Free The Spa Day by Nicola Yeager

where is it hidden? I could
murder a proper coffee, the stronger the better. Three sugars!
    I sit in the spa waiting area, an unread magazine on my lap,
looking at my newly painted and gelled fingernails. Actually, I’m rather
pleased with them. They did them in a lovely red called Raging Ruby. My hair,
also, is looking good and I keep looking in various reflections to check it out
every now and then. It’s obviously been cut, but still looks nice and long. I’m
certainly feeling a lot better than I did when I got up this morning – nothing
like a spot of pamper-therapy!
    I’ve got five minutes before my final bamboo massage session
and optimistically wondering if I can get through an entire day without bumping
into Rebecca. I’m not sure how long she’s going to be here, as we didn’t
discuss it. Maybe she’s already gone home!
    I can’t imagine what that would be like going home for her.
Opening the front door to a silent, empty, spacious mansion, with not a soul in
it (unless she has servants or something). Dumping her bags on the hall floor.
Wandering into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and then straight on
the computer to book herself another health farm visit, check her emails from
her dating sites and order a liaison with a well-muscled gigolo in some posh
hotel somewhere. Then a hot chocolate and off to bed with a suitcase full of
sex toys and health farm brochures.
    In other words, me in ten years! Hah!
    Then I hear her voice.
    ‘Where did you get to last night? I didn’t see you at dinner!
I wondered if you were OK!’
    ‘I felt a bit sick, to be honest.’ After listening to you
and then getting that text from Clive.
    ‘Oh dear! What was the matter?’
    ‘I think I spend too long in the sauna. I felt a bit dizzy
when I came out. I went back to my room, had something to drink and then I must
have fallen asleep. Missed dinner completely. Maybe all these small helpings
are stopping me feeling hungry like I normally would.’
    I’ll soon be lying for England at this rate!
    ‘Well I’m glad I’ve seen you. This is your last day, isn’t
it? Here.’
    She rummages around in in an expensive-looking green leather
bag. ‘In case I don’t catch you at dinner tonight, or you’re not feeling well
again, I’ll give you my card, then we can keep in touch. I’ll tell you what,
why don’t you write down your email address on another one of these, then we’ll
be sure to stay in touch.’
    She hands me two of her cards and a pen. I scribble
something a bit like my email address on the back, but not quite, missing out a
five. Her card is rather posh. It’s matt grey with the writing in pale yellow.
Her name, mobile number and email address are the only things on it.
    I’m not really sure why you’d want a business card if you’re
not the director of a company or something like that. Maybe she hands them out
to men she’s met. Not for the first time, I feel a bit sorry for her and feel a
bit of a rat that I haven’t given her my proper address, but I can always say
it was an honest mistake, if I bump into her again in a few years when I’m just
like her.
    Never mind. I can’t say I relish the idea of keeping in
touch with her, really. Particularly now.
    ‘I’ve got an aromatherapy massage in ten minutes. You can
pick your own oils! After that, I’ve got – what do they call it? – one of those
sessions when they put hot stones on your back. Or is it your feet?’
    I place her card in my robe pocket (let’s hope I don’t
forget to take it home, eh?) and watch as a group of four young women come in,
all chattering excitedly, and take their seats across from us. I’d guess
they’ve come here for one of the one day visits and are trying to cram in as
much as possible.
    James strolls out from the treatments area and they all look
at him and giggle. One of them whispers something to her neighbour and she
laughs. He gives me a smile.
    ‘Ready?’
    I say goodbye to Rebecca, who winks at me,