The Holiday Cruise

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The Holiday Cruise Page 12

by Victoria Cooke


  I shook my head. ‘Shhh. Enough.’

  ‘Then, you wanted to do all the things that you’d missed out on. Do you remember dancing on the bar in that really cheesy place?’ She giggled.

  ‘Unfortunately, I do.’

  ‘Haha and the shot race?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And drinking shots off that guy’s stomach?’ She shook her head laughing hard at the memory. ‘Then there was that gorgeous pole dancing show you treated us to.’

  ‘Yes. Of course I remember. I was hoping nobody else would.’ I groaned.

  ‘I don’t think the pole will forget that’s for sure!’ She chuckled. ‘The last thing you said you’d wanted to do was have a “no-strings-attached one-night stand” because Zac had told you about all the fun he’d had on board. So I assume that’s why you’ve now just done the walk of shame?’ I peered up at her and she shrugged. ‘Javier said he’d be happy to oblige and you said …’ She pressed on, determined to make me relive every last detail.

  I gulped. I knew what I’d said. ‘Phwoar-ll-right.’ I re-buried my face. I really shouldn’t flirt. Ever.

  When I felt able to, I turned on my side to face her. ‘All that you’ve just said isn’t even the worst of it.’ I swallowed hard and Kristy looked at me with a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘how?’ so I continued. ‘When I woke up this morning, his roommate was out in the corridor and he’d been there the whole time. I kicked him out Kristy so Javier and I could … you know.’

  ‘A bit keen were you?’ she gasped, eyes twinkling.

  ‘No!’ I shouted. ‘It was those Jäger-bombs – they turned me into some kind of monster. I can remember lunging at Javier and putting my hands up his shirt, running them over his taut, tanned body …’ Kristy’s eyes danced in amusement while shame shrouded me. ‘Then his roommate popped up from the top bunk and I chucked him out. I said …’ Oh my God. ‘I said things are about to get hot and heavy.’

  Kristy clasped a hand to her mouth and her eyes widened with mirth. ‘You definitely win Magaluf, Han. Jeez, no more Jäger-bombs for you.’

  My first one-night stand and I morphed into someone I didn’t recognize. ‘I am never drinking again!’

  Though I was hugely embarrassed, there was a small part of me that thought ‘yes’, I did something that Hannah from Tinbury would never do. Granted it was the least classy thing I’d ever done, but that was the point. I’d dared to do something reckless, something I never normally would, and that would be my take-away. When Kristy went into the bathroom, I even allowed myself a smile.

  ***

  It seemed as though only moments passed before Kristy dragged me back out again, muttering something about it being embarkation day. The words rang around in my head for a moment. I somehow managed to get myself showered and in to work.

  There was a new receptionist in the spa, and I felt a little bit bad for not getting to know Agne, but staff changed so often it was impossible to keep track of them all. To be honest, the onus wasn’t just on me – she didn’t make an effort with me either and I refused to allow the feeling to manifest into guilt. I wasn’t the timid little village girl any more. I’d had a one-night stand for goodness’ sake. I wasn’t sure the village would allow me back anyway – I might as well have a big scarlet ‘A’ for adulteress scrawled across my dress. As a side note, I exaggerate when I buzz.

  When the guests started to arrive, it felt nice to hear so many British accents after having mainly American and Hispanic guests. A couple from York approached the spa promotion table in the atrium and I chatted to them for a good twenty minutes. Though the familiarity was nice and I missed home, I’d only just got a taste of the world and I was hungry for more. Hearing the Yorkshire accent confirmed to me what I’d been putting off admitting to myself – that I didn’t want to go home yet.

  After work that evening I went to the cyber café to research my options. The next natural step for me would be to apply for a spa manager’s job. I was certainly qualified. My hand hovered over the mouse as I contemplated filling in the online application but something stopped me. Instead, I found myself in a chat room for cruise ship workers, and there was a thread called ‘Life After Cruise Work.’ I scanned the posts.

