‘Exactly,’ Jemma smiled as Aimee struggled into the silver dress, pulling it up over her far-from-flat chest. ‘Oh, you look fab!’ Jemma squealed, clapping her hands together.
‘Do I?’ Aimee asked, a little unsure. She’d loved the dress when she’d tried it on a couple of weeks ago during their mammoth holiday-shopping-spree in Newcastle, but there was always that fear at the back of any girl’s mind that an extra pound or two could creep on before the holiday began, meaning that some clothes never looked quite the same as they did in that changing room. But, as she turned to look in the full-length mirror, she had to admit – she did look pretty good. Oh, she was no Kate Moss, but there were no lumps and bumps where there shouldn’t be, and the dress actually showed off her curves to perfection. That diet had been worth all the hours of slog and exercise after all then.
‘Here. Put these on, they’ll finish it off,’ Jemma said, handing Aimee a pair of high-heeled black ankle boots.
Aimee slipped them on, standing up straight and checking herself out once again, a smile spreading across her face. Robbie Cartwright, look what you’ve missed out on! Your loss, mate! Good riddance!
‘You look amazing, girl!’ Jemma grinned, resting her elbow on Aimee’s shoulder as they looked at their reflections. ‘Now, we’re gonna go out there and show this ship just who the hot girls are on this cruise. That’s our mission. Well, that and making sure Bon Voyage know just who we are. I mean, we’re not fourteen-year-old fans anymore, are we, Chick? We’re women. And by the end of this cruise they’re gonna know that.’
Aimee couldn’t help but laugh. God love her best friend for being here. Ever since the engagement party fiasco two months ago Aimee’s confidence had taken a battering, but Jemma had been there constantly, bucking Aimee up, telling her how fabulous she was, how any man would be lucky to have her, and maybe – maybe Jemma was right. Robbie Cartwright may have been stupid enough to let her go but there were plenty more fish in the sea, weren’t there? And there was one fish in particular, here on this very cruise, that Aimee wouldn’t mind reeling in. One very big, once-very famous, but unfortunately still-very-married fish. Why did Danny Johnson have to be the only member of Bon Voyage still with a wife? There was no harm in looking though, was there? No harm in trying to catch his eye. If only for the ego boost that could give her.
‘What’s going on in that head of yours, Missy?’ Jemma asked, turning Aimee round so she could do her hair, running her fingers through it to give Aimee that slightly tousled, verging-on-rock-chick look that she was so fond of.
‘Nothing,’ Aimee smiled to herself, another wave of excited anticipation coursing through her as she wondered just what this holiday could bring.
‘Okay, well… there! What do you think?’ Jemma asked, turning Aimee back round to face the mirror, her hair beautifully tousled which, along with the smoky eyes and pale lips, made her look like a gorgeous rock groupie. Just how Aimee liked to look. It should raise a few eyebrows at the welcome cocktail party anyway.
‘I think I look quite nice,’ she laughed, shaking her head, which only emphasised the just-got-out-of-bed look.
‘Yep. You certainly do,’ Jemma smiled, linking her arm through Aimee’s. ‘You look stunning, Ms Anderson. Now, come on. Grab your handbag and let’s get this holiday started. Believe me, kidda, we’re gonna rock this boat like it’s never been rocked before!’
CRUISE DAY 2
DAY AT SEA
9:25am
‘If I’m being completely honest, I’m actually quite offended,’ Frankie said, sitting himself down in the seat next to Ross as the Lido Café – the ship’s busy self-service restaurant – echoed with the noise of hundred’s of eager holiday makers having breakfast, excited to be finally heading off to their first port of call.
‘Offended by what?’ Cal asked through a mouthful of bacon and scrambled egg.
‘By the fact that nobody seems to bloody recognise us, that’s what,’ Frankie replied, tearing open a bread roll and shoving four rashers of bacon inside it.
Both Cal and Ross looked at him. ‘What? Did you really think that we’d just walk on here and it’d be like 1994 all over again? Hoards of screaming women falling over themselves to get near us? Teddy bears and assorted items of underwear being thrown at us from all angles?’ Cal smirked, shovelling more scrambled egg into his mouth. ‘Face it, Frankie. We’re has-beens. We’ve had our time.’
‘Now, y’see, I don’t buy that,’ Ross piped up, putting his fork down and leaning back in his chair.
