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"Flo."

No hello, no hey. Just intoning my name like we're lawyers in a B-list TV series and he's come to my deposition as a hostile witness. His timbre is low and gruff, like a country singer warbling about a broken heart. Would it kill him to clear his throat and enunciate properly? I'm probably not worth that to Jamie, either. Behind me I hear Laurie say, "It's so good to see you, mate. I know you're having the time of your life, but we've missed you." I don't hear what Jamie says in return. Time of his life? I'll bet there are women in every port, like he's had for his whole life. I've always known he's a player, right from when Laurie first brought him home and I heard them talking about their "number." Everyone knows Jamie sleeps around, but nobody judges him for it. It's as if because he looks like he does, it would be a waste if he didn't. His Lothario ways are part of his charm. Well, part of his charm for everyone but me. I'm simply mad I almost fell for it.

"Christ alive, Flo," Kate says to me as I flop down onto the stripy deck chair beside her. My bum practically touches the sand through the low fabric of the seat. I misjudged the distance and flail inelegantly about—careful not to spill my beer, obviously—trying to get comfy. I'm sure this will be further evidence to His Lordship that I'm a mess and he was right to give me the swerve.

"Oh, for god's sake," I tut as I get settled. My tone is a bit sharp. Urgh! I vowed I wouldn't let Jamie irritate me more than he has already. Kate looks at me, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"That's the holiday spirit," she coos, taking the mick out of my sudden bad mood.

"Sorry," I say, taking a long pull from my bottle. I lie about why, because Jamie's name will not pass my lips. "It's the four A.M. wake-up call to get to the airport. Blame Dad's obsession with arriving for flights obscenely early."

Kate sticks out her bottom lip and pulls a "sad" face. It's a thing we do sarcastically to stop either of us ever moaning too much. "How horrible," she teases in a silly voice.

"Shut up!" I scrunch up my face. "It was still dark when we left the house. At least we had time for a beer and a full English breakfast at the airport, I suppose. How many minutes did you and Laurie have to spare before you made it?"

"Ninety seconds," Kate shoots back. "But we did get to ride on the golf-buggy thing after security, so silver linings."

"Luck is always on your side," I say, reaching over for my beach bag. I need my sunglasses. "I have honestly never met somebody for whom all traffic lights turn green, all doors open, complimentary coffees are freely given..."

"Speaking of which..." She shrugs, noticing that I seem unable to find whatever I'm looking for. She figures out it must be my sunglasses and pulls out a second pair from her beach bag, which I take gratefully. "We did get complimentary croissants at Pret, to apologize for the wait."

"You almost missed the flight because you were at Pret?" I shriek, and she motions for me to hush. "How?"

"Shush!" she hisses, looking in my dad's direction to check he hasn't heard. She lowers her voice. "I made Laurie swear he wouldn't dob me in for it. But I needed a ham-and-cheese croissant, and you know I can't function without a coffee in the morning."

"You're preaching to the converted," I say. "Coffee is life." I gulp down my beer and take in the perfection of our surroundings: powdery-yellow sand stretching all the way around the cove, endless water, the sun lowering in the sky to envelop everything in its syrupy flame. With my back to Jamie, I can almost forget he's here—and then Mum titters at him yet again, and I'm reminded that he is. Before Kate can ask me about it, I say, "Anyway. Your 'Christ alive'. Don't let me distract you from taking the Lord's name in vain..."

"The Lord's son technically," Kate points out, and I can't help but notice that she's already glowing, looking relaxed and in the holiday mood.

I can't even imagine having relaxation so readily at hand. It will take me days, if not a full week, to get my shoulders to unclench from up by my ears. I'm just built that way. Hope says it's better to be highly strung and know it than to think you're low-key and chill when everyone around you knows the truth. I have to say, I think Hope has a point. But Kate is low-maintenance through and through, and I envy that.

Kate continues, "I was going to tell you that you look ridiculous in that bikini, actually. Your waist, your boobs&if that's what almost getting sectioned does to a girl, I might need a breakdown myself. You, my friend, have never been hotter."

I pull a face at her that's supposed to mean, Are you seriously joking about what happened?, but it goes unnoticed. Unnoticed or ignored, which is quintessential Kate. Of course I don't mind, not really, because these past two years she's been one of the few people to keep treating me like normal. In fact I have exactly zero friends left from "before times," because nobody knew how to handle me. I met Hope in the waiting room at the therapist's office, and we bonded over mental health and a love of Bluey, the kids' cartoon. Hope's theory is that when you're sad, Bluey is the best thing to cheer you up; and when you're happy, Bluey is the best thing to remind you to treasure it. She's backpacking around Europe right now. Her breakdown has led her to embrace everything that life throws at her. My breakdown has left me craving safety and sameness. We're mostly a text-based friendship for the foreseeable, although Hope's determined to get me to join her. This will never happen. I am not the YOLO, go-backpacking-for-a-summer type.