by Zoe May
‘Where else have you been for work?’ I ask him.
‘Oh, I’ve been to loads of places,’ Will says, selecting an action film to watch. ‘Iraq, Syria, Yemen, North Korea, all for work. In fact, I haven’t been on holiday since …’ He pauses, racking his brains. ‘Ooh, ten years ago, when Nathan, Jonesy and I went to Ibiza for a blowout after uni ended.’
‘Oh God,’ I groan, thinking of Nathan and Jonesy, two totally annoying boozy, girl-chasing lads from our school days.
‘What about your honeymoon?’ I ask. ‘Didn’t you go away? Surely you went on holidays with your wife?’
‘No, not really. We got married in Cornwall and we just stayed there for a few weeks after the wedding – that was our honeymoon. And we were both too busy for holidays, really,’ Will says, coughing a little and pressing a button on his control that he’s already pressed.
‘I see,’ I reply, dropping the subject. I get the feeling Will doesn’t really want to talk about his failed marriage.
‘When was your last holiday?’ Will asks.
I think back to the last time I went away. It was a long weekend Leroy and I took to Bruges back when I was three or four months’ pregnant. I should have known back then that things were never going to work out. I’d ended up booking the flights and hotel – which came to more than £600. Leroy had promised to pay half but as the holiday approached, he kept making excuses. The person who was meant to buy the table he’d been upcycling for the past month had changed their mind, he had to help his mum pay for her new bathroom refit and then there was a friend’s stag do he had to go on. By the time our holiday rolled around, he’d paid a measly £40 towards the trip. He kept grovelling, apologising and promising he’d pay me back and I nearly let it go, but while we were packing for our trip and I was looking for a bottle of dry shampoo I’d left at his flat that I wanted to bring, I stumbled upon a bag stashed in his bathroom containing a Nike shoe box with a pair of fresh new Nike Air VaporMax Plus trainers inside. I gawped at it, looked into the bag and found a receipt dated two days earlier. The trainers cost a whopping £169.95 yet Leroy had only been able to contribute a paltry £40 towards the holiday! I was so furious, I could barely look at him.
We argued all the way to the airport. I had been so tempted to just call the whole thing off, but I didn’t want to lose out on the holiday I’d already paid for so we went. I tried to let it go, but every time I had to pay for something because Leroy claimed he was broke, I just pictured those Nike trainers in my mind. I had this sinking feeling the entire trip that here I was, carrying the baby of a guy who couldn’t even pay for his own dinner. When we got home, Leroy did end up managing to sell the table and he did pay me back eventually, for the hotel, flights and extra for all the other stuff I’d paid for, and I started wondering whether I’d overreacted … but then he went and shagged his personal trainer and I realised that he was just a no good waste of space all along.
‘Oh, just to Bruges with my ex,’ I reply casually now, hoping Will doesn’t ask about Leroy. He is the last person I want to talk about.
‘I hear Bruges is beautiful,’ Will replies. His uncharacteristically polite and restrained reply makes me wonder yet again what he’s heard. It must have been bad for Will to be this well-mannered.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ I tell him, steering clear of the subject of Leroy. Instead, I launch into a detailed description of the winding streets, epic medieval architecture and dreamy canals. I even start telling him all about some amazing waffles I had over there. Anything to not have to talk about Leroy.
Will nods. ‘I’ve heard it’s lovely. I’ll have to go there sometime.’
Suddenly, Victoria swoops by with a drinks cart.
‘How are you guys doing?’ She smiles enthusiastically. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Oh, er …’
‘We have champagne, cocktails, spirits … Here, have a drinks menu.’ She hands me a drinks menu that could compete with a London bar. I glance over at Will, who is also handed a copy.
‘You could have champagne, since it’s your honeymoon,’ Victoria suggests, glancing between me and Will, with a playful twinkle in her eye.
‘Excellent idea! Let’s get a bottle of Dom Perignon!’ Will says, slapping his drinks menu shut, clearly feeling decisive.
Victoria’s eyes light up. Even though we’ve been upgraded to first class, it’s not like a bottle of Dom Perignon is complimentary. It seems ridiculously excessive to be splashing out on the finest champagne, especially since it’s still so early in the morning. Hardly anyone else on the flight seems to be drinking.
