The Holiday Cruise

by Victoria Cooke

  I took his address out of my bag and wrote it down before pausing for a moment, to think about what I really wanted to write. I love you. I gasped, clasping my hand to my mouth. I had no idea where that came from. I snatched my pen out of my bag and scribbled a quick message:

  To Ben,

  Wish you were here to share my tapas and sangria.

  Love

  Hannah

  xxx

  As soon as I wrote it, I shoved it into the yellow post box, out of my sight.

  Once I’d checked in to my hostel, I lay on my bed and connected to Wi-Fi for the first time since I left Venice. Too tired to explore the city, I found myself on Facebook. Pete had uploaded some pictures of Malaysia, so I spent a good twenty minutes or so looking through and ‘liking’ them. There was a picture taken from the top of the Petronas Towers, some on exotic beaches, and one from a cable car with immense views of green mountains and blue ocean. My chest felt light. I was giddy with excitement because pretty soon, I’d be having the same experiences.

  I commented underneath the cable car picture:

  I can’t believe you’ve done all of this in just a few days. Looks fab, hope to see you soon x

  I soon moved on to my emails. There was one each from Kristy, Britney, and Zac. They’d left the ship and were all flying home. It was the end of an era. It was sad to think I may never see them again, and that I never got to say a proper goodbye.

  I printed my flight confirmation off and skimmed through my other emails – there were over a hundred. My heart flipped when I saw one from Ben.

  Dear Hannah,

  I got your postcard from Venice today. It reminded me of our first kiss too. I can’t tell you how much I want to do it again.

  I’d love to come. I really, really would. I can’t think of anything I want more than to lie on a beach next to you.

  Ben

  XXXXXXX

  Without even thinking, I tapped out a reply:

  Then come, Ben! I leave Barcelona on the evening of the 3rd September. It’s the Air France flight to Paris, then on to Bangkok after a three-hour layover.

  H

  XXXXX

  After hitting send, I knew it was a waste of time. I’d tried, and that was something old Hannah wouldn’t have done – chased a man. Kristy was right: the emails were going to confuse me, so I made a vow – I wouldn’t check them until I was far enough away that my resolve wouldn’t waver.

  ***

  Heaving on my backpack, I left the hostel and walked down to the port. The Requiescence was in. I should have been walking down the gangplank at that moment, leaving for my adventure. I stood and stared for a moment as the sun beat down, burning my shoulders. I remembered the excitement I’d felt nine months earlier when I saw it for the first time. I had no regrets, as I stood there, looking at the vessel that once contained a broken soul and repaired it.

  It had given me Britney’s confidence, Pete’s fun side, and George’s sense of family. It had given me chance to forget Daniel, chance to be me, and chance to love again. I saw part of my old self in Zac, and hoped he too would gain from cruise work what I had. I said my goodbyes mentally, before jumping in a taxi.

  Moving through Barcelona airport was a bit of a blur. Swarms of people wheeled cases past me as I frantically scanned my boarding pass and tickets. Everything was in order but it didn’t stop my fingers from twitching, nor the niggling feeling in my chest. I looked around, hoping to see a familiar face, but I didn’t. I was alone. Come on, Hannah, you can do this. I channelled Jen’s voice and forced myself to head to the gate.

  It wasn’t until I found myself on the shuttle flight to Paris that I actually calmed myself enough to process the morning. I’ve done it. My own voice roared through my head, laughing. Small fragments of laughter slipped from inside my head out of my mouth. A businessman next to me shuffled uncomfortably, and I fidgeted with excitement. ‘I’m on my way to Bangkok,’ I said to him with a smile. He gave a simple nod and proceeded to read his newspaper.

  We arrived at Charles De Gaulle, and I made my way through the airport to catch my connecting flight. The gates were like spokes protruding from the terminal building, and at the end of the spokes were huge glass windows and loungers to sit on. I lay back in the comfort of one of them and watched the planes take off and land. There was something therapeutic about watching them come and go, taking people to exotic places, boring conferences, loved ones. After a while my eyes felt heavy, and I allowed them to close.

