The Weekend Away by Sarah Alderson
English | 2020| Thriller| ePUB | 2.9 MB
Two friends go on vacation. Only one comes back.
If you loved The Vacation by T.M. Logan, get ready for your new obsession…
Orla and Kate have been best friends forever. Together they’ve faced it all – be it Orla’s struggles as a new mother or Kate’s messy divorce. And whatever else happens in their lives, they can always look forward to their annual weekend away.
This year, they’re off to Lisbon: the perfect flat, the perfect view, the perfect itinerary. And what better way to kick things off in style than with the perfect night out?
But when Orla wakes up the next morning, Kate is gone. Brushed off by the police and with only a fuzzy memory of the night’s events, Orla is her friend’s only hope. As she frantically retraces their steps, Orla makes a series of shattering discoveries that threaten everything she holds dear. Because while Lisbon holds the secret of what happened that night, the truth may lie closer to home…
A twisty holiday read for fans of The Holiday and Date Night.
‘Bastard owes me,’ she mutters and I silently agree. I never liked Kate’s ex, Toby, much to begin with but after he cheated on Kate I gave up pretending I ever had. He isn’t even good-looking, which isn’t to say that if he had been I could have forgiven him, but it is hard to see how a man of his very mediocre looks could cheat on a woman like Kate, who is ten million miles out of his league.
I never understood what Kate saw in Toby, with his dome-like bald head and contradictory masses of thick black body hair, though I suppose he has got charisma, and as Kate liked to joke, short, bald men work harder to please in the bedroom. Not that I want to imagine that.
There are two enormous bedrooms in the apartment: a master bedroom with a marble en-suite bathroom and another smaller bedroom that is still far nicer than any hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. Everything is white – the cloud-like duvet cover, the pillows, the walls, the Eames armchair in the corner, the linen curtains – but whoever decorated the place has also added bold splashes of colour to stop it from looking too clinical. Blue and yellow patterned pillows are perfectly aligned on the bed, as though arranged using a protractor, while one wall is tiled with beautiful blue-patterned ceramic tiles. It’s like something you’d see in Condé Nast magazine.
‘You take the big room,’ Kate says to me.
‘Oh no,’ I say, ‘I’m fine in this one. It’s great.’
‘I insist,’ Kate argues. ‘You deserve it.’ And before I can say another word she wheels her suitcase into the smaller room. Kate’s suitcase is huge enough that she needed to put it in the plane’s hold, while I only brought a carry-on. She said she had too many shoes and too many toiletries to fit in a carry-on-sized suitcase, which is typical Kate, who used the second bedroom in the flat she lived in with Toby just to house her clothes and the third bedroom to store her shoes and handbags.
I wheel my own scruffy bag with a broken wheel into the master room, which is done in much the same colour palette as the smaller bedroom, and I collapse down on the bed. Through the window I can see puffy white clouds wafting across the bruise-coloured sky. It feels glorious just to lie here, feeling the stress of the last couple of years already starting to melt away. It’s amazing how a comfortable bed and the prospect of a weekend of lie-ins and laughter can do that.
Kate wanders into my room a minute later and flops down beside me on the bed, her arm brushing mine. We lie there in silence, staring at the clouds, which are starting to turn the colour of candyfloss.