Honeymoon for One

by MacIntosh, Portia

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asks him. ‘Why are you talking to her?’

  I’m ‘her’ now, am I? I was ‘babe’ when we met the hotel employee.

  ‘I’m here for my date with Lila. We’re—’

  ‘Oh, no, don’t worry, this is my best friend, Ali,’ I babble. ‘You can tell her it’s not a real date. Freddie has been helping me annoy Daniel, by pretending we’re a thing. We’re not a thing though.’

  ‘We’re not a thing,’ Freddie echoes.

  ‘Can I get in on this?’ she asks. ‘I love annoying Daniel.’

  ‘Sorry, Fred, can we reschedule? I had no idea Ali was going to turn up but—’

  ‘You are absolutely not rescheduling,’ Ali insists. ‘Go for your date. I’ll just get acquainted with the pool.’

  ‘Can you give me five minutes?’ I ask Freddie.

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’ll wait outside. My manager has asked me to call him. Great to meet you, Ali.’

  ‘Marry me,’ she jokingly calls after him. She waits until we’re alone before she says anything else. ‘“Fred”? You’re on nickname terms with Freddie “fuck me” Bianchi?’

  I don’t know if that’s a movie reference or just something my friend is hoping for.

  I never call him Fred. I don’t know why it came out so casually.

  ‘Yeah, he’s my neighbour. We’ve been hanging out. He pretended to be my… lover, I guess, to piss Daniel off when he turned up with Eva. It was so embarrassing, he really saved me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asks.

  ‘Because you just asked him to marry you,’ I remind her. ‘You interested?’

  ‘Oh, I’m the most interested I’ve ever been,’ she replies. ‘But I’d never do that to you.’

  ‘We’re not a real couple,’ I point out. ‘There’s no way he’s interested in me. I’m not a movie star’s type. You are.’

  ‘Honey, I’m everyone’s type,’ she reminds me. ‘But Girl Code is Girl Code. He’s already yours.’

  ‘He’s pretending to be mine,’ I tell her.

  ‘Girl Code,’ she says simply, with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘Now go and shag him on the beach.’

  ‘I think we’re just going for a walk,’ I tell her. ‘Have dinner with me later?’

  ‘Sure,’ she replies. ‘I’ll go for a swim, catch some rays and then get ready.’

  ‘Great,’ I reply. ‘I can’t wait.’

  Ali walks up to me and looks me straight in the eye.

  ‘Are you honestly telling me you don’t fancy him?’

  ‘We’re just friends,’ I tell her.

  ‘Hmm,’ she replies suspiciously. ‘OK, go and enjoy your day date.’

  ‘Not a date,’ I remind her. ‘See you later.’

  I feel embarrassed that every female apart from me recognises Freddie and falls at his feet. All I did was make him run around after me. Worse than feeling embarrassed, I feel weird. Telling Ali to chase him felt like the most natural thing in the world, but as soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. Stupid really, because he’s only doing me this favour because he’s bored and lonely.

  ‘Right,’ I say, stepping outside, closing the door behind me.

  Freddie is sitting on the veranda with his feet up, waiting for me. He’s wearing shorts and a vest, showing off his arm muscles, and of course he has his sunglasses on now, now that we’re heading out in public. I suppose Ali recognising him has shown him how much he needs them to remain as incognito as possible.

  ‘Hey, friend,’ he says. ‘Ready for our not-date?’

  Well, if ever I needed a reminder of where we stand, there it is. He’s only saying it how it is though, and so am I. This relationship is just for show. And so we can ride the bikes built for two without killing ourselves.

  18

  ‘We need a safe word,’ Freddie says.

  I laugh so hard I choke on my cappuccino.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I say after regaining my composure. ‘We need a safe word?’

  ‘We do,’ he replies. ‘In case things get too messy.’

  ‘Oh, wow, I feel like I’m in your mucky movie,’ I say with a cackle.

  Freddie smiles cheekily as he dips another biscotti in his coffee.

  ‘We do actually have a safe word in the movie,’ he admits.

