‘Thanks,’ Cara replies. ‘Love you too.’ A slight waver in her voice betrays her true anxiety about whatever this family emergency might be, but when they pull apart, her mask is back in place and she’s all calmness and serenity.
Once she’s gone, Rose flops on to her bed and sulks for a bit. She’s genuinely worried for Cara and her family, whom she thinks of like relatives of her own. However, she takes some comfort from knowing Cara’s dad told her everyone was all right. She contemplates phoning her own father, Dave, to see if he knows anything about what’s going on, but she talks herself out of it, bearing in mind everything Cara’s just said, and knowing how disappointed he’d be to hear they weren’t having the wonderful Saturday he’d planned for them.
He only sprang this trip on her and Cara a few days ago, having secretly booked it on their behalf, wanting to give them a last-minute treat ahead of the wedding. ‘Dad, it sounds fantastic, but you shouldn’t have,’ she told him when, at breakfast earlier that week, he handed her an envelope containing the details.
‘Why not?’ he replied, standing behind her chair at the dining table and leaning around to plant a kiss on her forehead. ‘You’re my only daughter. I like to spoil you, especially knowing you won’t be my little girl for very much longer. I thought it would be a nice way to spend your last weekend before whatever it is you’ve got planned for next Saturday. Remind me again what we’re doing?’
‘Very funny,’ she said, rolling her eyes at his feeble dad joke. ‘I’ll always be your little girl, incidentally, just a bit bigger, older and wiser. Oh yeah, and with a husband, in a few days’ time.’
She paused before adding: ‘It still feels weird to say that, even though it’s so close to being a reality. I’ve barely got used to calling Ryan my fiancé rather than my boyfriend. Having a husband – being a wife – sounds so grown-up. Anyway, thanks very much for this, Dad. It’s really thoughtful of you. It’ll be lovely to have something relaxing to keep me occupied and away from tinkering or worrying about things.’
Back in the present, Rose looks at her mobile and, seeing it’s just gone two o’clock, gives herself an imaginary slap around the face and jumps to her feet.
‘Come on, Rose. Pull yourself together,’ she says to her pale, makeup-free reflection in the mirror, willing some energy and renewed enthusiasm into her sorry-for-themselves green eyes. She runs her hands through and shakes some life into her straight, shoulder-length fair hair. Without further ado, she grabs the keycard for the room, slides her feet into the complimentary white slippers and heads for the spa.
CHAPTER 3
Having checked in at the spa reception and explained about Cara no longer being able to attend, Rose is shown into the women’s changing room by a friendly member of staff.
‘Help yourself to a spare locker,’ the motherly woman says, handing her a large, soft towel and a pair of flipflops. ‘There’s no key: you set a four-digit PIN of your choice. You’ll find instructions on the inside of the locker door, but if you have any problems, please give us a shout.’
‘Thank you,’ Rose replies. ‘And how exactly does the tranquillity tour work? I get that it’s a series of different saunas, steam rooms, hot tubs and so on. But do I have to move around in a specific order, or—’
‘It’s up to you really. There are signs on the wall to guide you on the recommended route, but you don’t have to follow it. And you can spend as much or as little time in each area as you like. There are no hard and fast rules. It’s all about your relaxation, so please do whatever works for you.’
‘Okay. And are there clocks in there so I can keep track of the time and not be late for my treatments?’
‘Absolutely.’ With a gentle smile and a hand on Rose’s arm, she adds: ‘What a shame your friend got called away, my dear. Don’t worry about being on your own, though. There are several others flying solo today. It’s quite normal. You’ll find most people in there are very friendly. Sitting around in the warmth in a swimsuit tends to lower folks’ inhibitions. And the bar’s open too, if you fancy a little drink, which you can charge to your room if you don’t have cash or a card handy. Anything else I can help you with?’
‘No, that’s great. Thanks again.’