  Images of beaches and rainforests danced through my mind. I ran across the sand in my bikini whilst someone chased me playfully shouting ‘Hannah’ and laughing. I recognized that voice. A warm feeling filled my chest as I ran. ‘Hannah,’ he said again. Then the sand started to shake and I was falling. ‘Hannah.’

  My eyes jolted open. To be met by a pair of familiar big brown eyes. My eyes darted left and right. I was back in the terminal. Heart racing, I looked back at the eyes, my own wide and fixed. Blood thumped in my ears as my dry lips remained clamped together. ‘Hannah?’ he said again. My body shook.

  ‘Ben?’ I croaked eventually as my heart raced.

  He looked worried. ‘You didn’t get my email did you?’

  I shook my head and pulled out my phone, flicking on Wi-Fi. It quickly connected and hundreds of emails began to bounce in. He placed his hand over mine to stop me.

  ‘I wasn’t there for you in Rome when you were mugged, I wasn’t there for you in Venice when you were thrown off the ship and that was my fault … I’m here for you now, Hannah.’ Shivers ran up my spine. ‘Those fears I had were nothing compared to the fear of losing you.’

  I stared at him, still in shock.

  ‘I thought about what you said. The past two weeks at home have been depressing as hell. I missed you like crazy, my parents were driving me mad, and work was just work. You inspired me, Hannah, the way you were so driven to travel, and then I got your postcards.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re amazing and brave not to mention funny and beautiful.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘I wanted to come too. I just didn’t think it was the right time, but it’s the perfect time.’ I was aware of my body still shaking. ‘Work agreed to let me take a year out as unpaid leave. My parents had set some money aside for a wedding present and gave me that.’

  As I stared into his eyes, the familiarity of him came flooding back. His smell, the feel of his body against mine, and the touch of his lips. I yanked the collar on his polo shirt and pulled him forwards, kissing him deeply. He leaned on top of me and ran his fingers through my hair.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, madam,’ a female voice said, breaking the moment. We looked up to see one of the Air France crew members before us. ‘Your flight is now boarding.’ We both giggled, and he flung an arm around me.

  ‘Are you ready to do this?’ he asked.

  ‘Now more than ever.’ I smiled.

  If you loved this wonderful story from Victoria Cooke read on for an excerpt from The Secret to

  Falling in Love her first fun, flirty romance!

  Chapter One

  I opened my eyes with a start. A thin, bluish line of light crept in underneath the blind. It was morning. As my eyes adjusted, I scanned the room in confusion. I didn’t recognise it at all. I had no recollection of how I’d come to be there. It took a moment for me to recall the events of the previous evening. When I did, dread descended upon me. The true horror set in. I was suddenly wide awake. I had to escape. If I was going to get out without being rumbled, I had to do it quickly.

  First, I needed to figure out where I was. I tensed my body, trying to keep it as still as possible, and slid a leg out of the bed into the cold, stark air. I felt around the floor with my toes until they found my handbag. Bingo. Slowly, I hooked my toe underneath the handle and bent my knee, bringing the bag up towards my chest. I unzipped it quietly.

  Being careful not to make a sound, I slid out my phone. I had no memory of the end of the evening and hoped to find some clues, but a qui
ck look through my messages and status updates was enough to draw a blank. Nothing there shed any light on what had happened or where I was. The sound of slow, shallow breaths close by refocused my attention. Panic set in. Time was not on my side. My heart started to beat harder, each beat pounding in my eardrums, trying to pull me into action. It was now or never.

  I held my breath to keep myself silent as I carefully rolled over and slithered to the edge of the bed in a move that would have made James Bond green with envy. It was the second time in the space of a few minutes I’d been glad of my enduring commitment to Pilates. I stretched my left arm out so my hand could touch the floor, before pausing momentarily to check I was still operating under the radar. The coast seemed clear, so I brought my right leg over and down to the floor before heaving the rest of my body out of the bed.

  So there I was, on the floor in some stranger’s bedroom, stuck in downward-facing dog, too afraid to move until I’d reaffirmed the bloke in bed was still asleep. It was hard to hear any changes in his breathing for all the blood pumping around my head, but he didn’t move, so I assumed he was still sleeping. Relieved, I allowed my knees to slump down to the floor and scanned the room for my belongings. Hanging from the lamp on the bedside table was my blue lacy satin bra. ‘Oh, God,’ I groaned under my breath as snippets of memory started slapping me in the face.

