The Holiday Cruise

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘So, this “someone else”, did it last?’

  ‘I think so. Last I heard he was about to propose. She was all blonde hair, and legs and boobs, so unless she’s left Daniel, I can’t see him giving that up.’ I jabbed at a potato with my fork. ‘You know, I think in the end that’s what angered me the most. The fact that I – his loyal, caring wife with more than one brain cell and a business – wasn’t enough, that he was so shallow he thought Barbie was worth destroying everything we had for. We can all get a boob job and bleach our hair, you know!’ I punctuated the last part with my fork-speared potato.

  ‘We can,’ he replied, wearing a bemused grin. ‘Perhaps that’s the first thing I’ll do when I get home.’

  ‘Well I’m glad my tale of woe has brightened your day.’ I rammed the potato into my mouth. It was delicious.

  ‘I’m sorry, it just seems like you’re over him now. He sounds like an utter idiota!’ he said before taking a forkful of tortilla.

  ‘I am, definitely. I just get a little wound up when I think of it. So what happened with you and Lydia?’ I asked, since we’d clearly entered the ‘personal’ zone.

  He eyes fell to the ground at the same time his smile faded.

  ‘I’m sorry, that was a very personal question. We can talk about something else,’ I said, cursing myself.

  He took a deep breath. ‘It’s okay, it wasn’t really Lydia’s fault. I mean, she did call the wedding off at the last minute but really, I was to blame.’ My chest felt heavy. I knew he couldn’t be as perfect as I’d thought.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, restraining the barrage of questions I had. One thing I knew was that being bombarded with questions didn’t help. He had to talk himself.

  ‘Just after we booked the wedding, I had an accident on my motorcycle. It was serious.’ He paused, swallowing something back. ‘Anyway, after that, I wasn’t really myself. I stopped going out, became withdrawn and moody.’ He glanced away. ‘Lydia tried to help but she didn’t know how to so she busied herself with the wedding. I suppose she hoped I’d snap out of it eventually, which I did. Everyone was worried about me and pushed me to get help, so I joined a support group, and eventually started going out again and stopped drinking as much. To everyone on the outside, we seemed fine and the wedding planning was coming along great – in fact being wrapped up in that helped. Soon it was all booked and planned and everyone was excited.’

  The stark similarities between me and Ben struck me. I hadn’t been physically injured but I had suffered emotionally and reacted in a similar way. ‘The problem was, Lydia and I didn’t reconnect. Between my recovery and her being so involved in the minor details of the wedding, we didn’t even try to get back to where we were before. By the time we’d focused our attention on the number of flowers in the centrepieces, which songs the string quartet would play, and which brand of champagne to serve, we didn’t even know why we were doing it.’

  He took a sip of sangria. ‘Our happiness came from agreeing on silverware. Our arguments were over the paper quality of the invites, and our stresses surrounded the seating plans. The relationship was decimated. We didn’t admit it to ourselves; we just continued down the path of no return. I told myself it would all get better after the wedding, that it was just the pressure of the accident and the planning. But it wasn’t. Only she had the guts to speak out.’ I knew my face reflected my feelings, despite what I’d thought yesterday. I could feel his sadness; it was real.

  ‘In the end, the church was full, I was suited up, ready and waiting, and she wasn’t there. After half an hour I sent her a message to see what was going on, fully expecting a hair or make-up crisis, but I got one back saying we needed to talk. She asked me to tell everyone to go home and me to get over to her parents’ house. That’s when she told me what I already knew – that we weren’t going to work out.’

  ‘That’s an incredibly sad story,’ I said softly.

  ‘It is, and to be honest, I was devastated but it was the right thing to do. I’ve had a bit of time to process it now, as the wedding was straight after Portugal. The honeymoon was slightly belated because two people trying to get three weeks off work at the same time isn’t easy … even when it is your honeymoon.’

  I lifted both hands up in the air. ‘It must have been horrendous.’