‘Don’t buy what?’ Cal asked, slightly puzzled now. ‘You don’t buy the fact that we’re washed-up, tired old ex-pop stars that everyone’s forgotten about?’
‘Exactly!’ Ross exclaimed.
Cal looked at him through narrowed eyes, shrugging. ‘Exactly, what? Are you agreeing with me that we’re washed-up, tired old ex-pop stars? Or…’
Ross leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at Frankie, who was now adding a fried egg to his bacon-filled bread roll.
‘Don’t look at me, mate,’ Frankie said, taking a bite out of his home made breakfast concoction. ‘You lost me ages ago.’
‘You started the bloody conversation!’
‘Did I?’
Cal just rolled his eyes and went back to mopping up the remainder of his breakfast with a slice of fried bread.
‘Where’re Danny and Andy anyway?’ Frankie asked, suddenly forgetting all about his lack of celebrity presence.
Cal shrugged again, sitting back in his chair, letting forth a contented sigh. That had been one hell of a good breakfast. ‘No idea. But if the atmosphere from last night has got anything to do with it they’re probably knocking ten shades of crap out of each other up on the shuffleboard deck.’
‘Yeah. What was all that about, eh?’ Ross said, recalling the drinks they’d had in the bar the night before after their meeting with the Cruise Director and TV producer, where Danny had done nothing but put a barrier in front of anything that Andy had suggested, his mood getting darker by the second. ‘I mean, I knew those two were never really the best of mates back then but you’d have thought Danny would have got over that by now.’
‘Well,’ Cal sighed, standing up and pushing his chair underneath the table. ‘We all know what Danny’s like. He’s a bloke who bears grudges, so all I can think of is that Andy must have done something really shitty in the past that he just isn’t going to let him forget about. Right, I’m off to grab a quick shower, and don’t forget, we’ve got rehearsals in the Vegas Show Lounge at half ten, and the TV cameras are going to be there too, so I’d better go find Andy and Danny. If this comeback’s going to have any chance of working the last thing we need is obvious friction. See you two in an hour.’ He winked at Ross and Frankie. ‘It’s time to let people know Bon Voyage are back!’
11:33am
Aimee and Jemma watched in some kind of morbid fascination as Marcie leaned back against the railings up on the pool deck like an over-dressed, middle-aged, pink-haired Kate Winslet, throwing her head back and laughing that coquettish, girl-ish laugh again as Ricardo – Jemma and Aimee had nicknamed him that, in the absence of knowing his real name – stood rather too close to her mother for Aimee’s liking, looking slightly over-dressed himself in a white safari suit, fingering the collar of the chiffon kaftan Marcie was wearing as he looked into her eyes.
‘Your mam doesn’t waste much time, does she?’ Jemma commented, swirling the ice in her glass round with her straw. ‘She only met the bloke in the embarkation queue yesterday but now it looks as though she’s found her very own Leonardo de Caprio.’
‘It’s like watching a car crash,’ Aimee said, reaching out for her non-alcoholic cocktail that was standing on the small table that separated her sunlounger from Jemma’s. ‘I really, really want to look away but that sick side of me is compelling me to keep looking.’
The pool area was packed to breaking point, with it being a day at sea, but still Marcie Ma
rcello stood out like a pork chop at a vegetarian supper with her louder-than-it-should-be giggling girly laugh and her larger-than-life presence. She’d been swanning round the pool area with Ricardo for the past hour, waving a hardback copy of her latest novel – The Sheriff’s Kiss – around her head like some literary fly swat. If it hadn’t been her mother doing it, Aimee would have found it hilarious to watch.
‘I think it’s quite sweet,’ Jemma smiled, sucking up the last of her cocktail through a straw before picking the slice of pineapple off the side of her glass, shoving it in her mouth.
‘Sweet?’ Aimee asked, pushing her sunglasses down over her eyes. ‘There’s nothing sweet about my mother. Everything she does is for a reason. He’ll own a bigger publishing company or he’s just won forty million on the lottery; he has to have something she wants. You know my mother by now. Ever since she’s turned into the north east’s answer to Barbara Taylor Bradford she’s only ever done things that benefit herself. She won’t be satisfied until she’s stepping out onto the deck of her Malibu beach house and having lunch in Hollywood with Jackie Collins.’
Jemma looked at her friend. ‘What side of the bed did you get out of this morning?’