  ‘What was it?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘Caboose.’

  ‘Get lost.’ I laugh. ‘There’s no way that’s your safe word.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not sexy.’

  ‘Safe words aren’t supposed to be sexy,’ he tells me. ‘They’re supposed to be safe. When things get too much, it’s something you say to bring yourself out of the moment.’

  I feel myself getting a little hot under the collar.

  ‘Why do we need one?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, when we’re pretending we’re a couple, if we have a word we can say, to let the other one know to back off a little… I’m an actor, I don’t want to get carried away…’

  ‘Well, that’s different, then. We’re not going to be “in the moment”,’ I point out. ‘So our safe word could be something sexy… Won’t it sound weird, if I just blurt the word caboose?’

  ‘Fair point,’ he says. ‘OK, well, perhaps our safe word can be “babe”? Like if one of us calls the other babe… That’s natural?’

  ‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever called anyone babe (except Ali earlier) in my life.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ he replies. ‘It’s perfect.’

  We’ve been sitting in Coco’s, a coffee bar, for half an hour now, drawing up boundaries. I know, it really does sound like something out of Edge of Eden, but our boundaries are less intimate – but no less physical.

  A map of Valentine Island is laid out in front of us. Not only does it show how to navigate the island, but where all the activities are too.

  Since we decided to buddy up, all activities are open to us… but we are not open to all ideas.

  ‘Okay, back to our list of what we want to do,’ I say.

  ‘I’d love to try the couples’ parasailing,’ he says.

  ‘Safe word,’ I say quickly.

  ‘You don’t say safe word, you say the safe word,’ he tells me.

  ‘Babe, babe, babe, babe, babe.’

  ‘Not your scene?’ he asks.

  ‘I’d be terrified, seriously.’

  ‘It’s just a little water,’ he says. ‘Water is nothing to be scared of.’

  ‘It’s a no from me,’ I say firmly before draining the last of my coffee.

  ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I can’t argue with that. What do you want to do?’

  ‘I fancy the horseback riding,’ I say. ‘Riding the trail through the woods.’

  ‘It’s my turn to say no,’ he says. ‘Terrified of horses.’

  ‘Are you making fun of me?’ I ask.

  Freddie shakes his head.

  ‘Not at all,’ he confesses. ‘Genuinely scared of them.’

  ‘It’s just a little horse riding,’ I say to him, mocking his earlier comment.

  ‘Point taken,’ he says. ‘No parasailing, no horse riding. What else?’

  I sigh.

  ‘You know, I’m supposed to be working,’ I confess. ‘I came here with my laptop and the intention of finishing my book. But then I sat down with what I’d written so far, and I just couldn’t bring myself to finish it.’

  ‘How about I grab us another couple of coffees, and you tell me all about it?’ he suggests.

  ‘That would be great,’ I say, although I’m not sure about talking to him about my books. I don’t know why, I just feel embarrassed.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love writing novels, but talking to someone about them – especially out loud – just feels a little cringy. Even when I talk to my editor about my stories so I always pray she doesn’t call me. I guess because, when you’ve made up a story, you feel a little silly talking about it out loud. You feel as if you’re re
ally putting yourself out there, talking about these characters that are a figment of your imagination, telling people what they’re getting up to, as if you think they’re real – and they do feel real, to the author. They exist in our heads.

  At least, with Freddie being an actor, he’ll have a firm grasp of the concept of fiction, which many don’t seem to have. I’m not talking about your average reader, I’m talking about people like your auntie, who reads your books as if they’re your diary, thinking every character is real and every scene is something you’ve done.

  I explain this to Freddie before we get started.

  ‘And I do like to take inspiration from real life,’ I tell him. ‘So, if I do include anything real, people use that as an anchor for the truth, and jump to conclusions to fill in the blanks.’

  ‘I totally get it,’ he says. ‘People think I am Edward Eden, that I’m a miserable millionaire who wants to spank them. It’s awful, when people interpret your work like that.’