  ‘I’ll be okay. That’s the first time I’ve told the story to anyone before. People knew of course, but telling it from beginning to end is a first. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. Anyway, what’s the point in dwelling on the past?’ He raised his glass. ‘To moving on.’ I clinked my glass against his.

  We finished our food and sangria and chatted more about our lives, I explained how I ended up on a cruise ship, and he told me more about his life. He was very easy to talk to and once I’d overcome his intimidating looks, I found him so down-to-earth yet witty and knowledgeable at the same time.

  I learned that he was quite high up in a media company that produced quirky contemporary ads and he worked in one of those modern funky offices with an Astroturfed chill-out area. I figured that was why he was so laid-back despite everything. It was nice to talk to somebody who understood what I’d been through. As close as I’d become to Kristy and the others, they couldn’t relate to the way my life had been before.

  ‘We should be heading back to the ship,’ I said reluctantly.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been warned that the ship will wait for no man, not even this one.’ He gestured to himself, making me smile.

  ‘I should walk back alone.’ I felt sad at the thought of leaving him.

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t want to get you into trouble. I enjoyed our secret lunch though and I’m sure I’ll see you aboard – who knows, I may even need a pedicure.’ The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  ‘Well, you know where we are.’ I smiled back. ‘Okay, I’ll probably see you on board.’ He leaned in for a hug, like an old friend would. He felt firm and warm, and smelt of sun cream. I broke off and gave a small smile before walking back towards La Rambla de Santa Monica. The buzz of the boulevard was uplifting, and I allowed the atmosphere to soak into my skin, even watching the street performers rather than trying to ignore them like I usually would.

  ***

  Back aboard the ship, I headed straight to my cabin, buzzing. I needed to tell Jen about the last two days so I grabbed my laptop and typed out an email, since it was too late for Skype.

  Hi Jen,

  Hope all is well in the village. Is there any new village gossip floating around?

  I went into Barcelona today (yes, again and no, I’m not gloating). It was lovely. I browsed the shops and ate tapas in the sun with a guest from the ship (just as friends before you panic that I’ll get the sack). His name is Ben and he’s on his honeymoon alone because his wife called the wedding off at the last minute. I really felt for him. Apart from that, he’s funny and really interesting too – he can speak Spanish and French.

  Speak soon.

  H

  xx

  I hit ‘send’ and sat back in my chair, and instantly wanted to claw the email back from the depths of the internet. Why did I feel the desperate need to talk about Ben? I hated to think about what she’d send back.

  I logged off and lay on my bed, processing the last two days. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about Ben – this man I hardly knew? I closed my eyes and all I could picture was him standing at the altar, all smart and handsome, waiting excitedly for his fiancée. I felt for him because it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Not entirely. I must have drifted off as I awoke with a start to Kristy barging in and slumping down in a huff.

  ‘Sorry were you asleep?’ she asked shortly.

  ‘I think so,’ I replied, feeling slightly groggy. ‘You seem a bit off today; is something wrong?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she mumbled before climbing into her bunk and flopping on the bed. ‘I’m going to have an early night,’ she said, turning out her light. I drifted back to the scent of sun cream and the war
mth of Ben’s strong arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hi Han,

  Sounds like you’re having a great time. I’m very jealous – it’s rained constantly here. I hope you’re staying safe, wandering these large European cities with strange men. Speaking of whom, it sounds like you may have a bit of a crush on this Ben person. Remember, holiday romances don’t last and you don’t need your heart breaking again! Anyway, send me some pictures of all these wonderful places!

  Love you, sis.

  Jen

  xxxxxxxxx

  A crush? God she makes me cringe sometimes! I’m a grown woman. I considered defending myself, but I knew it would just convince her that her point was valid.

  ***

  The market on the Cours Saleya was packing up by the time I’d finished work and headed ashore to explore Nice. Vieux Nice, the old town, was my favourite area, and I loved browsing the stalls of the market if I ever managed to get there in time. As I’d missed it that particular day, I decided to wander the side streets instead.

