Page 2 of One Week in Paradise

‘And this is the en suite.’ Amber’s grinning face disappears as she flips her phone’s camera around to show me the large en suite bathroom that connects to her bedroom.

After I showered and put on some real clothes, I finally plucked up the courage to call Amber back. If she’s annoyed by my slow responses, she doesn’t let it show. As soon as she picks up the call, she launches into a whirlwind tour of her new home.

‘I have a garden!’ she squeals, pressing her phone up against the window so I can see the patch of green behind her new home. ‘It’s tiny, but I have a garden ! I can’t wait for BBQ season.’

‘Amber, you can’t cook,’ I remind her. The girl is a mess in the kitchen.

‘Maybe I’ll have a hot, strapping man by then to cook for me,’ Amber says with a dreamy sigh.

I snort. ‘How very feminist of you.’

‘Hey!’ Amber laughs. ‘Give me a break. I just bought a house by myself. If that’s not the most badass feminist thing, then I don’t know what is.’

She’s right. Amber is twenty-eight years old and, as of today, has climbed aboard the property ladder without any help. I’m so incredibly proud of her.

Amber is the kind of person who, when she sets a goal, you can be damn sure that she’s going to hit it.

When she announced, three years ago over happy hour cocktails in some dingy South London bar, that she was going to buy herself her dream home in the suburbs of London in four years or less, everyone at the table laughed at her.

But not me. I knew that she was going to do it. She’s the very definition of kick-ass.

She’s an interior designer with a long list of rich and famous clients who keep her booked and busy. She’s my best friend, but we haven’t seen each other face to face since before The Video because her schedule is so hectic.

‘Anyway,’ she says, flipping the camera back to her face as she flops down onto a beanbag – the sole piece of furniture she currently has in her new living room. ‘How’re you? Good to see you’re wearing proper clothes today.’

The Hug Life T-shirt has been replaced by a simple white tank top. Nothing special, but I do look less haggard.

‘About the same as yesterday,’ I say with what I hope is a casual shrug. ‘It’s… it’s hard.’

‘I know, babe,’ says Amber softly. ‘I just want to give you a big hug. Once I’ve got some actual furniture, you need to come over for a week-long sleepover. Or you could come now if you want, but we’ll be sleeping on the floor.’

I’m grateful for the offer, but truth be told, I’ve been avoiding Amber ever since The Video. I know she’d never judge me, but I can’t help but feel like such a failure.

‘I’ll wait for the furniture to come,’ I say.

There’s a brief pause, and I can see Amber is gearing up to say something. She has a tell. When she’s anxious about something, she always starts playing with her hair. I watch as she twists one of her wavy locks around her finger and wait patiently for her to get the words out.

‘You still haven’t posted,’ she says quickly. ‘Not since… well. You know.’

I grimace. To her credit, Amber has deftly avoided the topic almost entirely for the last three months, so I can’t be mad that she’s finally brought it up.

‘Don’t be mad,’ she says quickly. ‘I just don’t want you to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.’

‘I’ve already lost it,’ I mumble.

Amber scoffs. ‘Bailey. Stop being ridiculous. You still have over two hundred thousand followers .’

Actually it’s 229,823 now. I checked in a moment of weakness after hopping out of the shower.

‘You need to post something again,’ she continues. ‘Get back out there. Show everyone that you’re still a boss bitch.’

She gets another snort out of me for that.

‘I promise, as soon as you start posting again, the brands will be sliding into your DMs like none of this ever happened.’

‘It’s not the brands I’m worried about,’ I say. ‘It’s the comments.’

After The Video went viral, the comments under all my posts were a toxic mess.

I tried my best to ignore them for as long as I could, but after a week or so of casually being told to kill myself every few minutes, I had to turn the comments off.

That was hard. It felt like I was letting the trolls win.

‘But, babe,’ she says, fiddling with her hair again, ‘don’t you think this radio silence makes you look kind of guilty?

I know you’re not,’ she adds quickly, accurately deciphering the look of annoyance that must flit across my face.

‘But they don’t. They saw The Video, and then you didn’t say anything.

You didn’t even try and defend yourself. ’

‘You told me not to!’ I say defensively.

‘I told you not to say anything in the heat of the moment,’ Amber clarifies. ‘You were supposed to sit and think about your response so you didn’t say anything you might regret. I didn’t think you’d go completely silent.’

She continues talking, but my attention is elsewhere. An email notification has popped up at the top of my phone. The preview reads:

YOU AND I COUPLES RESORT – PRESS INVITE

My stomach does a funny little flip. That’s an invitation from a brand . It’s been months since I last got one of these. I quickly tap on the email, ignoring Amber’s irritated ‘Did you just put me on pause?’

From: Penelope Smith [email protected]

To: Bailey Clarke [email protected]

Subject: YOU AND I COUPLES RESORT – PRESS INVITE

Dear Bailey,

I hope this email finds you well. I’m writing as we’d love to extend an all-inclusive invite to the brand new You and I resort in Jamaica to you and your partner.

We’re huge fans of your content and would love to host you at the resort later this month for a week.

We have an exciting schedule of activities planned for the week and will, of course, give yourself and your partner plenty of time to explore the resort as you desire.

We do hope you’ll be able to join us. Please let me know by Friday if this will be possible, as we need to move quickly with flights.

Best wishes,

Penelope

‘Oh. My. God.’

‘What? What? What?’ Amber shouts.

‘I just got an invite email from a brand,’ I tell her. My heart is racing. ‘They want to fly me out to Jamaica to their resort.’

Amber’s screech is deafening. ‘Bailey! What did I tell you? Jamaica? This is amazing.’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ I interrupt her imminent rant about what I’ll need to pack. ‘I’m not going.’

Amber’s smile drops from her face. ‘What the fuck? Why not?’

‘Well, it’s more like I can’t go,’ I say. ‘It’s a couples resort .’ I read her the email and shrug. ‘See? They mustn’t have got the memo about me and Ethan.’

They must not have seen The Video.

I feel a sting in my chest as I think about Ethan. I’ve done such a good job of pushing him out of my mind up until now. I let out a dry laugh. It figures that the first opportunity I get post-break-up would rely completely on us being a couple.

‘Oh, babe,’ Amber says softly. ‘I’m sorry. But look at it like this. If this brand wants you, so many more will. This is why you need to start posting again.’

She’s right. I know she is, but I can’t bring myself to post just yet. My stomach turns in knots as I imagine the flood of hateful comments that will likely come in the second I post anything.

‘You need to move forward,’ Amber says firmly. ‘Show them that you’ve got nothing to hide.’

I swallow. Amber knows almost everything there is to know about me. But she doesn’t know this.

I do have something to hide.