Her husband dropped her at the gates to the spa, skidding off unceremoniously within seconds. His Toyota Yaris has been blocking the small country lane, and an angry gammon of a man in a white Range Rover had quickly become abusive at the delay that they were causing. She managed to shout "I love you" over the passenger seat, and her husband had waved back, but that was that, Sarah was on her own in the rain, a small wheeled suitcase by her side.
"Lovely," she said aloud.
She reached into her pocket for her packet of Richmonds, and produced a cigarette. Yes, it was raining, but she'd also been cooped up in the car for close to an hour. After several minutes of listening to the rain drops drip onto the fat leaves of the enormous trees, another car speeding past in the narrow lane brought her back to reality, and she turned towards the spa.
The wheeled suitcase was borderline useless on the crunching gravel. As she walked towards the building, ground level spotlights cast the structure in a yellow glow. It was beginning to grow dark, and the bright light highlighted the age of the place. It was a grand building, like a country house, but also imposing in its own way. A large sign read: "Sycamore Hall: Restaurant & Spa Hotel".
Sarah had been the first of her friends to get married. Others had children, but she was the first to have taken the plunge into the true binding contract of love that was marriage. Her own wedding had been only four months ago, so Daniel was trundling along at a close second.
Daniel was due to marry his partner Andrew in less than two weeks. Always the flamboyant one, he had set the location for his own joint stag / hen party at a secluded country spa. Sarah imagined that it would be very relaxing, but part of her had hoped - no, wanted - one last mad night on the town like in the old days. Alas, it was not to be.
It dawned on her suddenly that she had not seen some of the people who had been invited tonight for several years. She wondered how many of them would bother to actually show up. Time had a way of distancing people, often permanently, and the rooms at the spa were not cheap.
A concierge dressed head to foot in burgundy ran out to take her luggage as she approached the large, flat steps that ascended to the main entrance. Two grand old oak doors flanked a more modern glass front, both of which were held open by heavy metal hooks. Hot air was blowing down from heaters in the ceiling, taking away the brisk chill of the evening.
"Please, let me take that, Madame," the man purred, whisking away her comically small one night's worth of luggage as if it were a priceless stone. He began clopping back up the steps.
"Oh cheers, pal," she said, following him up into the foyer.
The interior was obnoxiously grand. Most of the floors and walls were covered in marbled stone - artificial or otherwise - and the reception desk seemed to be cut of the same material. A massive chandelier constructed of seemingly millions of shards of cut glass shone brilliantly in the light. Below it ran a thick red roll of carpet leading to a staircase, and in the corner stood several decadent velvet chairs and a white grand piano, which had its lid propped open but was not in use.
The room Sarah had booked online had been expensive, but even so, the opulence of the place surprised her. She began to feel slightly conscious of herself, having tromped into the foyer in purple Dr. Martens and with half of her head shaved. She pulled her leather jacket more tightly around herself, covering up her self-mutilated Guns 'n' Roses t-shirt.
Everything was already paid for, so after checking her ID with the receptionist, the concierge carried her luggage and showed her to the room. It was all the way down a long corridor; up the grand staircase and all the way to the end, number 119. The concierge opened the door for her, and disappeared with a little bow.
The room continued much in the same vein of opulence as the rest of the establishment, with marbled features and slashes of red carpet about the place. The bed, a grand king, looked big enough to sleep four people.
Dropping her luggage to the floor, Sarah ran and jumped head first onto the covers, lying face down and inhaling their fresh scent. It was so comfortable...
There was a knock at the door. Shit, she had fallen asleep! Sarah sprang off the bed almost as fast as she had jumped onto it. Had she been out an hour? Or five minutes? Brushing her brown hair out of her face, she opened the door.
"Sarah, darling!"
It was Daniel.
"Oh my life!" Sarah shouted back.
The pair hugged excessively.
"I was beginning to wonder where you were," Daniel explained, inviting himself into the room, "when you didn't answer your phone I checked with reception to see whether my favourite guest had arrived yet and a quick nibble on that cute bell boy's ear later, he told me that you were in room 119, and here I am!"
Daniel had on a red Hawaiian shirt, sandals and grey shorts. He looked like he was on holiday in Majorca. He shrugged and showed his hands.
"The concierge?" Sarah asked, putting her hand to her mouth, "you didn't?"
Daniel waved a hand.
"Oh please, he wishes," he laughed, "that boy is further in the closet than I was when I was 15, besides, I'm a taken man these days."
He positively glowed when he spoke the final words. Sarah half expected him to do a twirl.
"Argh!" she scrunched up her nose and waved her hands, "I'm so excited for you mate, I could die!"
Daniel mocked a faint, raising his hand to his brow, and flicking his shaggy black hair.
"Oh, don't die, darling," he pleaded, "at least not just yet. We need to get our vino on, then get our gin on, and hit the spa, girlfriend!"
"So who's here, then?" she asked him, "where's the gang?"
"All downstairs waiting, of course!" he beamed, "Unfortunately Ashley couldn't make it, but Leah is here, some of Andrews boys from work, Greg and Mark are their names, Jade is here too and so is Stevie."
There it was. The gut punch. Subconsciously, she had been expecting it. She had been trying with all her will to blot it out, but of course it came anyway, right on cue at the mention of her name. Stevie.
She hadn't seen her now in... was it 8 years? Or 9? It was a full decade since they spent that summer together. That one summer. The one that Sarah always thought back to. It never left her. It had been on her mind particularly frequently this year too, for the whole summer past. It had been 10 years now since it had all happened.
