The Little Wedding Island: the perfect holiday beach read for 2018. Jaimie Admans

in my stomach, the kind of seed that grows into a big plant known as ‘You’re going to be personally responsible for the entire staff losing their jobs and the end of Two Gold Rings magazine after more than two decades’. I try to stamp it down. Surely they’ll understand that an article in Two Gold Rings will be good for them? They’re wedding people and I’m a wedding person. They’ll be keen to reveal their secrets to me. Surely they will.

      We follow Clara up two flights of stairs that are covered by blue and pink floral carpet that looks like it’s recently escaped from the Seventies, until she stops on a landing with clashing orange and pink flowery carpeting that looks like it lived through the Sixties – the Eighteen-Sixties. She hands us a key each. ‘Here we go, dears, rooms six and seven. Now, you must allow me to invite you both for dinner tonight. As you’re my only guests, it would be an honour to welcome you to our little island in the best way I know how. Do say you’ll join me at eight o’clock this evening?’

      I look over at Rohan, who still looks pale and like his stomach is turning at the mere thought of food. He manages to put on a smile for Clara. ‘I’m in if Bonnie’s in.’

      ‘How could we refuse such a kind offer?’ I say to her. ‘Thanks, we’ll be there.’

      She pats me on the arm. ‘Rightio. I’m downstairs if you need me. You can just yell and I’ll come running as fast as my arthritic hip will carry me. I’ll leave you two to get settled in.’ She waggles her eyebrows as she leaves, and I wonder what and why she thinks there’s anything going on between us, and what exactly ‘settling in’ is supposed to be an innuendo for.

      ‘Well, I suppose we should…’ I wave the key towards the door of my room.

      ‘Yeah. I can’t wait to see what the rooms are like. If I didn’t already have a headache, this carpeting would’ve given me one.’

      I unlock the door of room six and push it open, trying to think about something other than Rohan next to me, turning the key in his lock.

      Inside, the room is small. There’s a dark brown plain carpet, a double bed, and a wardrobe and dressing table. All of them look like they’ve been here for a century too long. There are vases of artificial flowers and bowls of potpourri on every available surface, ornaments of children playing and dead-eyed animals, and framed pictures of couples kissing hung on the walls all round the room.

      I dump my bag on the bed and before I have a chance to get any further, there’s a knock on the open door and Rohan’s standing in the doorway.

      ‘So, is this “charmingly romantic” or just an old lady who hasn’t found the way to the tip yet with all her junk?’

      I can’t help snorting at him. ‘Aw, she’s got to put her own stamp on the place, bless her. It’s cute and kitschy.’

      ‘There are people on the mainland who’d pay a fortune for this stuff.’

      ‘Antiques dealers?’

      ‘Scrap disposal merchants.’

      It makes me laugh again and he backs out onto the landing and beckons me over with his finger. ‘Look at that,’ he says when I join him on the landing. He’s pointing to another door with a little metal sign on it that says ‘bridal suite’, and then his finger moves towards a staircase in the corner with a sign that says ‘honeymoon suite’.

      ‘I’d love to see what counts as a honeymoon suite in this place. Can you imagine? It’s probably got bright red carpet and pink walls and rose petals everywhere. There’s probably even a waterbed that will spring a leak halfway through the night and gradually drown your downstairs neighbour. That bloke at the harbour did say it was overpriced here. Do you think they charge extra to keep cockroaches to a minimum in the honeymoon suite?’

      ‘There are no cockroaches.’

      ‘Let’s meet in the morning and reassess that assumption.’

      I laugh nervously because even though it’s a joke, the idea of meeting him in the morning for any reason is not an unwelcome one. Even if it’s to discuss cockroaches or lack thereof.

      ‘Well, I suppose we’d better…’ he says, trailing off, and I tell myself I’m imagining that he sounds as disappointed as I am at the thought of not spending more time with him.

      ‘Hang on, I’m still wearing your coat.’ I shrug it off my shoulders. ‘Thank you so much for the loan of it. You must’ve been freezing coming up here in only a T-shirt.’ I refuse to let my eyes wander to the way that dark T-shirt clings around his bicep muscles.

      ‘No, not at all. Look at me, I’m all sweaty. I’m still too hot.’

      Oh, you can say that again.

      I bundle the coat in my arms and hand it back to him, trying to ignore the dash of heat as his arm brushes against mine.

      ‘Well, thank you for your babysitting-the-seasick services, ma’am,’ he says, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction.

      ‘My pleasure. Thank you for not throwing up on me.’

      ‘Ah, I’m a chivalrous gentleman. Clara said so. Chivalrous gentlemen don’t throw up on people.’

      I want to laugh but I try to keep it serious. ‘Are you going to be okay now?’

      ‘Yeah. There’s nothing I can do to get myself out of here any quicker, and that guy on the dock didn’t exactly fill me with hope, so I’m going to go and lie down and have a nap.’ He glances at me. ‘God, that’s really rock ’n’ roll, isn’t it? You must be looking at me and thinking, “Look at this fun and exuberant young guy and what an exciting thrill ride of a life he leads.”’

      It makes me laugh again. ‘Actually I was thinking a nap sounds perfect.’

      ‘Well, I’d ask you to join me, but that would be overstepping the mark. So…’ He leans around the doorframe and peeks into my room. ‘Look, our headboards are in the same place on the adjoining wall, so it’ll be almost like we’re napping together. Look at how young and vibrant we are with our afternoon naps. I don’t suppose you brought a bingo game and a knitting pattern, did you? We could really show some pensioners how to have a good time.’

      I’m trying to suppress laughter because all I’ve done today is laugh at him and it’s got to be bordering on abnormal by now. He must think I’ve got a massive crush on him, or that I’m really nervous, or that he’s the funniest guy in the world, or d) all of the above. All it does is make my face contort as I try to hold back the laughter, which is about as successful as trying to stifle a yawn.

      ‘So I’ll see you for dinner tonight?’ he says.

      ‘Yeah. How nice is that? That’s so sweet of her to do that.’

      ‘Yeah, right. You check it for rat poison, I’ll run through the bill to see how much she’s charged us for it.’

      ‘Oh, stop being horrible,’ I say, whacking the coat he’s still holding, ostensibly whacking him. ‘She was very sweet. She’s probably lonely if she hasn’t got any guests in.’

      ‘Her husband’s probably chopped up in the freezer ready to go in stews she serves the guests.’

      I can’t stop myself laughing again and I have to walk away before I make his ego any bigger.

      ‘Bonnie?’

      I turn back to look at him and he meets my eyes, sudden seriousness in his. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’ Then he smirks. ‘Even if it’s stew with unidentified meat.’

      Oh my God, this guy. I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to breathe without laughing at something he’s said. The butterflies in my stomach are more like 747s, and I cannot stop smiling. He’s kind, and sweet, and hilarious. He loves his mum, he’s chivalrous, I’m sure he’s single, and he seems to like me too.

      Could The