  ‘It is,’ I say. ‘If only it were so simple, like a no-frills cosmic ordering, where if I write something down, it makes it so. If that were true I’d be a millionaire, married to Henry Cavill, living in a mansion with at least five dogs – at the very least, my fiancé wouldn’t have cheated on me with my least favourite friend.’

  ‘Henry and I are friends,’ Freddie tells me.

  My jaw drops.

  ‘He went up for the Edward Eden role too – couldn’t believe my luck, when I beat him to it.’

  I can’t speak. I make jokes about marrying Henry Cavill all the time and now I’m sitting in front of someone who knows him.

  ‘So, technically, I could facilitate all of the above,’ he tells me.

  At this stage, Ali would’ve asked for his number. I’m not Ali though, so a self- deprecating joke is where it’s at.

  ‘I don’t think you can facilitate Henry Cavill finding me attractive,’ I point out.

  Hmm, maybe that isn’t a joke, maybe that’s just true.

  Freddie just laughs.

  ‘But if you have Tom Hardy’s number, I’m sure Ali will take it,’ I say.

  ‘Ali seems great,’ he tells me. ‘Did she come all this way just to support you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘She’ll insist it’s for the free holiday but… she’s a tough lady, she’s been through a lot. She gets what I’m going through. I’m going to write a book about her one day.’

  ‘You should. That’s a great way to honour a friend. What’s your author name?’ he asks.

  ‘Lila Rose.’

  ‘That’s a great name, for a novelist. Is it a pen name?’

  ‘It’s my real name. I just got lucky.’

  ‘So, Lila Rose, tell me about this next novel,’ he says.

  He eats a biscotti as he waits expectantly, as if he’s in some sort of fancy movie theatre and I’m a one-woman show.

  ‘Erm, well, I’ve scrapped it,’ I remind him. ‘But it was about a woman and her fiancé, and they’re going through a tough time while they’re planning their wedding, and then the big day comes along and it’s hitch after hitch. It all works out in the end and they live happily ever after…’

  ‘A bit too close to home, then,’ he says.

  ‘Exactly,’ I reply. ‘The scene I got to was where she thinks her fiancé is cheating on her. It turns out he’s actually arranging for her dream wedding dress, but…’

  ‘Oh, okay, I can see why you don’t want to write this book any more.’

  ‘The worst thing is that I do want to write it. I just want to change the genre, make it so he is cheating on her, because that’s life. That happens.’

  ‘Not, like, switching to horror, then?’ he jokes.

  ‘Have her murder him halfway through…’

  ‘I’m worried you’re a little too into this, so I’m going to quickly steer the conversation in a different direction,’ he says. ‘I have a profile to think about now. I can’t be caught up in a murder.’

  ‘I meant in the book,’ I remind him with a smile.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he says. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Start again,’ I say. ‘With something completely different. But what…?’

  Abandoning my previous draft in favour of starting again means I absolutely am going to have to start writing while I’m on my not-quite honeymoon, or it really will be a stressful few weeks before my deadline. I really don’t need this pressure right now, and it’s not like having a regular day job where you can take holiday or be off sick. There’s no such luxury in this gig. No matter what’s going on in my personal life or how messed up my head is feeling, I have to write a book by a date.

  For a moment, we pause.

  I glance around the room for inspiration. The delicious smell of coffee, the delectable-looking cakes and pastries, the rustic wicker furniture all laid out with food and drinks… The only thing I’m feeling inspired to be is hungry.

  I grab a biscotti and bite it meaningfully with frustration.

  ‘This is such a unique brand of writer’s block,’ I tell him, ‘because everything that’s going on is making it impossible to write about anything else.’

  Freddie leans forward in his chair, straightening his back.

  ‘Okay, I have an idea for you,’ he says. ‘You ready?’

  I nod. I get this a lot, people giving me their big ideas that they want credit for. They’re almost always terrible though.

  ‘So, to borrow a little from your idea, you’ve got this girl, right? And she’s about to get married, and she suspects her fiancé is cheating on her, and he is. The girl finds out on the morning of her wedding, and decides to go on her honeymoon on her own.’

