Page 53 of Highland Getaway
For the first time since it happened, I allow myself a moment of pride over how I leaped into action yesterday. Hunter said he didn’t think I had it in me – and the truth is thatIdidn’t, either. And yet, here’s the proof, captured on camera, that I’m not always the ‘wrong’ Rosie.
Sometimes, in fact, I’m the really quiterightone.
Chapter 21
The spa morning I’m apparently going to be allowed to join now (thanks to Bex) includes breakfast, according to my new itinerary, so after a quick shower, I put on my swimsuit and dressing gown, before having a look around the room to make sure no more dirks have turned up while I was gone last night.
Everything looks totally normal, though; so much so that as I lock the door behind me and make my way downstairs, I start to feel a little silly for being so scared.
It was just a turnip, after all.
Maybe itwasjust some kind of practical joke, like Hunter said?
The thought of Hunter gets me thinking aboutkissingHunter again, and I wander in a pleasant daydream through the pool area (deliberately not looking in the direction of the sauna, in case it triggers some kind of flashback), and outside again to the hot tub, which sits on a wide wooden deck, looking out over the gardens to the sea beyond; the kind of view that makes you stop in your tracks just to gape at it.
‘Rosie! There you are at last!’ yells Bex, who’s already in the water with the other girls, wearing a complicated-looking bikini with so many straps that it reminds me of one of those cat’s cradle things. Daniel, I notice, is still fully clothed and hovering on the deck with his giant camera in hand, and I quickly slip out of my robe and into the warm water before he can point it at me.
‘Here,’ says Millie, handing me a plastic glass filled with what turns out to be Buck’s Fizz. ‘There’s some toast and pastries in the pool building too, if you’re hungry.’
I take the glass, and look out at the view. The sky is a vivid bright blue this morning, as if it’s just been washed after yesterday’s rain, and the mountains stand out sharply against it. It’s so beautiful it’s almost hard to believe it’s real, but I’ve already learned how quickly the weather can change up here, so I lean back against the headrest, determined to enjoy it while I can.
‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’ says Zara, adjusting the strap of her bright red bikini.
‘It’s like we’re actually inside an Instagram Reel,’ agrees Millie, holding her blonde head carefully above the water so as not to ruin her makeup, which she’s applied as thickly as usual, despite the fact that we’re going to be spending the morning jumping in and out of the water, in between beauty treatments.
‘Or like we’re lobsters, being boiled in a pot,’ adds Yasmin solemnly, adjusting her sunglasses. ‘For dinner.’
The rest of us exchange nervous glances, but Yasmin doesn’t appear to notice and, after a few seconds, everyone starts chatting as usual, while Daniel snaps away in the background. Now that Bex has decided she owes me one, and is being nice to me, the atmosphere of the group feels much more relaxed (or, at least, it does to me; I suppose this must be how italwaysfelt to the rest of them), and we giggle and splash away, taking it in turns to pose for photos.
I sip my drink, listening in fascination as they all swap stories and anecdotes about their lives, which sound so different from mine that it feels almost as if I’m on some kind of anthropological study, which will have a voice-over from David Attenborough, earnestly observing that here we see the female influencer in her native habitat – a hot tub, with a steady supply of fizz.
Strange as it is to be sitting here with a group of women I’m more used to seeing on the pages of my social media feeds, though, for the first time since I got here, I actually feel like I’m part of things, rather than just a barely tolerated observer. If it wasn’t for the fact that my life back home is still such a disaster, I’d almost feel like one of them. And, just to prove it, yesterday’s cucumber video might have almost got me ejected from the hotel, but it gained me an additional 1,023 followers before I got the chance to delete it, so things are finally starting to go well for me at last.
Naturally, then, the universe chooses this exact moment to remind me of what I said to Hunter last night about wanting to use my new-found influence for good, rather than for .?.?. well,shopping.
‘Who’s that?’ says Zara, shielding her eyes with one hand and squinting in the direction of the castle. ‘We’re not expecting anyone, are we?’
I pop my head up out of the water like a baby seal to see a small group of people crunching their way over the gravel towards us. Izzie’s in the lead, wearing a long purple cloak which swirls around her ankles dramatically. Ian’s just behind her, looking like a cartoon version of a farmer, in wellies and a flat cap. With them is a small collection of what I’m assuming are other villagers, and, call me paranoid, but I have a funny feeling none of them are here for a social visit, somehow.
‘Who arethey?’ says Millie curiously. ‘They look like one of those pop groups from the seventies.’
‘Well, I could be mistaken,’ replies Zara dryly, ‘but Ithinkit’s probably an angry mob?’
Just as she finishes speaking, Ian produces something that looks suspiciously like a shotgun from the folds of the waterproof coat he’s wearing.
‘Yup.’ Zara nods, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. ‘That’s definitely an angry mob.’
‘Don’t shoot,’ screams Millie in a panic. ‘Please don’t shoot!’
She scrambles frantically to get out of the hot tub, succeeding only in belly-flopping into the water face first, completely soaking her hair in the process and sending up a spray of bubbles that hit me full in the face, while somehow missing everyone else.
‘Oh, my God, this is horrific,’ breathes Yasmin.
‘I know,’ agrees Bex, still watching Millie. ‘Look at her makeup!’
‘Don’t shoot,’ shouts Millie again, emerging from the bubbles with mascara pooled under her eyes, and her lipstick smudged around the edges of her mouth, like a clown. ‘Please don’t hurt us!’
‘Och, don’t you worry,’ says Ian, stepping forward with an embarrassed chuckle. ‘Did you think this was a gun? It isn’t a gun; it’s just a walking stick thatlookslike a gun. See?’