  I didn’t dare put my clothes on for fear of being caught, so I scooped everything up into my arms. When I stood up, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Even more horrifying than the predicament I’d found myself in was my hair; it looked like the perfect home for a tittering of magpies.

  I didn’t have time to think about that. I scurried towards the door. As I was about to leave, I turned back to check he was still sleeping. My panic had subsided a little, so I could appreciate that no matter how compelled I felt to get out of there, he wasn’t actually too bad. The slow rise and fall of his toned, taut chest was the calm before the storm. At that moment, he was blissfully unaware he’d wake up alone – that his date would have sneaked off after a night of passion. (I’d concluded there had been passion from the location of my bra.)

  To my shame, I felt quite excited about being the one to sneak off. On the rare occasions I’d had one-night stands, I’d always been the one to wake up alone without so much as a note, but there I was, holding all the cards. Of course, it was just logistical, as we were in his house and he couldn’t exactly sneak off and leave me here.

  Although that did actually happen once, back in my university days. I’d had to suffer the embarrassment of a very forthcoming flatmate telling me the bloke of my beer-goggled dreams had gone into hiding and wouldn’t come out until I’d left. He’d said that it would be better for him if I hurried up about it too, so the elusive one-night stand could return home to his game of FIFA.

  I contemplated leaving a note, but it would have increased the risk of getting caught. Instead, I left the room and crept down the stairs. The front door was locked, and there was no sign of a key anywhere. I tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen, in search of another way out. There was a back door, which was also locked. Shit. I really didn’t want to go back upstairs and wake him.

  Looking around, I could see no obvious place for a key to be kept. My own were on a big silly bunch of novelty key rings probably visible from the International Space Station, and I kept them on the floor, under previously worn clothing, but I have lower standards of organisation than most people. Think, Melissa! I gathered my composure, trying to channel the mind of a more resourceful person.

  As I cast my eyes around the room, I realised there was another option. It wasn’t ideal, and perhaps a bit of a squeeze, but I’d run out of other options and by that point it felt quite welcoming, like Willy Wonka’s factory gates. It was a dog flap. In my haste, I hadn’t noticed a dog, but as I looked around I saw a dog bed. It was quite a big one too, which probably meant that I, being fairly petite, might actually fit through the flap.

  I couldn’t see any alternative, so I slipped into my underwear and last night’s black skater dress and got on all fours. I pushed on the door. It was disgustingly sticky, but luckily it swung open – it wasn’t one of those fancy electronic ones. Ha, he was a cheapskate; the memory came back to me. Last night he’d refused to split the bill fifty-fifty and wanted to tot up each item individually because I’d had a mojito and ‘they’re expensive’. I knew there was something off-putting about him, that taut chest wasn’t fooling me.

  Carefully, trying not to let the putrid dog residue touch me, I put my head through. My shoulders, however, were a bit of a squeeze. I couldn’t get them through; it was impossible. The door seemed to be taller than it was wide, so I precariously turned onto my side, jammed my shoulders in and wriggled like a worm, pushing with my toes. Once I’d finally got my elbows through I was able to free my hands and support myself.

  I’d just taken a moment to let out a huge sigh of relief when I heard a low growl. Shit, the dog! I tried to work my way through faster, but my hips were posing a similar problem to my shoulders; I’d wedged them in and each push was only budging them a centimetre or so. Something was pulling me back. I realised in horror that the dog had my dress in its teeth and was tugging viciously.

  Using my hands and feet together, I gave one big heave. There was a loud tearing noise, as I landed in a heap on the doorstep and slid into the soggy grass before it. Looking down at my dress, I saw it was a complete disaster. The skirt had detached from the waistband, transforming it into an ill-hemmed top and saggy skirt combo that exposed a less than appealing area of my stomach.

  Urgh. Damn dog! A furry head appeared through the flap – not one of a ferocious Rottweiler or an Alsatian, but that of a cute golden retriever, panting playfully. Typical.