  Many people strived for promotions and worked hard at gaining good customer feedback to secure the higher positions, but a notable number of the younger workers – the free and single ones – were considering backpacking around the world with the savings they’d accrued on board. In a way, the ship had come to feel like the village. Yes, the people changed but the gossip spread, we worked and we drank. I’d already noticed a few glances at lunch from crew members I didn’t know who’d obviously caught wind of my ‘encounter’.

  The surroundings were more tropical than those of Tinbury but in reality, I no longer felt as free as I did in the early days – I now craved more.

  ***

  The following week the ship had taken us to some interesting places, but I hadn’t gotten chance to see any of them. My days grew longer as the ship grew busier in the high season, and other than embarrass myself singing Pat Benatar songs at the crew karaoke night (I’d developed the karaoke bug), I’d not done much but work. Naples was my first day off, and I’d booked onto the Mt Vesuvius hike and Pompeii visit alone to get some space. But first, I’d dragged Britney along to a self-defence class that had been put on. It was a one-off session that I didn’t want to miss.

  ‘Why are we here again?’ she moaned.

  ‘Where’s your stamina, girl? You’re twenty-one,’ I said, bouncing up and down on the mat in the studio.

  ‘I know, but it’s seven a.m. and we had that ABBA tribute night late last night and drinks after.’ She yawned as we were instructed to face each other.

  ‘Well you may thank me if you’re ever in a situation of danger,’ I whispered.

  The instructor taught us how to redirect a punch and we practised. And then we moved on to blocking a punch and attacking. I was getting into the swing of things, getting faster and faster. Block, attack, block, attack, block.

  Smack.

  Pain surged through my fist when it connected with Britney’s jaw. ‘Ouch,’ she yelped, rubbing it.

  ‘I’m so sorry – you were supposed to block,’ I said.

  ‘And you were supposed to be nice, Hannah, not Rocky Balboa. Jeez, woman. You were right about being in a situation of danger.’

  ‘Again, I’m sorry – I feel awful. Come on, we’ll get some ice from the bar.’ The side of her chin was red.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s okay, I forgive you – it’s nothing some stage make-up won’t cover but let’s take that enthusiasm down a notch.’

  Britney declined to join me on the trip so I went alone. After a gruelling trek up Mt Vesuvius, we called in at Pompeii. Pompeii was a place I’d always wanted to visit, but no amount of wanderlust could’ve prepared me for the emotion that overcame me when I saw the body casts of people who’d been mowed down by lava where they were stood.

  For a while, I stood, staring at the casts: frozen still for eternity in their everyday lives. My stomach became a tumble dryer of emotion, sad for the people killed of course but also because that’s what I’d been in the village, frozen still in a life of no consequence or meaning. That could happen on the ship too, frozen in the safety net of my job. I had to do more with my life.

  I had to live.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Check the treatment rooms and make sure all the products are available. Then check there are clean towels and that the music is ready to play,’ Marion said as soon as I walked through the door. ‘The first clients are in at nine today and it’s a honeymoon package.’ I racked my brains, trying to remember what the heck a honeymoon package was. It was July – how had I been on the ship for seven and a half months without ever having to do one?

  ‘What’s the honeymoon package?’ I whispered to Kristy as we walked down the narrow corridor to the treatment rooms.

  ‘It’s basic
ally a hot stone massage, a facial, and his and hers manicures, with the added bonus of champagne and chocolate strawberries. For two newlyweds.’

  ‘Ahh that sounds sweet,’ I mused, thinking how lovely it would be to have a husband willing to do a spa day.

  ‘Much sweeter than waking up in a random bloke’s cabin,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Oh very funny, it’s been two months. I’m pretty sure Javier has left – I haven’t seen him for a while. Can we drop it now?’

  She grinned. ‘It’s unlikely.’

  We busied ourselves with the jobs Marion had given us and it was soon time to set up for my first appointment. I checked the room was ready for the honeymoon couple – the relaxing Eastern-inspired music was playing lightly in the background, and the chocolate-covered strawberries were on a small table between two massage beds, each set neatly with clean towels and a chenille cover, topped with a red orchid for decoration. I lit a few aromatherapy candles for ambience.