A few minutes later, having had a quick shower on the way in, Rose finds herself standing before the glass door of the journey’s first stage. Would adhering to the prescribed order of things make her terribly boring? There must be good logic behind the sequence, she thinks. Why stray just for the sake of being different? There’s no one else currently inside the small room, described on the sign next to the door as ‘gently warming and fragrant’, so she steps inside and plonks herself down on the tiled seating that runs in a U-shape around the edge of the softly lit space. Soothing music is being played from a small speaker in the centre of the ceiling and there’s a gentle floral aroma.
After a brief feeling of self-consciousness passes, Rose stops shuffling about and looking around, leans back and slowly exhales. Maybe doing this alone won’t be so bad after all. If she could manage to clear her mind of everything that’s been occupying it for the past several months – primarily wedding, wedding, wedding – that would be really nice. And, trying to look at things positively, perhaps being here by herself will even make that a bit easier, since it would have been hard to avoid discussing the arrangements for next weekend with her maid of honour beside her.
Unfortunately, in trying to take a break from the wedding plans, Rose ends up doing the exact opposite. Ongoing niggles about flowers, music, table decorations, last-minute seating tweaks and various other anxieties bob to the surface of her mind, one after another, shattering her serenity. And then the glass door swings open, wafting in cooler air plus a hirsute man and a woman so orange from fake tan that she looks as though she might glow in the dark. The mid-thirties pair both nod politely at Rose, who returns the gesture, and proceed to sit down opposite her. They talk quietly to each other, continuing a discussion about whether or not their teenage neighbour would make a suitable babysitter for Calvin, who she assumes to be their young son.
Their presence puts Rose on edge. Despite being here first, she feels like an intruder, eavesdropping on a private debate. She wants to leave the room but fears coming across as rude by doing so too soon. She hangs on for a short while before finally surrendering to the urge and walking out, offering them a pursed smile on the way.
Following the corridor, en route to the next leg of the tranquillity tour, Rose arrives at what she assumes to be the hub of the spa complex: a small indoor swimming pool and lounging area. Another helpful sign informs her that the pool isn’t a formal part of the journey but may be enjoyed at any point along the way. Since it’s fairly busy with other guests, she decides to skip it for now and, having grabbed a quick drink from a water cooler, walks up to the door of stage two: a menthol steam room.
She notes that other people have brought their bathrobes and towels with them. Many are walking around wrapped up, hanging them on hooks outside the rooms or on the backs of chairs and loungers, as required. Rose left hers tucked away in her locker. She considers going back to the changing room to grab one or the other but decides against it. Why bother? She’s perfectly warm and body confident enough in her swimsuit.
She tries to peer through the door to see how many people are already in there, but thanks to it being a steam room, there’s no real way to tell. As she opens the door, a minty cloud wafts out and the heat hits her immediately. It’s quite a step up from the previous room, although once she sits down, so her head’s no longer in the hottest spot, Rose finds it more manageable and starts to acclimatise.
There are two other women already inside. They both smile at her through the fog and say hello.
‘Hi,’ she replies. ‘Toasty in here, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly is,’ one of them says, letting out a noisy puff of air. ‘I reckon I’ve only got another minute or so in me before I’m all steamed out. I feel like a lobs
ter. I probably look like one too.’
‘No comment,’ the other replies, making all three of them giggle.
Since the pair seem happy to chat, Rose asks: ‘How long are you supposed to stay in each room? I’ve not done this before. Is there a recommended time?’
‘It really depends on how much you enjoy each stage,’ lobster woman replies. ‘If you start feeling too hot, it’s best to get out. As I shall now demonstrate.’ She jumps to her feet and exits the room, adding: ‘See you later, ladies. Enjoy.’
‘Bye,’ Rose says, surprised that the other woman remains behind, having assumed they were here together. Apparently not.
The two of them are silent for what feels like ages. ‘Have you done this before?’ Rose says eventually, more due to feeling awkward than because she’s desperate to know.
The woman, who looks to be somewhere in her early forties – a little younger than Rose’s father – replies: ‘It’s my first time staying at this hotel, but I arrived yesterday and I did pop down here then. I didn’t do the full tranquillity tour, as they call it. I just had a dip in the pool and a quick sauna. But today’s a new day, right? I quite fancy working my way around the whole thing. It sounds like the best kind of challenge – a relaxing one.’
‘Definitely,’ Rose says. ‘I’m planning to do the same. How long are you staying here?’
‘Oh, only a few days. What about you?’
‘I’m just here for the one night,’ Rose says.
The woman nods, adding: ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely. Really nice and luxurious.’ Rose is tempted to explain why she’s here and what happened to Cara, but it seems a bit much when they’re just making small talk, so she reins herself in for now.
‘The surrounding area is gorgeous too,’ the woman adds. ‘The countryside is breathtaking.’
This warms Rose’s heart. She might be a guest here in the hotel today, but she’s very much a local to these parts. Lancashire’s Ribble Valley – a beautiful area of calm, green, undulating countryside dotted with picturesque villages and small towns – is her home. She’s hugely proud of it and loves nothing more than to hear visitors wax lyrical about its allure. As part of the Forest of Bowland, much of the district is an officially designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. If Rose had her way, all of it would be.
‘It’s stunning, right?’ Rose says. ‘I live nearby, so I’m used to it. I try never to take it for granted, though. There are few burdens that can’t be lightened by a stroll here. That’s what my dad always says – and I can’t disagree.’
‘What a nice way of putting things,’ the woman replies. ‘Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to get a bit too hot.’
Rose wipes some of the accumulated sweat from her forehead and blinks. ‘Totally.’
They get out at the same time and, without specifically agreeing to do so, walk to the next stage of the tour together. It turns out to be a large outdoor hot tub with spectacular views over a gorgeous stretch of luscious meadows and pastures – a stream winding its way through them – and the impressive sight of the mighty Pendle Hill as a distant backdrop.
‘Wow,’ the woman says, surveying the scene while standing in her bathrobe before the bubbling, steaming water. ‘It looks like a scene from The Lord of the Rings. I know they actually filmed the movies in New Zealand, but blimey, this is impressive.’
‘It’s interesting you say that,’ Rose answers. ‘Tolkien was a regular visitor to this area in the 1940s, staying at Stonyhurst College, while he was writing the story. It’s often said that Middle Earth was largely inspired by where Tolkien grew up, around Birmingham, but I think the evidence that he was inspired by the nature all around us speaks for itself.’
‘You like to read?’
‘Definitely. Books have been a big part of my life ever since my father started reading to me at bedtime. He’s always been a bookworm and I guess it rubbed off on me. There was a brief period when I stopped, in my early teens. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was a minor form of rebellion. But I soon picked up the habit again. Don’t get me wrong, I like films and TV shows too, but books are my favourite form of storytelling. I love how personal the experience is; how much of a role your own imagination plays in it.’
‘That’s refreshing to hear. It seems like everyone’s always saying how people your age don’t read books any longer; that they’re too busy on social media, watching YouTube videos or taking selfies. Good to get a different viewpoint.’ She holds out a hand. ‘We haven’t properly introduced ourselves. I’m Cassie Doyle.’
‘And I’m Rose Hughes,’ she says, accepting the handshake with an enthusiastic grin. ‘It’s very nice to meet you, Cassie.’
Considering it’s an overcast but warm afternoon in late July, Rose is surprised not to find the tub rammed with bodies. In fact, the only other people in there at the moment are the same pair that she encountered in the fragrant first stage – Mr Hairy and Mrs Orange. They must have skipped the steam room. At least she won’t be alone with them this time.
Slipping off her flipflops while Cassie hangs up her robe, Rose climbs the three steps up to the hot tub and slides into the wonderfully warm, soothing water, muttering a brief ‘hello’ to her fellow bathers, then promptly avoiding eye contact. Instead, she looks in the direction of Cassie, whose slender form is now approaching in her red and white striped halterneck swimsuit. She looks great for her age, Rose thinks, hoping she’ll manage to stay so trim into her forties.
