Chalet Girls. Lorraine Wilson

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      Again. Not kidding anyone.

      Holly slips her arm through mine. ‘It must be hard not knowing many people here. I‘m sure Rebecca and Lucy aren‘t that far away. They went down to the spa, I think. Let‘s go and find them.’

      ‘Okay.’ My smile is genuine this time. I’m grateful to Holly for pulling me out of my mental quick-sand. ‘Amazing chalet, by the way.’

      Chalet Amélie is truly out of this world. I‘ve never been anywhere so fancy. It‘s nicer even than Chalet Repos and much bigger. As Holly shows me round my jaw drops.

      Fancy having so many rooms you have spares left over for a games room, dance floor and cinema room. I think the games room alone is bigger than the dingy flat I used to share with Mum. When we get to the spa suite I think I‘ve walked into heaven. You couldn‘t get further away from the public swimming baths back home. No smell of chlorine – instead a sweet scent of orange blossom is piped out of discreetly placed diffusers. And instead of the usual public baths accompaniment of shrieking kids there‘s mellow lounge music filling the air. Chill-out music.

      It’s working. The ambient peace washes over me, easing the kinks out of my tightly wound nerves and taut muscles. I gaze around and then stiffen. I’m sure that couple in the Jacuzzi aren’t wearing swimsuits. Um, perhaps there’s such a thing as being too chilled. Or maybe I’m being too buttoned-up. Too English. Part of me kind of admires anyone with the body confidence to be that brazen. I turn away, cheeks burning, desperate to pretend I’m cool with it and to hide the evidence I don’t belong in this world. I’m ashamed of the buzz of arousal humming through my body. It makes my need to be touched flare into life, the visceral ache in the pit of my belly gripping me, demanding attention.

      Holly has turned to talk to Rebecca, so I walk around, taking everything in and trying to relax. When that doesn‘t work I store up details to share with Eva and Debbie in my next email instead.

      ‘Fancy a skinny-dip?’

      I turn to see who‘s spoken and find I‘m face to face with a scruffy surfer type with light-brown hair, laughing eyes and a large grin.

      ‘No thank you.’ I reply, sounding horribly prim and proper. I‘m irritated with him for making me into ‚that‘ girl. For laughing at me.

      ‘Only I saw you watching.’ He nods over at the Jacuzzi.

      ‘Excuse me?’ I arch both my eyebrows and fix him with my best piss-off glare. How dare he? ‘I wasn‘t, you know, watching them. I was just looking at the Jacuzzi.’

      A hot flush creeps up my neck. His being right does nothing to placate me, it‘s just winding me up. In a way, I‘m telling the truth, though. I‘ve never actually been in a Jacuzzi and I do fancy going in one, but not naked. At least not naked in public. With the right man, well maybe.

      ‘You were so.’ His grin stretches ever wider. ‘And why not? They wouldn’t do it in public if they didn’t want an audience. Are you sure I can’t persuade you? There’s nothing nicer than feeling the warm water against your naked body, bubbles tickling your skin and getting you in the mood.’

      I wish his words weren’t getting me hot and bothered so easily. I feel desire uncoiling deep inside me, unfurling tendrils of sharp arousal. It doesn’t help that he’s really attractive. I mean the drop-dead gorgeous, totally shaggable kind of attractive you hardly ever come across in real life. I bet he knows it too.

      ‘I’m Dan.’ He smiles. He totally knows it.

      When he reaches out a hand, I shake it on auto-pilot, confused by conflicting emotions and the ability of this stranger to get under my skin so quickly.

      ‘I’m not skinny-dipping,’ I reply firmly, ignoring the stirrings of desire.

      ‘Interesting name.’ He grins. ‘Can I go and fetch you a drink Miss Not Skinny-Dipping? Is that hyphenated, by the way?’

      ‘Very funny, and no thanks. I always fetch my own drinks at parties. I had a friend who was roofied at a party once. No offence.’ As soon as I say it I regret my reply. It came out far brusquer than I intended. Why am I scaring a drop-dead gorgeous, twinkly-eyed sex god away?

      I sigh inwardly. Luckily I’d been out with Debbie when her drink was spiked and I was able to get her home. Eva made us both promise to be ultra-careful after that. She’s always been much more of a mum to me than my own ever was. I’d be jealous of Debbie if she hadn’t chosen to unselfishly share her mum with me. Eva’s been amazing. It’s not an exaggeration to say she saved me when the myth I could cope alone exploded so spectacularly. So I take her advice seriously.

      ‘Ouch, I think I’ve just been shot down and accused of being a date rapist in one sentence.’ Dan places a hand over his heart.

      ‘Well, you did try to get me naked before I even knew your name.’ I point out and try to soften my response with a smile, but I don’t think it works. Dan’s body language no longer mirrors mine. I’ve blown it.

      ‘Can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he laughs. ‘See you around, Miss Not Skinny- Dipping.’

      Then he turns around and walks off. I‘m pierced by a pang of disappointment he‘s giving up so easily. Should I go after him, apologise, explain? Hardly. One question usually leads to another and then another. It‘s easier to let him go.

      I need a drink.

      There are no cocktail-laden waiters or waitresses in sight down here so I head to the bar. I really do need a drink. Everyone else seems to have had the same idea, though, and I can‘t get through the crowd.

      ‘What are you after?’ The man standing next to me turns and smiles. He has short dark hair and a five o‘clock shadow. He possesses an undeniable charm, even if his smile doesn‘t quite reach his cool-blue eyes. ‘I‘ll push through and get it for you.’

      ‘Anything fruity and alcoholic please.’

      I suppress any unhelpful comparison with Dan. He walked away, didn‘t he? Whereas Mr Five-o‘clock-shadow is here and giving me all the right signals. I smile at the stranger, determined not to muck it up this time. If I walk around to the side of the bar I should be able to keep my eye on him the whole time so he can‘t drop something in my drink.

      I bite my lip. I hate being like this. Why can‘t I be normal? If I‘m not careful I‘ll end up totally paranoid like Mum. Bipolar disorder often runs in families. I‘ve done the research. At three am I lie awake worrying there’s a rogue gene in my DNA, just waiting, like a ticking bomb, to ruin my life.

      My doctor said if I think I’m mad, then I’m probably not. I can‘t believe a modern GP still uses the word ‘mad’, but he did. He said mad people usually think they’re sane and ordered me to stop worrying. As if it were that easy. I’m not sure I‘m capable of doing that, but I do have to start taking chances again. If I see danger around every corner I‘ll never be free to live the life I want. For so long all I cared about was surviving. That‘s not good enough any more. If I live a curtailed life, then I‘m the one being constantly punished and that‘s wrong on so many levels.

      I‘m going to have sex tonight. It‘s a start and it‘s just sex. Only sex. A meeting of bodies, nothing more. I can keep my mind locked tight, metal shutters down and СКАЧАТЬ