  ‘I feel like this has been done before,’ I joke.

  ‘She arrives at the hotel where she meets a movie star, who she thinks is the barman… then her ex and his girlfriend turn up…’

  ‘OK, so this is what’s happening to me,’ I point out, although I know he knows.

  ‘Exactly,’ he replies. ‘You say you like to have a little bit of real life in your work. This is just a little bit more than usual. Think about it – it’s a great story.’

  ‘I suppose it does make a pretty good set-up for a novel,’ I admit. ‘It’s not my autobiography – it’s definitely going to be fiction. I’d probably change quite a lot of what has happened…’

  I’d definitely leave out all the stuff with the dildo.’

  ‘You know, that’s actually a really good idea,’ I admit.

  ‘Of course, it is,’ he replies. ‘Give it a go, see how it feels. When I’m struggling with a scene, I try and distract myself with something else, see if I can do better.’

  Perhaps Freddie is right – maybe if I work on a different idea, I’ll realise it’s much better. It isn’t dissimilar to what’s going on in my real life either. Hanging out with Freddie has made me realise something about Daniel – he was never interested in my work, or helping me out.

  It turns out I can do better, and not just with my work. I’m starting to realise that perhaps Daniel was never the right person for me at all.

  19

  I’m so far out of my comfort zone at the moment, a little extra discomfort barely gets a flinch out of me.

  In some respects, I’m being pretty predictable. I’m at Sabatini restaurant again, eating arancini again, drinking a porn star martini – again. Sure, I like to try new things. But when something is this good, and accessible for a finite amount of time, why not go to town on it while I can, right?

  This time I’m here with Ali and, unlike my date with Freddie, she didn’t tell me I looked nice when I got ready. Instead, she talked me into borrowing a dress from her. A hot-pink, super-short dress with a mesh front, from the neck to the belly button. I’ve seen Ali wear this dress before and it definitely looks much better on her. Not just because she’s in way better shape than me, but because her fake boobs need no assistance staying in place – my real ones don’t hold their own, so I’ve
been forced to wear my bra underneath. Still, it doesn’t look so bad, I just don’t feel like myself in it. It’s way, way too sexy for me. Not quite as revealing as the blue boob tube Ali is trying to pass off as a dress though. She looks incredible, as she always does, but she’s attracting a lot of male attention, and the thing you have to remember about this place is that everyone is taken.

  Two new drinks are placed down on our table, but not by our waiter, by a barman – although I have been wrong before.

  I quickly realise it is the man we passed earlier today, the one who couldn’t take his eyes off Ali. He still can’t.

  ‘Oh, hello again,’ I say.

  ‘Ciao,’ he says – I wonder if his English might be limited, but then he speaks again. ‘Are you two together?’

  ‘We certainly are,’ Ali says. She reaches out and takes my hand in hers, not unlike the way Freddie did last night. I can’t believe how much action I’m getting on my honeymoon – and none of it from my husband.

  ‘You are a very lucky lady,’ he tells me.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ I reply.

  ‘Bye,’ Ali says, encouraging him to leave.

  ‘Well, at least he’ll know you’re not interested now,’ I say as I dip a piece of bread in the bowl of yummy olive oil and balsamic vinegar on the table.

  ‘Oh, I am interested,’ she replies, letting go of my hand to grab her drink.

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  ‘You know, he thinks we’re a couple now,’ I point out.

  ‘Yeah, men lap that up,’ she replies. ‘He’ll only want me more now.’

  ‘Oh, Ali.’ I laugh. ‘I’ll never understand you.’

  ‘You’ll never understand me? I’ll never understand you.’

  ‘How so?’ I ask through a mouthful of bread.

  ‘Well, for one, you’re playing house with a movie star, and you’re not going to try and have sex with him.’

  ‘Right,’ I reply. ‘Because he’s just taking pity on me.’

  ‘Are you telling me you don’t fancy him?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but only in a movie-star, unattainable-crush kind of way. I hardly know him.’

  ‘Who cares?’ she replies. ‘You might not know him, but you know he’s your type.’