  It was always risky when I was short on time, because the narrow cobbled streets lined with tall buildings all looked the same. It was a labyrinth of bars, shops, and restaurants, but I couldn’t resist heading in. Every time I entered I found something new: a crepe stall or a tiny wine bar. On this occasion, I found a macaron shop, the window bright with colourful little discs of gooey filled meringue.

  I popped in for a small box, choosing pistachio, coffee, and raspberry flavours – green, beige, and pink. I decided to work my way to the seafront to find a bench and eat them.

  Unable to resist one, I crammed the pistachio macaron in my mouth for the walk and looked to the sky to try and determine which way the sea was. From the direction the seagulls were flying plus the slight decline in the path it seemed I was heading the right way. As I set off, I heard a male voice. ‘Hannah?’ Startled, I flung my head in the direction of my name and saw Ben sitting on a stool in a bar, nursing a small beer.

  ‘Ben?’ I sprayed several macaron crumbs in his general direction.

  ‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ he said light-heartedly.

  ‘We certainly do. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were stalking me. Actually, I don’t know better. Are you?’ I joked, before feeling heat rise in my cheeks. That was too familiar.

  He laughed. ‘To be honest, I was, but got a bit lost in all these winding streets, so technically, this is just a coincidence.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I eyed him with mock suspicion.

  ‘Well, since you’re here, do you fancy a drink?’ He gestured to the empty stool beside him. I thought about what Jen had said. She was wrong: I didn’t have a silly crush. He’d been through the ringer, and I knew how that felt. He was great to be around so why wouldn’t I join him for a drink?

  ‘I was heading down to the seafront, but since it’s you, I suppose I could stay for one.’

  ‘I don’t want to get in the way of your plans. I realize it’s been ages since you last saw the sea.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  ‘Very funny.’ I smiled and pulled myself onto a bar stool beside him. ‘Maybe it was a fib so I didn’t have to share the contents of my box.’ I tapped the top of it as I placed it on the counter.

  ‘And judging by the green crumbs that sprayed out of your mouth, I’m guessing the box contains macarons?’ he teased.

  My cheeks flushed. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘How about if I buy you a drink?’ he asked, whilst trying to catch the waiter’s eye.

  ‘I’ll have what you’re drinking.’

  ‘Vous désirez quelque chose?’ the waiter asked. I tried to dredge up enough of my terrible French to construct a reply.

  Luckily Ben chimed in. ‘Une petite bière pour la dame, s’il vous plaît,’ he replied with ease. The waiter nodded and walked off.

  ‘And lesson number one of A-Level French was how to order a beer.’ I eyed him with mock suspicion.

  ‘My teachers were very liberal.’ His eyes glinted as he spoke. He lifted his beer with his broad, tanned arm and a silence followed. It wasn’t awkward but companionable in a way that felt warm and unfamiliar. Living among the hustle and bustle of the ship for so long meant you were always surrounded by people; but you can still be lonely in a crowd.

  ‘Here, I suppose I’ll share.’ I thrust the box of macarons towards him, eventually breaking the silence. The coffee and raspberry ones still sat there neatly.

  His eyes lit up. ‘Which one do you like best? I don’t want to take your favourite.’

  ‘That’s very kind but I like them both so it really doesn’t matter – just pick one.’

  His hand hovered over them then retracted. ‘How about half and half?’

  ‘Is that because you can’t decide?’ I laughed.

  ‘I’m trying to be a gent actually, but if that’s your attitude, then I might just scoff them both.’ Laughing, he picked up the box and pretended to eat both macarons. I tried to snatch the box back, just in case, but he whipped them away. ‘So, half and half then?’ he asked, raising the box up in the air. As he moved, his aftershave hit me. It was fresh like grapefruit and basil.

  ‘Okay, you go for it.’

  He beckoned the waiter over. ‘Un couteau, s’il vous plaît.’

  The waiter brought over a knife, which Ben picked up and then he began to cut the coffee macaron with surgical precision. When he’d finished he eyed them carefully.

  ‘Those look like perfect halves to me.’ He pushed the box towards me and I took one of the pieces.