Cassie’s hairstyle is short – honey blonde, parted to the side with a sweeping fringe – very feminine and glamorous. As she steps into the water, nodding gracefully at the other couple and sitting down directly opposite Rose, she lets out a contented sigh. ‘Oh, yes! This feels sublime. Having the fresh breeze on your face is such a nice contrast to the heat, don’t you think? It’s heavenly, especially looking out on such a lovely landscape. Given half the chance, I could probably stay here all day, easing my achy limbs. But don’t let me do that, Rose. There could be something even better waiting around the corner, right?’
Rose chuckles. ‘That’s possible. This is really nice, though.’
CHAPTER 4
‘A bit odd,’ Cassie mouths to Rose, drawing a smile, after the other two have climbed out of the hot tub. She pulls a face but says no more while they remain within earshot, putting on their flipflops and robes.
Following the earlier discussion Rose had overheard the couple have about babysitting, this time they were busy talking, in loud voices, about the pros and cons of him getting a vasectomy.
Having first looked over her shoulder to double-check the coast is clear, Cassie adds: ‘I can’t believe they were discussing that so blatantly in front of us! You’d think they’d want to keep such matters to themselves, wouldn’t you? And when he burped and they both started laughing. Honestly. How uncouth. What’s your view, anyway?’
‘Sorry?’ Rose replies, unsure what she’s being asked.
‘Do you think he should get the snip or not? I reckon he should. I have a feeling we don’t need any more of their offspring than absolutely necessary.’ She giggles. ‘It’s okay, Rose. You don’t have to answer. I’m being bitchy, aren’t I? Sorry, I can’t help myself sometimes. Ignore me.’
‘You do have a point,’ Rose adds with a wry grin. Recounting how she came across them earlier, she almost makes a joke about the pair’s appearance. However, she bites her tongue, reminding herself that she’s not with Cara now; she needs to be careful not to overstep the mark.
‘What were they talking about then: sex toys?’
‘Thankfully not. It was regarding whether some young neighbour of theirs would make a suitable babysitter for their son.’
‘For Calvin, you mean?’ Cassie asks, raising one eyebrow. ‘Not that they mentioned him a lot or anything. Only every other sentence. Doesn’t look like he’s going to be getting any brothers or sisters, does it? Not if the procedure goes ahead. Anyway, enough
about our oversharing friends. Tell me something about yourself, Rose. What brings you here today?’
Before Rose answers this, she has to ask a question of her own; something that’s been bugging her ever since she and Cassie started talking. ‘I will tell you, of course,’ she says. ‘But first – and I’m sorry if this sounds weird – have we met before? You seem familiar and I can’t put my finger on why.’ She holds her hand up to her mouth as another possibility dawns on her. ‘Oh, gosh, you’re not famous, are you? Do I recognise you from the television or something? I’m so sorry if that’s it. I—’
Cassie tips her head back and laughs. Toned arms out of the water, extended in both directions along the curved edge of the hot tub, she says: ‘No, you can relax, Rose. I’m definitely not famous. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And I doubt you’d recognise me from us meeting previously, since I don’t live nearby. I’m visiting the area.’ She clears her throat before adding, with a sheepish look on her face: ‘I have an inkling I might know what it is, though. You didn’t by any chance have lunch in the restaurant here earlier, did you?’
‘I did. You too?’
‘Yes. Let’s just say I was a bit clumsy with my wine glass.’
It only takes a couple of seconds for the penny to drop and, once it does, Rose has to bite her bottom lip to stifle a giggle.
‘Yes, that was me,’ Cassie says, bowing with a mock hand flourish. ‘I can be a bit accident-prone. That poor waiter. He was probably calling me all kinds of names inside his head, but he remained very professional on the surface, I must say. I made a right spectacle of myself, didn’t I?’
‘Accidents happen,’ Rose replies. ‘It could just as easily have been me or someone else. Anyway, at least that answers my question and I know I’m not delusional. It’s always so frustrating when you recognise a face but can’t recall where from. So, you wanted to know why I’m here. Believe it or not, I’m actually getting married next weekend. My dad treated me to a last trip away as a single woman to take my mind off the wedding planning and help me chill out.’
The Daughter's Choice Page 2