  ‘Okay, here’s the champers.’ Kristy burst in, carrying a tray with two flutes of the bubbly stuff sat neatly on red napkins. She set it down next to the chocolates. ‘The honeymoon couple will be here shortly.’

  She smoothed down her dress and checked her make-up in the mirror. Her red lips were impeccable as always and her dark hair was scraped back into a neat bun. ‘Do you want the Mr or the Mrs?’

  ‘I don’t really mind.’ And I didn’t. Back in December, I’d have loved nothing more than to knead a man in the back with as much force as I could muster but I no longer cared.

  ‘Right, you take the Mr. It’s been a good two months since you’ve had your hands on a man, you must be getting desperate by now.’ She winked. ‘I’ll go and see if they’ve arrived,’ she added before walking out. I don’t know why but I got a flutter in my stomach, like first-day nerves, which was silly since I’d been doing this for months now. I put it down to the added pressure of trying to create romantic perfection.

  As I was smoothing out the blankets and repositioning the orchids the door opened slowly. I spun around, plastering on my brightest, most welcoming ‘congratulations-to-the-married-couple’ smile, only to be met by an ashen-faced Kristy. As I opened my mouth to speak, Kristy started first. ‘This is Mr Huxley. He’ll be experiencing today’s luxury package … alone,’ she managed politely, boring through me with a steely glare as he stood behind her, staring at the floor.

  Oh my God. It was all I could manage not to clasp my hand to my mouth as all kinds of questions whizzed through my mind: where was his wife? Had there been a nasty accident? Perhaps she’d fallen ill. Did he even have a wife? I tried my best to remain natural.

  ‘Mr Huxley, if you’d like to come in.’ I lifted the tray of champagne and offered him a glass. He accepted awkwardly. As he took a sip, I glanced at him in an attempt to get some answers. He was a fair bit taller than me; I guessed around six foot. He was tanned and lean, the muscular definition in his chest and arms emphasized by a grey, close-fitting, round-neck T-shirt. His dark hair looked newly cut in a low taper at the sides and slightly longer on top, swept slightly to the side.

  He didn’t strike me as a weirdo nor a regular spa visitor, so I mentally crossed ‘accidental booking’ and ‘unmarried oddball with imaginary wife’ off my list of theories. His expression was blank and almost confused.

  Kristy, perhaps sensing my awkwardness, cut into the silence. ‘Make yourself at home, Mr Huxley. Enjoy a strawberry, and Hannah here will look after you.’ I glared at her and she just shrugged, mouthing ‘he’s yours’ from behind him. Great. Once she’d gone, I turned my attention to him, and my breath caught. He stood, staring, gently feeling the flowers on the bed, his strong jaw clenched. When his chestnut eyes met mine, I noticed a sadness lurked there. Oh God. I just knew something awful had happened.

  I took a moment of composure to slip into work mode. ‘Mr Huxley, shall we get started?’ I asked gently. He nodded. ‘Okay, I need you take off your outer clothes, leaving on your underwear or swimming shorts.’

  ‘You could at least buy me a drink first,’ he joked. It took me by surprise. Not the joke – every salon worker on Earth had heard that one – but the fact that he had made a joke after seeming so sombre, though there was little humour behind it. I wondered if cheesy jokes were his thing: a habit he’d momentarily slipped back into. There was a slight raise to the corner of his mouth when I laughed softly in reply and it changed the entire make-up of his face, like a warm rush had quickly swept across it. And then it was gone.

  ‘I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable. When you’re ready hop on the bed and use the blankets to cover yourself.’ I slipped out of the room. My first stop was reception where Marion and Kristy were sitting.

  ‘What’s going on with honeymoon guy?’ I asked.

  Marion shrugged. ‘We don’t know. He just showed up and said this package was booked for him and his wife but she’s not here.’

  ‘How is his wife not with him on their honeymoon?’ It made no sense. If she was ill they surely could’ve postponed the holiday.

  ‘We didn’t ask, Hannah. He’s a client – our business is looking after him and providing the service he paid for, not prying into his personal life,’ Marion snapped.

  ‘Okay, I was just asking in case there was something I should know that might stop me putting my foot in it. I’m going back in.’

