Jenny Oliver - The Sunshine and Biscotti Club

‘Libby, I’m sorry if you think I’ve offended you somehow,’ she said. ‘I do really think it all looks nice.’

‘But …?’ Libby said, arms crossed.

‘But nothing,’ Eve replied. Then when Libby looked at her, almost willing her to carry on, she couldn’t stop herself adding, ‘Just remember that people don’t always know what they want, what they like, until it surprises them. I agree it all needs updating but this place always had character. Style. You know, just maybe you don’t need to get rid of it all.’

She walked over to the window when Libby didn’t reply and looked out to see the lemon grove, the familiar image of the waxy leaves winking in the sunlight. She wondered how it was that people could be so close at one point in their lives and then become so distant. Eve was as wide open as they came, but Libby, she took some chipping away to get beneath the polish. Especially now that she too had a great stamp across her saying, ‘Jake’.

Sometimes, when Eve had put the kids to bed, she would sit down with a glass of wine and read Libby’s blog. There was always some gorgeous looking lemon and basil drizzle cake to salivate over or a plate of something delicious that Libby said she’d thrown together because she was feeling peckish but would take any normal person hours.

Eve knew it was all gloss. All shine. But slowly she would feel herself prickle with jealousy, like pins and needles starting in her neck. She found herself jealous of the life made quirky and cool through the many filters of Instagram. Of the parties Libby catered, of the selfies with famous guests, of the Rainbows and Roast Beef Supper Clubs that she held at her flat with Jake there sipping red wine from a glass as big as a bowl.

Eve had lived in the flat below Jake for three years. She knew he was an arrogant pain in the arse half the time; she had eaten batches of Libby’s mistakes, she had been to the pillar-box tiled kitchen and seen the beautiful hand-thrown bowls the colour of oatmeal and the lovely little white enamelled saucepans and thought they were lovely, if a bit impractical, but, in the pictures, in the lifestyle, she coveted them like no other. Because they seemed to symbolise this other life—where everything went right.

And over the years it had made Eve start to stay away. Because somewhere along the line, her friend Libby had become lifestyle blogger Libby Price, while Eve was a scruffy, haphazard mother of two who struggled to run a business and fit into her countryside lifestyle and be an interested wife and not believe that everyone else was doing marvellously while she was just keeping her head above the surface.

So in the end there was no point seeing Libby because, while it was all aesthetically lovely when she did, they never had the time to get beneath the facade to make it worthwhile. It was all just too nice and polite to bother.

But what was so frustrating was that she knew the truth of Libby. Eve knew what was under there, had seen her drunkenly dancing in her bedroom at three in the morning, had seen her laughing so hard that she snorted lemonade out her nose, had seen her stuffing her mouth so full of chocolate that she couldn’t breathe, had seen her sobbing on the doorstep because she couldn’t take the pressure of all her brothers and sisters and her mum out of a job, but over time the walls had gone up and now it was just that bit too high to reach.

Peter had done this whole lesson at school on entropy. He used pictures of the crumbling disused ballrooms of Detroit to show that everything falls into disorder in the end. The walls always came down. It was just a case of how long it took. And how much one was willing to try.

‘OK well …’

Eve turned to see Libby backing out of the door.

‘Anything you need just let me know. I’m thinking drinks on the terrace at seven and we can work out a plan,’ Libby said, starting to pull the door closed behind her. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’

Eve turned so her back was against the view and watched Libby leave, nodding at the instructions.

Jessica arrived back at her room slightly sunburnt and annoyingly still replaying the meeting with the cocksure Italian at the bar. She had planned on having a shower and doing some work to rebalance, but when she opened the door she found Dex sitting at her dressing table working on his laptop.

‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Work,’ he said without turning round. ‘I thought we were working.’

‘We are, but why do we have to do it in my room?’

‘Because I’ve got no WiFi in mine. Yours is bad enough—it only works here,’ Dex said, pointing to the dressing table. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get it done then we can be on holiday.’

Jessica frowned. She wasn’t used to sharing her personal space. She remembered the early days when Dex had shown her the plans for the new office—all inclusive and open plan—and she’d said, ‘No, this just won’t work. I need to be able to shut a door.’

He had prattled on about the merits of sitting together as a team, exchanging ideas, laughing together and building bonds.

‘My brain doesn’t work well as a collective force, Dex,’ she’d said. ‘It works well on its own. I am antisocial. I like to be on my own.’

Dex had stalked away with a shake of his head, rolling his eyes at the architect as they fudged a small office into the sleek design plans.

Now she wished she could portion off a section of her hotel room.

‘Come on, chop chop,’ said Dex, pulling over a spare chair so she could sit down next to him. ‘Get your laptop.’

‘OK, OK, hang on.’ Jessica took a minute, standing in the centre of the room, to get herself in the right mode. She went into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face—saw the extent to which her hair had frizzed and curled in the humidity and the pink tinge to her cheeks, and tried to channel First Day Holiday Jessica back into At Work Jessica.

She poured herself a glass of water then walked out of the bathroom, went over to her bag, pulled out her laptop, then set it up next to Dex.

‘You look very relaxed, by the way,’ said Dex as she booted up. ‘Very earthy.’

She glanced across at him with a raised brow.

‘What? That’s a good thing. It’s a good thing. I promise. Very …’ He looked her up and down.

‘Don’t go on.’

He laughed. ‘Very pretty.’

She shook her head. ‘No I don’t.’

‘You do, it’s a compliment. Take it as a compliment. You’re terrible at compliments.’

Jessica scoffed. ‘Because most of the time people say them to mask something else.’

Dex looked perplexed. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jessica shook her head. ‘Like you think my hair looks bonkers but you can’t say that so you say something nice instead.’

Dex snorted a laugh. ‘You really are an idiot sometimes. Anyway, right, enough of this nonsense, there’s a sun out there just waiting for me.’

Jessica took a sip of her water and then started to work. Her laptop was taking longer than Dex’s to open the files.

Dex glanced over. ‘It’s so slow! Seriously, I’ve told you to get a new one.’

‘I don’t need a new one. This is fine.’

‘It can’t cope with the software update. It’s too old.’

‘It’s fine.’

He peered over. ‘Do you still have that bit of plastic film over the screen, Jessica?’ He turned to look at her, aghast. ‘You’re meant to take that off when you buy it.’

‘It keeps it protected.’

‘Oh my god.’ Dex smacked his forehead. ‘We need to get you out of that office. You are getting away with some ridiculous behaviour.’

She allowed herself a little laugh when she looked at the plastic film. ‘I just like to look after my things.’