  Once safely outside of the garden, I was struck by the icy January air and the shame of walking home in last night’s clothing – which was now torn, just like my hopes of the date leading to more than just someone’s bedroom. I walked sullenly to the end of the suburban street, taking in the identical red-brick terraced houses that lined both sides.

  I couldn’t have changed my mind and sneaked back inside if I wanted to, since I’d no idea which one of them I’d just come from. Plus I didn’t fancy my chances against that dog again; I had very little clothing left to tear. The thought smothered me with shame, and I shuddered, wishing for the first time ever that I’d followed my mother’s advice and worn a bigger coat. The middle of my dress was flapping about, waving at each passer-by: ‘Hey look, walk of shame over here!’

  I rummaged in my bag for my keys. After examining my key rings, I selected the one that said, ‘Keep calm, I’m single,’ and removed it from the bunch. My oldest friend, Amanda, had bought it for me because she’d ‘admired the irony’. I’d never asked her why it was ironic but assumed it was because I wasn’t calm about being single – I’d planned my wedding twenty-five years ago (scheduled for five years ago).

  Whatever the reason, I hated it and it was about to meet its destiny. I worked the fob around the spiral key ring and removed it so I was left with the just the ring. Pulling together the two torn pieces of my dress, I prised the ring open just enough to slide the fabric in. I turned it a few times and voilà – I was reattached; though I must have looked hideous, I told myself it looked just like Liz Hurley’s safety pin dress circa 1994.

  A mother and daughter walked towards me on the opposite side of the road. The girl appeared to be about five; she had a school uniform on and cute golden pigtails, each decorated with a navy-blue bow. Her little hand was wrapped tightly in her mother’s as she looked up at her, chatting away. I smiled to myself at the warmth of the image. The mother caught my eye, and I realised I’d been staring at them. She wrapped a protective arm around the girl and glared at me. I couldn’t blame her. I knew I hardly looked respectable.

  When I eventually rounded the corner I was relieved to see the welcoming logo of the Metrolink station;
at least getting back to my apartment would be easy enough. Seeking refuge in the corner of the shelter, I lowered my face, hiding away from the burning eyes of the morning commuters. I’d never felt so embarrassed, especially since the excuse of reckless youth was no longer on my side.

  A bloody one-night stand had been the last thing on my agenda. That’s why I’d subscribed to eHarmony in the first place and didn’t just get one of those hook-up apps like some of my friends suggested. I wanted something more. I’d spent the last ten years wanting something more, watching everyone around me fall in love, waiting for my turn.

  I felt a pang of guilt; it wasn’t Gavin’s fault the evening ended like it did. It takes two to sing a duet, after all, and I’d a vague awareness of suggesting ‘coffee’. Gavin, by the way, was his name; poor bloke, I fully anticipated that he’d wake up feeling as used as I had on those few occasions in the past. I didn’t think he was just after a hook-up, which made my actions worse. Probably just the result of a nice evening and plenty of Barolo! I told myself.

  I tried to process the date. My urge to leave had been pretty strong, and I wasn’t sure why – would it have been so bad to have stayed? For the most part the date had gone okay. There was the bill issue of course but should that matter if I liked him? We’d eaten at a beautiful Italian restaurant, and mostly the conversation had flowed. It was sometimes a bit awkward: a few tense silences where I’d had to elongate the length of my usual ‘sip’ of wine. In fact, that may have been a catalyst for my situation. Despite the fact he was easy on the eye, I supposed there was just no chemistry, which was odd since eHarmony is supposed to be a ‘scientific’ match.

  That didn’t excuse my behaviour. If the roles were reversed and my one-night stand had snuck out on me, I’d have had an army of friends on hand, armed with Chardonnay and insults. I wasn’t sure the same went for blokes.

  I took my seat on the tram and pulled out my phone. In an effort to regain my inner peace and ensure Gavin wasn’t hurting too much, I began typing out an email. The clicking sound of my nails on the screen seemed impossibly loud, each strike a disapproving ‘tut’ at my behaviour. I glanced up and had a quick look around the tram; luckily nobody seemed to be paying me the blindest bit of notice. I eased back into my chair to finish the message: