Honeymoon For One

by Portia MacIntosh

  I wipe as much off as possible before applying a bit of foundation. It’s not that I care at all what I look like right now, but I do actually want them to let me on an aeroplane. I don’t want to look unstable or as if I have some kind of highly contagious infection that makes your eyes explode, your nose run and your face turn bright red and blotchy. The foundation is a resounding success – now I look one even colour and depressed.

  A text comes through from Ali, asking me to let her know when I’ve left so that she can break the news to everyone there. I tell her I’ll be out of here in five minutes and ask her to break the news gently. Not for Daniel’s sake, but for my family – especially my mum. I ask Ali to explain to my mum that I’m okay and to tell her, and only her, where I’m going.

  As I lock my phone again, that’s when I notice the engagement ring on my finger. Suddenly it feels tight, heavy even. It’s a reminder of what I’ve lost that I just don’t need. Actually, it’s not just the reminder I don’t need, it’s the ring. What do I need an engagement ring for? I take it off and stuff it into my jewellery box for now, to be returned to its purchaser at a later date.

  As I leave my bedroom I eyeball my bed suspiciously. My bed – my super-king, super-comfortable mattress that I pushed for. Daniel didn’t think we needed a super king, he said upgrading to a king was enough, but there isn’t a huge amount of difference between a double mattress and a king mattress, so I eventually talked him round. As soon as it arrived he agreed with me that it was one of the best things we ever bought, but now all I can think about is whether or not he and Eva slept together on it. I don’t think even Daniel would stoop that low.

  On my way here I called up the taxi company and asked them if they could send the car a little earlier, and to our house instead of the venue. Well, I’d have to be crazy to pay for a taxi to the train station when I’ve got one pre-booked that I’ve already paid for. What with the suffocating wedding costs, that there is no way I can get refunded, that I haven’t dared to think about yet. My plan is to go to the station, catch the train to the hotel (one of Daniel’s only real contributions to the wedding was where we could cut corners and save money – that should have been a red flag) and hide myself away from the world until tomorrow, when I can hop on a plane and escape my mess of a life for a while, just until I figure out what to do.

  I head for the door and grab my case, placing it outside on the kerb, ready for my taxi to come and pick me up and take me away from all of this. I’m about to lock the front door when Daniel’s suitcase catches my eye again. I pop back inside, grab it, and drag it out to the bottom of the drive where mine is.

  It doesn’t take long for the white Mercedes C-class to show up, covered in white balloons, with ‘just married’ emblazoned across the back window. I puff air from my cheeks. I just had to tell them – when I booked it – that this car was to take us from our wedding reception to our honeymoon. I don’t suppose the driver questioned the reasons why I brought the journey forward by so many hours or why I wanted picking up from my house instead, and I’ll bet the car was just all ready and waiting to go.

  ‘Hello, love,’ the driver says as he steps out. ‘Congratulations.’

  He hasn’t looked me in the eye yet, as he has busied himself rushing around the car to open the boot, so he doesn’t know what a gigantic case of emotional baggage I’m going to be for him.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply. I don’t really know what else to say.

  ‘So we’re going to the… Oh.’

  He’s noticed my face.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And, the, erm…’ He looks so awkward, I feel sorry for him. ‘The, erm… the other passenger?’

  ‘Just me,’ I say, putting on my bravest of faces, reaching for my suitcase.

  ‘Let me get that for you,’ he says as if he wants to help me – really help me – but this is the only way he knows how. I am, after all, a complete stranger, and he has no idea what has gone on – he’s assuming it’s bad though, and he’d be absolutely right.

  I’m really hoping that the hotel is the last place Daniel will think to look for me, if he even tries to look for me, so I’m probably safe there. I can hide away in my room or prop up the bar or eat something real with calories and fats for the first time in months.

  The taxi driver comes back for Daniel’s suitcase.

  ‘Oh, no, not that one,’ I say.

  ‘You leaving that one there?’ he asks, confused.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What, with the bins?’

  ‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘That one is trash. It’s got to go.’

  4

  A latte, an M&S sandwich, a bag of crisps, a bottle of water, two McDonald’s cheeseburgers (the single ones, I hasten to add), fries, a share bag of Maltesers and, oh, I don’t know, maybe five porn star martinis. That’s everything I’ve had to eat and drink since I ran away from my wedding – if I’d had it beforehand, there’s no way I would’ve been able to run away at all.

  In defence of the amount of alcohol I have consumed, it is important to note that I have consumed it over the course of many hours and I have eaten a lot of food with it.

  In defence of the amount of food I have eaten, I needed a lot to soak up all the alcohol.

  In defence of all of the above, I am miserable, I’ve been on a diet for months, my life is falling apart, and I have nothing better to do.

  Isn’t it amazing how a thing or place can hold so many memories?

  The boutique hotel, 22 Hampton, is where Daniel and I had our first night away. It’s in London, so not exactly a million miles from home, but at the time we were both living with roommates and wanted our first time to be something special. I’m not really sure how it came about, but we decided to wait for a little while before getting intimate. Well, neither of us were just looking for something casual, so we were happy to get to know each other first… or maybe it was just because we had roommates and we didn’t get much privacy. I do have a tendency to remember things in a (not necessarily accurate) positive light.

  So we went out for dinner, drinks and then Daniel brought me back here so that we could finally spend the night together.

  I remember the first time I came here, falling in love with the mismatched furniture and the exposed oak beams. Industrial girders and gears still hang from the ceiling in some of the rooms – apparently this place used to be a mill of some kind. I remember reading about it in absolute amazement the first time we came here. I would drink it all up every time we stayed here in the early days. By the time we were a little deeper into our relationship the only thing we’d drink up would be the complimentary bottle of white wine before we ripped each other’s clothes off, and by the time that urge died down we were already living together. Amazing, really, that once we moved in together and could have sex as much as we wanted, we didn’t exactly jump at the chance whenever we could. I suppose I just figured that, you know, when you’re in a loving relationship, these things die down. Turns out Daniel’s fire wasn’t put out, it was just being ignited by someone else. For God knows how long!

  I do feel safe here, because only Ali knows where I am. Luckily I booked this place as a wedding present for Daniel. I had this stupid idea that the first place we had sex as a boyfriend and girlfriend should be the first place we had sex as husband and wife. The only person here for me to have sex with tonight is myself – I think I’ll pretend I have a headache. I’m sure I will in the morning.

  I don’t even feel all that drunk, I suppose because it’s been a dragged-out, half-hearted drinking binge. All I feel is bloated, and as if I want to brush my teeth.

  It’s a shame that I ate and drank so much on my way here, because someone went all out in the room, making it perfect for a wedding night. Champagne chilling in the fridge, chocolates on the sideboard, rose petals scattered everywhere, essential oils and fluffy robes. I could’ve saved myself some money in the railway station and just eaten and drunk too much in here by myself.

 
; I suppose I could have another drink, or…

  I’m pulled from my poor judgement-making by my phone ringing. I’ve blocked Daniel across all platforms – Eva too – so that I don’t have to listen to any poor excuses. There is nothing either of them can say to me that will make me feel any better right now. Still, I eyeball my phone suspiciously for a moment before glancing at the screen and realising that it’s my mum.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, casual as ever.

  ‘Lila, are you okay?’ my mum asks.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ I reply, putting my brave voice on. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, darling. I’ve got Mandy here too – can I put you on speaker?’

  ‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘Hi, Mand.’

  ‘Lila, are you all right?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m just… I think I’m still in shock. I can’t believe it. Sorry for disappearing. Ali said she’d take care of things. I just wanted to get away.’

  ‘We completely understand,’ Mum says. ‘Don’t worry about anything. Ali was great. We’ve got all your things here and there were lots of presents. They’re here with me.’

  Oh, God, I’d forgotten about all the presents.

  ‘Can you guys return them for me? I don’t want people to think I’m keeping them.’

  ‘Of course we can,’ my mum replies. ‘Don’t worry about anything like that. We’re worried about you. Ali says you’re going on honeymoon on your own.’

  ‘I am. But honestly, Mum, I think it will do me good. It’s the best place for me. I can relax and work and try and figure out what to do next.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time to think about what happens next,’ Mandy tells me. ‘You just focus on having a nice time, I suppose.’

  ‘Has Daniel spoken to either of you?’ I can’t help but ask.

  ‘No, he scarpered pretty sharpish after everyone found out,’ my mum says. ‘Your dad was furious – I’ve never seen him so mad. I think Daniel was scared.’

  ‘Spineless,’ Mandy chimes in. ‘That’s what he is. Absolutely spineless.’

  ‘That’s one word for him,’ I exclaim.

  ‘Have you heard from him?’ my mum asks.

  ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Although I did block him, so he couldn’t if he wanted to. I suppose I’ll unblock him at some point, when my head stops spinning, hear what he has to say for himself.’

  I say that because it sounds right, but I never want to hear his voice again. The thought of Daniel calling me makes me feel physically sick, because I absolutely don’t want to talk to him. The thought of him not trying to call though… somehow that seems even worse. I can’t stop questioning how much he could’ve cared for me, if he was able to cheat on me for God knows how long (I’m scared to think about that too), so it does seem like a possibility that he might not have tried to call at all. The only comfort I have right now is the control I have over the situation. The fact that I left him is all I have.

  ‘Are you sure you want to go on your honeymoon alone?’ Mandy asks.

  ‘I just thought it would be better than being at home facing the music,’ I say. ‘Getting to enjoy my honeymoon is the least I deserve, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ my mum replies. ‘Just keep in touch, let us know you’re okay.’

  ‘I will. I’m so sorry about all of this.’

  I feel emotion creeping into my words, causing my voice to crack.

  ‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ my mum insists firmly. ‘Now go and have some fun, okay? We love you so much.’

  ‘Love you, sis,’ Mandy calls out.

  ‘Love you both too,’ I reply. ‘Thank you.’

  Wow, somehow I feel even worse for hearing their voices. I know that I should probably feel comforted, hearing from people who love me, but I love them too, and hearing them so upset makes me even more furious at Daniel. Cheating affects more than just the two people involved; the ripples stretch far and wide. Hearing my mum so upset shifts me from sadness to anger again. Daniel is lucky I’ve got him blocked, just in case he did try to call right now.

  I grab my phone from my bag and look up where I’m headed on my solo honeymoon for the millionth time. At first, I would be looking it up constantly, um-ing and ah-ing about whether or not it was the right place to book. Then, after I booked it, I would gaze at the website longingly at least once a day, marvelling at the stunning pictures, counting down the seconds until it was time to go. Now I’m just looking to see how dumb an idea going alone might actually be.

  Just off the coast of Naples is a private island called San Valentino – or Valentine Island, as the English website and brochure call it. The Italian name is much better, isn’t it? Such a beautiful, sexy-sounding name. Unfortunately, it doesn’t sound quite so great in my North London accent, so I’ve just been calling it by its English, touristy title, Valentine Island.

  Valentine Island is a luxury, five-star resort designed for couples who are madly in love – the website says it’s perfect for honeymooners, which is why I booked it. It calls itself ‘the most romantic place on earth’, but so does every review I have read too, so it must be something special. It’s supposed to have action-packed activities, if that’s the sort of thing you’re into, or it can be the ultimate place to chill out with your significant other. Perfect for some hardcore relaxing, in a hot sunny country.

  Oh, it’s going to be so romantic, when I show up on my own. I can eat on my own, sleep on my own… the only person I have to talk to is myself, and as for honeymoon sex – supposedly the best sex of your life – well, we’ll see how good that is with myself, won’t we? I suspect I’ll have a headache again then too.

  I’ve never even been on holiday alone before, never mind on honeymoon. Alone. To the most romantic place on earth. Now that I’m here, with my bags packed, waiting to fly off on my own, I do wonder whether or not this is a good idea… but I can’t exactly go home, can I? Not when I’m not ready to face Daniel yet.

  5

  Day 2

  I was a bloody good girlfriend/fiancée. It might sound big-headed of me to say as much, but I was.

  I have been loyal to Daniel since the day we met. I haven’t cheated on him – I haven’t even been tempted. I’ve done everything I possibly could for him, even turning myself into a regular Cinderella, taking care of all the cooking and the cleaning. Not because he made me, or even expected me to, to begin with, but because he had the busy office job with the early starts and the fixed hours, and I worked from home. I could do my work at any time. I could take breaks to empty the washing machine or clean the windows whenever I wanted to. If I had work that needed doing, I could do it whenever, whether it was during the day or at night, after Daniel went to sleep. And let me tell you something, while I might have been Cinderella, that Disney shit is absolutely false: cute little critters do not come in and help you tidy. In fact, since we moved to the suburbs, the closest thing we’ve had was a fox in the kitchen, and it did the opposite of tidy up.

  So I’m sort of like a housewife, but one with a full-time job. Except, when you work from home, even if people know you work from home they still don’t actually think you do any work at all. They think you sit around, watching TV, drinking tea, or that you go out and shop and get your nails done. Sometimes, people are actually baffled that my house could possibly have a thing out of place, because I just have so much free time in it, apparently. As though books just write themselves.

  Perhaps it’s my age, gender, occupation and very specific personal taste, but I think Carrie Bradshaw has a lot to answer for. Throughout the entire Sex and the City TV and movie universe, she lived the high life on a writer’s wage, while seemingly never really putting all that much time into it. I used to have a weekly column in the local newspaper, and it pretty much allowed me to buy a takeaway a week. Her local area might be larger, but she’s enjoying a lot more than a Deliveroo in her life. Perhaps a Mr Big is the key – when I asked a fellow writer when I was first starting out if she had any advice for me, she simply to
ld me to ‘marry well’. But sadly, I don’t have a Mr Big, all I have is a Mr Big Fucking Liar, and I don’t even technically have him any more.

  I wasn’t just a good partner to Daniel, I was a great one. I’d always do my best to make him things he liked or buy him little presents, just to show I was thinking of him, but all just in the most normal way, not in an over-the-top way. I suppose the fact that it was so subtle sometimes might be why it so often went unnoticed.

  I would always go all-out to make his birthday special and I’d plan his Christmas presents months in advance. Naturally, I treated our wedding and our honeymoon with the same care and attention. I wanted to make it absolutely amazing for him. I wanted to take every little fantasy I’d ever played out in my fiction, and every hint of what he might like from his words, to come up with something truly special.

  Look at where all that hard work has got me. Seriously, if there were ever an argument for doing the bare bloody minimum, my situation right now would be it.

  The reason this is on my mind right now doesn’t have as much to do with Daniel’s lack of gratitude as you might think. It has more to do with the fact that, in an attempt to make this honeymoon truly magical, I did everything I could to make sure that it would be perfect, and now I’m facing having to go through it all on my own.

  A tall, good-looking man boards the plane and sits down in the seat next to me – the seat that was supposed to be for Daniel. I did tell the airport staff that Daniel wouldn’t be flying, and they said something about it freeing up the seat for the waitlist. At least someone gets to sit in it, I suppose.