‘Will!’ I hiss.
‘Oh come on, it is our honeymoon after all!’ Will reminds me, reaching over to give my hand a squeeze.
I resist the urge to glare at him.
‘That’s the spirit!’ Victoria says, clapping her hands together. She seems tickled by the romance of our situation. She looks to be in her mid-twenties and probably thinks we’re madly in love. I feel bad puncturing the fantasy.
‘Oh, okay then,’ I sigh.
Will grins triumphantly.
‘Fabulous!’ Victoria beams, before reaching into the drinks trolley for a silver bucket, which she begins filling with ice cubes.
‘It’s on me by the way,’ Will adds quietly while Victoria’s distracted. ‘Got a really good redundancy pay-out,’ he whispers.
‘Oh, really? Are you sure?’ I reply, feeling touched.
‘Yeah, of course.’ Will smiles, giving my hand another squeeze. He may be being lovely but he’s really milking this whole hand-holding thing.
Victoria places the bottle in the bucket and hands it to us with two champagne flutes. I glance around but none of the other passengers seem remotely surprised by our early morning boozing. Perhaps this kind of thing happens all the time in first class.
‘So, what was your wedding like?’ Victoria asks as Will begins twisting the cork off the bottle.
‘Oh, er, it was lovely,’ I tell her, smiling enthusiastically. I glance at Will, who has a slightly unnerved expression. He clearly hadn’t anticipated this blindingly obvious question.
Victoria nods encouragingly, apparently expecting more.
‘Er … we just had a small wedding in the local village church. We decked it out with dozens of pink and white roses and filled it with candles. It was heavenly. And then we had a drinks reception in a marquee outside. We had balloons everywhere, canapes, cocktails, even a steel drum band. And the weather was perfect. It was wonderful,’ I tell her.
Victoria’s eyes have lit up. They’re sparkling. Even I feel a bit swept away in the fantasy. It’s actually really clear in my mind, since it was pretty much the dream wedding I’d planned for myself and Leroy – a simple and yet charming day. I’d done a mood board on Pinterest and everything.
‘It sounds wonderful,’ Victoria comments, and I can tell I’m stoking the flames of her own daydreams. I find myself wondering whether she has a boyfriend she’s hoping to marry, or whether she’s single and dreaming of falling in love.
‘It was a beautiful day,’ Will remarks, having finally popped the cork from the bottle. I must have been so swept up in my wedding fantasy that I completely failed to notice. He pours the bubbles into a glass. ‘It was the best,’ he adds, gazing lovingly into my eyes as he hands me the glass.
I gaze back, aware that Victoria is looking on and making an ‘Aww’ noise. Even though this whole thing is ridiculous, I can’t help admiring Will’s eyes a little bit as I gaze into them like a loved-up newlywed would. His eyes are just so striking. No wonder I used to draw them in the privacy of my bedroom when I was a teenager. But it’s not just Will’s eyes that are appealing. His features are all so perfectly proportioned. His face has filled out a bit since school and he no longer has that boyish fresh-faced look but he has aged well, despite the stress of visiting war zones for work. He’s not wrinkled or balding or saggy in any way. He looks a bit rugged now, with a dusting of stubble
along his jaw line and on closer inspection, there’s a tiny frown line between his eyebrows, but it’s almost appealing; it gives him a slightly serious, intelligent vibe.
‘I can see how in love you are,’ Victoria says.
I look up to see her gazing at me, having clearly misinterpreted my examination of Will’s face. In love?! I mean, really, that’s a bit of a reach.
‘Oh yes! We’re so in love!’ Will insists. ‘So very in love.’
I raise an eyebrow at him and take a hungry sip of my champagne.
‘That’s wonderful!’ Victoria smiles from ear to ear, a dreamy look on her face.
Another customer pipes up – piercing Victoria’s daydream by asking for a G&T in an irritable, impatient tone, clearly not appreciating our chinwag about weddings. Will and I thank Victoria for the champagne, and she rolls her trolley along.
‘Have you ever felt more hashtag couple goals?’ Will jokes once she’s out of earshot.
I laugh. ‘Nope. Never!’
I glance over his shoulder to see that our plane has now soared above the clouds. We’re gliding through the clear blue sky.
Will holds his bubbling glass of champagne out in a toast. ‘Cheers to a lifetime of happiness together,’ he says, a cheeky twinkle in his eye.
I laugh and clink my glass against his. ‘Cheers Will. To a lifetime of happiness.’
Chapter 8
‘I’m so glad we don’t have to pretend we’re a couple anymore,’ Will says as we collect our luggage from the conveyor belt at Marrakech airport.
‘Oh …’ I yank my suitcase onto the trolley, feeling a little hurt. Am I really such a terrible pretend wife?! I thought I was doing pretty well, quaffing champagne and chatting away.
‘I was just worried Victoria would see through it,’ Will remarks. ‘Although our fake wedding was pretty convincing. The steel drums were a nice touch.’
‘Oh yeah, they just popped into my head,’ I fib. Will doesn’t need to know all the details of the wedding I never ended up having.
‘It sounds nice. Steel drums rippling over a gentle summer breeze. A relaxed reception,’ Will muses as we head from baggage collection towards the exit of the airport.
‘Yeah, I suppose!’ I agree, trying to sound as casual as possible.
We emerge into the lobby of the airport, where a throng of excited friends and relatives wait to greet their loved ones behind a rope barrier, with a spattering of bored-looking hotel staff holding up signs emblazoned with the names of guests.
‘You can’t really be in a bad mood when you hear steel drums, can you?’ Will continues as we start walking past the crowd. ‘I mean, is it even humanly possible?’
I laugh. ‘Probably not. You’d have to be in a really dark place.’
‘Wouldn’t you? They just sound so happy. Such a joyful sound,’ Will says dreamily.
Suddenly, I spot a man waiting behind the rope barrier holding up a massive sign with ‘Mr & Mrs Brimble’ written on it in big letters surrounded by dozens of hand-drawn red love hearts.
‘What the …’ I utter, stopping in my tracks.
Will’s gaze follows mine. The man must sense us looking his way as he suddenly catches our eye and smiles broadly, his face lighting up. He’s in hi mid-forties and he’s wearing a black tunic embroidered with a logo for our hotel – ‘Marrakech Palace’. Damn it, so there’s definitely no way he’s got the wrong people. Not that Brimble is a particularly common name.
‘Mr and Mrs Brimble!’ he shouts, grinning and waving enthusiastically.
I glance at Will. He looks back at me, his eyes wide and perturbed.
‘As-salāmu ‘alaykum! Welcome to Marrakech!’ the man says, beaming at us. He’s giving us an Arabic greeting that means ‘peace be upon you’. I read about it online, along with a few other Arabic words I’ve memorised, like ‘shukran’, which means ‘thank you’, ‘naäam’ - ‘yes’, ‘laa’ – no, and ‘min faDlik’, which means ‘please’.
‘Wa ‘alaykumu s-salām,’ I reply, returning the greeting.
Will glances over at me, impressed.
‘Hi,’ he says to the man. ‘Have you umm … made a mistake?’ Will asks, sounding faintly hopeful.
‘No! No mistake. You are staying at my hotel, Marrakech Palace, yes?’ the man says.
Will nods hesitantly.
‘Great!’ the man replies, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He has one of those wide enthusiastic smiles that are almost impossible not to mirror and I find myself beaming back at him, despite the weirdness of the situation.
‘I am so happy to welcome you to my hotel and to Morocco!’ The man unclips the rope barrier to let himself through to our side.
‘I’m Medhi, I am the manager of Marrakech Palace,’ he says, shaking our hands. Will looks completely taken aback.
Medhi smiles and takes the trolley from Will, sliding his sign between our bags. He gestures for us to follow him.
‘Our car is outside. We’ll drive to the hotel. I wanted to come and welcome you personally since you are the first couple to stay in our new honeymoon suite! This is so very exciting for us.’
‘Honeymoon suite,’ I echo, glancing at Will.
‘Yes, honeymoon suite!’ Medhi grins, looking a little perplexed. ‘We cannot wait to have you! We’ve been preparing for weeks. Everything is ready,’ Medhi says, wheeling the trolley ahead, eager to take us back to the hotel.