  ‘Languages and mini meringue chopping – you really are a man of many talents.’ I cringed a little – since I’d seen him I’d been so flirtatious when I hadn’t intended to. I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Oh, I’ve many talents.’ He winked. I felt my cheeks flush a little, but he was already slicing the raspberry one.

  I checked my phone and noticed it was getting late. My heart sank.

  ‘We have to go,’ I said, once again reluctant to leave. I felt like Cinderella when the clock struck midnight. My mind flashed back to Christmas Eve, when I’d lost my shoe, and I smiled at the memory. It was hard to imagine Pete kissing me now; he and Britney had been inseparable ever since.

  ‘You have to at least finish your half.’ He pointed to the raspberry macaron. ‘Shall I walk back with you?’

  ‘Better not. If we’re spotted I’ll have to explain myself.’

  ‘Well, can I continue to be a bit stalkerish and follow you? Because in all honesty, I’m completely lost. That’s why I ended up here in the bar. It’s a default setting for blokes – we sit in a bar and await our rescue like damsels in distress.’ He batted his eyelashes and I noticed again how long they were.

  I smiled at him. ‘Okay, stalk away.’

  As I set off, I heard his stool scrape the floor and knew he was behind me. I was suddenly conscious of what my backside looked like and hoped it wasn’t wiggling, or worse, wobbling as I walked. I reassured myself that all those HIIT classes must be paying off after seven and a half months of them. I walked tall with my shoulders back and followed the path as it gently sloped down, taking in the tall colourful buildings with their floral window boxes and painted shutters, all the time feeling Ben’s presence.

  Once I found my way back to where the market was held, I knew where I was. Just through the archway the beautiful turquoise shimmer of the Côte d’Azur greeted me. An aircraft came in so low I could clearly see its livery, Emirates, as it tracked along the coastline towards the airport. The beach beneath was busy, and I longed to be down there on the pebbles, reading a good book or just watching the planes come in.

  I thought back to Pompeii, and how I’d started to feel like I’d spread my wings leaving the village, only to have them clipped again by being in a close environment and seeing the same sights on a loop – I wanted to travel.

  I turned left and headed for the port, wondering if Ben was still behind me or if he had
wandered off, distracted by one of the interesting little shops, but I walked up the gangplank and cleared security without spotting him again.

  I decided to head up to the crew deck, stopping at my cabin to change into my bikini en route. It was a hot day and there were still a few hours of sunbathing time left, so I headed up to the crew deck to relax. I lay back, closed my eyes, and listened to my Killers album. It wasn’t long before my mind started to wander back to Ben: Ben’s eyes, his smile, those strong arms. I felt myself smiling, until reality kicked in. He was a guest, a heartbroken guest.

  Opening my eyes, I yanked out my earphones and sat up. It was nothing a cold dip in the pool couldn’t fix.

  ***

  The next day we docked in La Spezia, where the guests could take an excursion to Pisa. I was working a long shift and the spa was hectic because Kristy had a day off and there was a formal night ahead. We were awash with pedicures, facials, and makeovers. I’d only managed a thirty-minute break all day, which was barely time to pop down to the mess hall and grab a sandwich.

  By six p.m. it eased off as people went off to dress for dinner. I was sweaty and my feet hurt, so I flopped into a seat around the corner from reception, slipped off my shoes, and gave my feet a rub. My ears pricked at the sound of a familiar voice. ‘I tried but I’m pretty hopeless.’

  I tiptoed to the corner and peered around. There he stood, in a tuxedo, chatting to Marion. ‘I should’ve bought a clip-on,’ I heard him say as I caught a glimpse of his half-smile.

  ‘Oh come here,’ Marion said, motioning for him to come closer. She tied his bow tie as he looked at her sheepishly with his big brown eyes. I heard him say something about being too embarrassed to ask his dinner table friends for help and that he hadn’t seen his cabin steward. My chest panged at his vulnerability, as if the beat had momentarily popped off somewhere to sip a margarita. I slipped back down the corridor so he didn’t see me.

  A few minutes passed and Marion came down to find me.