hotel

Ella used to think what Winnie said was true. If the shoe were on the other foot, she’d be telling her best friend the same thing. But the two of them saw life differently. Winnie spent most of her time outside—as a professional dog-walker, she didn’t have much choice—but Ella couldn’t think of anything worse. Winnie was carefree, still living at her parents’ house, enjoying life day-to-day, barman to barwoman, but Ella needed structure, purpose.

Without her job, something she’d invested four years of her time in, and something she was good at, what else did she have to do with her life? It’s not like she had any childhood dreams to pursue—her brother Devin was the creative genius—or a significant other to distract her. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d come with a real-life person and not from her vibrator, and even that was gathering dust in her bedside table.

She’d been asked many times why she didn’t leave her job after she and Maeve split, and Ella had always claimed that it was a pride thing. That she didn’t want Maeve to ‘win’ the break-up. She felt stupid now. Not only had she lost most things in her life to Maeve, but she was also, rather embarrassingly, still hung up on her.

“Do you want me to key her Mercedes?” Winnie asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure some of Calvin’s rugby lads could rough her up too. Just say the word.”

Ella gave her a small smile. It was tempting. But even if she did accept the offer, she doubted Winnie could be organised enough to orchestrate something like that. She’d probably key Maeve’s dad’s car by accident and get chased out of their estate by their three burly Dobermanns.

Winnie finished her drink and leaned forward, grasping Ella’s hands. “I really hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll snap out of it soon.”

“No, Ella, that’s not what I mean.” She sighed. “We said this was bound to happen at some point. It was only a matter of time.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed. “We? Who’s we?”

“Me and Chezza.”

“Fuck’s sake, Winn.” She huffed, shaking her head. “Can you please stop talking to my mum without me? It’s so weird you have this secret little club.”

“You could always join us.” Winnie couldn’t hide the smug smirk on her face. “It’s not weird.”

“It’s a little weird. And her name isn’t Chezza, it’s Cheryl.”

Winnie let go of Ella’s hands and gave a playful shrug. Clearly, she and Cheryl wouldn’t be cancelling their monthly salsa class any time soon. “Well, whatever. Me and Cheryl agreed that when this inevitably turned to shit—”

“Charming.”

“—which it has…” Winnie gave her best attempt at a stern look, furrowing her dark brows in a way that was almost comical. “You should go to Sandy Springs.”

Ella groaned. She didn’t know what was worse. The fact that her best friend and her mum were still talking about her behind her back, or the fact that they were trying to maroon her on some lonely hearts’ island for hippies.

“Not this again. I’m fine. I don’t need to go sing Kumbaya round a campfire.”

Winnie ducked under the table to rummage in the decade-old, tattered bag by her feet. Ella’s stomach flopped when she slapped a white letter onto the table.

She didn’t want to see any more white letters today.

“What is that?” she asked. She assumed her best friend wasn’t going to give her a week’s notice to terminate their friendship.

“You don’t need to look so panicked.” Winnie chuckled. “It’s your Ella reset button.”

When Ella didn’t pick up the letter, Winnie unfolded it and read aloud in a deep and terrible American accent. “‘Find yourself at a crossroads with nowhere to turn?’”

“Jesus Christ,” Ella muttered, having a sip of her drink.

“‘Dive into the transformative power of energy healing and mindfulness, immersing yourself in the natural beauty of the island of Sandy Springs, Portugal. Reset your life by—‘”

“Alright, alright. That’s enough.”

Winnie looked up from the paper. “What do you think?”

“I don’t need to reset my life.” Even as Ella said it, she felt like a fraud. Yes, she had lost all sense of purpose and hope in the last twenty-four hours, but that didn’t mean she needed this.

“It’s already paid for,” Winnie declared, folding the paper and placing it back on the table.

“What?”