‘Many congratulations, by the way. I should have said that before! Congratulations!’ Medhi exclaims.
‘Thank you,’ I reply in a small voice. Will seems to have been stunned into silence.
‘Here is the car,’ Medhi stops by a taxi and gestures for the driver to load the boot with our luggage. Despite being completely perturbed, Will tries to help but Medhi point blank refuses. He starts speaking in Arabic to the driver.
Will turns to me, a panicked look in his eyes. ‘Do you think this is the prize? A honeymoon?’ he whispers.
‘I guess so,’ I mutter.
‘We should explain,’ Will insists.
Explain? Oh God.
‘But what if we lose out on the prize and have to go home?’ I fret.
Even though having a honeymoon with Will Brimble isn’t at the top of my list of dream holidays, I don’t want to go home either. We’ve made it all the way here. I’ve packed a bikini and sun cream and fun books to read. I even painted my toenails! I’m not ready to go home.
‘I know …’ Will sighs. I can tell he really needs this holiday too.
‘Let’s just play along. It won’t be that hard!’ I insist, as brightly as possible.
Will raises an eyebrow, looking unconvinced.
Medhi thanks the driver, who closes the boot.
‘Ready?’ he says, smiling enthusiastically.
Will stares back at him blankly.
‘It’s just for a few days,’ I remind him under my breath, fixing him with a meaningful look.
I’m worried he’s going to ‘fess up, burst Medhi’s bubble and send us home on the next flight back to London. I can’t exactly have a honeymoon alone and I’m not having my holiday ruined – honeymoon or not. I need some sun. I need some time off from being a stressed-out single mum.
‘Yes, absolutely!’ I beam back at Medhi, placing my hand on Will’s shoulder and steering him towards the car door. ‘We are definitely ready!’
Will shoots me a look as I pull the door open for him and silently urge him to get in.
* * *
By the time we get to the hotel, I know so much about Medhi’s family that I almost feel like a distant relative. As we drove to Marrakech Palace, he explained how the hotel came to be. Apparently, Medhi grew up in a tiny village in the mountains and moved to Marrakech without a penny in his pocket when he was just 14. He got a job at a shop selling handbags to tourists and then became a tour guide, taking groups on trips from Marrakech to the Atlas Mountains, and began offering the trips through hotels. He befriended one of the hotel managers who saw
his potential and gave him a job managing one of his properties – a struggling hotel on the outskirts of Marrakech. Having impressed the manager by turning it around from a neglected unloved hotel to a popular boutique destination, Medhi asked the hotel manager for a loan to start his own hotel, the Marrakech Palace. He now lives there with his wife, Amira, and their son, Mohammed. His rags to riches story is really impressive and his enthusiasm is infectious. It reminds me of my own spark of ambition – the drive and hunger that inspired me to set up my own business.
Medhi explains how his brother, who also entered the tourism industry, recently went on a honeymoon to Dubai. He says that seeing the pictures of his brother’s honeymoon inspired him to launch his own honeymoon offering. Will and I both go a little quiet at this point. I text Mick.
Me: We seem to be on a honeymoon!! Do you know what’s going on?
I message my mum to let her know that we’ve arrived safely and to get an update on Hera. I can’t bring myself to tell my mum that Will and I seem to have been booked onto a honeymoon. She’d be delighted. My mum replies to let me know that Hera’s having a nap, with an adorable picture that momentarily distracts me from the strangeness of mine and Will’s situation, when my phone suddenly buzzes again, with a text from Mick.
Mick: Maybe Hannah made a mistake. Sorry about that. Hope it works out. Have fun! M.
Maybe Hannah made a mistake? His niece must have accidentally booked the wrong package as the raffle prize. Oh God. What does Mick mean that he ‘hopes it works out’? Does he also expect Will and I to just ride it out and play along?
‘You are my first honeymoon booking!’ Medhi enthuses. ‘I am so happy to have you stay!’ He beams at us.
I smile back. ‘We’re so happy too!’ I insist, glancing at Will, who does a sort of half-smile, half-grimace.