  I tapped three times on the door before entering. As I walked in he sat propped up on his elbows. The blanket slipped slightly, exposing a tanned, smooth chest that I had an overwhelming urge to run my hands across. I averted my eyes quickly, surprised by my own reaction.

  I swallowed hard. ‘I … I’m going to start with the hot stone massage and move on to the facial.’

  ‘I’ve never done this before,’ he muttered uneasily.

  ‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about,’ I reassured him. ‘Turn over onto your front and place your face in the hole.’

  He did as I asked. Once he wasn’t able to look at me, I felt like I could relax a little. Pouring the aromatherapy oils onto his back, I noticed how incredibly smooth his skin was. After ten years of beauty therapy, massage was water off a duck’s back to me but standing over him ready to start, I felt like he was my first ever client all over again. I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  Forcing myself to start, I pressed the hot stones into his skin and began a rhythm of massage, glad of the barrier between my hands and his skin. I found myself again after the momentary blip and was soon lost in my own little world, enjoying the twangy music.

  ‘This actually feels quite nice,’ he said, cutting into my bubble.

  ‘Good. Just let me know if you want any more or less pressure.’

  ‘I will,’ he said, falling silent for a while. I continued working the stones into his muscles, mesmerized by how the taut skin hardly moved.

  ‘My fiancée booked this for our honeymoon,’ he said about five minutes after. He surprised me once again. Most people don’t speak during a massage, some even fall asleep, yet he seemed to want to get something off his chest. ‘She thought it’d be nice to relax together after the stress of the wedding.’ He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.

  I was desperate to find out what had happened to her. If we were in The Hollywood Hut, I’d have definitely asked him where she was. However, Marion’s words about not being here to pry rang through my head, so I just carried on with the massage, even though biting my tongue was killing me.

  ‘I just thought that since it was paid for, I should do it anyway. That’s the same reason I’m on the cruise.’ I nodded in response even though he couldn’t see me. ‘I was going to cancel the trip but my friends and family insisted I came. They said it would do me good to get away.’ I didn’t know what it was he was getting away from, but I certainly knew the feeling.

  I couldn’t control it any longer. ‘And your wife?’ If he filed a complaint to Marion later I’d just have to deal with it.

  ‘
My wife.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t have a wife.’ Oh no. She’s dead. She had cancer and they got married in the hospital chapel before it was too late. She choked to death on the wedding cake. I was glad he was looking at the floor through the hole in the massage table, because I was struggling to arrange my face into a suitably sad expression.

  It was a curse that stemmed back to when my parents died. So many people had expectations of how I was feeling but for a while I simply didn’t register the fact they were gone, not properly. It was like they were on holiday. Because I didn’t believe they were gone, I couldn’t feel sad and couldn’t look it either. I’d overthought it ever since. I could be torn apart with sympathy on the inside, yet all that presented itself on my face was a semi-frown that would secure me the Golden Raspberry award for worst actress. My chest tightened and I braced myself in case he looked up when he delivered the blow.

  ‘My wife-to-be never made it down the aisle.’ Oh no. My stomach lurched. I couldn’t bear for him to say it. Tears pricked at my eyes. He didn’t even need to say it. ‘She decided it wasn’t right,’ he added bitterly.

  Confusion and then relief swept over me. She’d cancelled the wedding. There was no tragedy. Still, it was an awful thing to happen, and I could definitely empathize with him.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I replied, desperate to find out more but not wanting to breach the code of etiquette.

  ‘Well, it is what it is.’ He shrugged his left shoulder. But he wasn’t blowing it off; he was hurt.

  ‘I suppose,’ I said. Really I wanted to offer him more and even share my own experience but I remained professional. ‘Your massage is finished now. Would you like some water?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Have you anything stronger?’

  ‘We recommend water after treatments, Mr Huxley, but there is a second glass of champagne next to you should you want it.’ I smiled. He sat up and took the glass, finishing the fizz in a few gulps. As he handed the glass back to me, his hand brushed mine, catching me off-guard and as a consequence, our eyes connected. I quickly looked back to the glass before setting it down on the tray.

 

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