‘A frigging empty one, that’s what,’ Aimee sighed, lying back on her lounger and closing her eyes.
‘Oh, come on, Aimee. You’re not still fretting over Robbie the Rat, are you? Somewhere on this ship Bon Voyage – and did you hear what I said there? – Bon Voyage are currently rehearsing, in preparation for a possible big comeback, and you’re thinking about a man who dumped you at your engagement party? Are you mad? Are you going to let him ruin your holiday?’
Aimee pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and looked at Jemma. ‘No.’
‘Then stop thinking about him and let’s start enjoying this cruise.’
‘I am enjoying this cruise!’
‘Then tell that to your face, will you? Now turn me sunlounger round so it faces the sun, I’m in the shade here.’
Aimee sighed, getting up and pulling Jemma’s lounger round so she faced the sun, sitting back down on her own, ready to cover herself in yet more factor 25 as the sun began to burn hotter.
‘You never do that to me,’ a voice with a heavy south Yorkshire accent moaned from behind them.
‘Do what?’ an even heavier Yorkshire accent asked.
‘What that young lass has just done for her friend. Turn me sunlounger round for me without making me get off it first.’
‘Jesus, woman, have you seen the size of her compared to you? I’d do me chuffing back in if I tried that!’
Both Aimee and Jemma smiled at each other, slowly turning round to see a heavy-built middle-aged woman in a leopard print one-piece lying on her lounger reading a Maeve Binchy, a slight-built man wearing frayed, knee-length denim cut-offs and battered Adidas trainers sitting on the edge of the lounger next to her, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.
‘’Ow do, lasses,’ he winked, flicking his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. ‘You enjoying yourselves?’
‘Erm, yeah. We are, thanks,’ Aimee smiled back, thinking of how this man reminded her of her dad – funny, forthright, and very, very northern!
‘I’m Bob, and this is me wife, Barbara. Bob and Barbara from Barnsley, that’s us.’ He winked at them again, and both Aimee and Jemma couldn’t help laughing.
‘I’m Aimee, and this is my best friend, Jemma,’ Aimee smiled, sitting up as Barbara put her book down and returned their smiles.
‘You two here on your own?’ she asked, covering herself with a floaty black sarong.
‘That’s not going to make you miraculously lose three stone, love,’ Bob said, signalling to a passing pool-side waiter.
Aimee and Jemma exchanged a shocked look, but Barbara smiled again, gently nudging her husband, who was now busy ordering himself a beer. ‘Oh, he doesn’t mean anything by that, it’s just his way. He loves me just the way I am, don’t you, you moaning old Yorkshire windbag?’
Bob finished his order and turned to kiss his wife on the cheek. ‘Thirty-five years we’ve been married, ‘aven’t we, flower? This cruise is our anniversary present to each other.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Aimee exclaimed, unable to stop a stab of disappointment flooding through her at the mention of the word anniversary. She’d never get to have the anniversaries she’d hoped to share with Robbie, and she didn’t want to think about it, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the mention of some things were forever going to trigger off feelings she was trying really hard to suppress. ‘That’s really lovely.’
‘Neither of you married then?’ Barbara asked, not missing the look that passed across Aimee’s face. ‘Oh, dear. Have I said something wrong?’
‘No, of course not,’ Aimee replied, forcing a smile back on her face. Jemma was right. She had to stop letting memories of Robbie ruin her holiday. ‘Of course not. And no, neither of us are married. We’re here with my mam, though. She’s had a tough time lately; she’s recently split from my dad…’
‘Darlings!’ As if on cue, Marcie flounced over, still waving her copy of The Sheriff’s Kiss wildly in the air, leaning over to drop air-kisses on both Aimee’s and Jemma’s cheeks. ‘Have you ordered me a drink, pet? I’m so thirsty! Engelbert’s walked me round this deck so many times, he’s worn me out!’
Aimee and Jemma looked at each other, trying incredibly hard not to laugh out loud – and failing.
‘Engelbert?’ Aimee spluttered. ‘You are joking, right?’
Marcie looked at her daughter, her face completely straight. ‘Now, why would I joke, Aimee?’
‘His name’s Engelbert? Seriously?’
Jemma was now hiding behind a copy of Celebrity Secrets, but Aimee could quite clearly see it shaking.
Marcie turned her attention to Bob and Barbara, ignoring Aimee’s question.
‘I’m Marcie Marcello, how lovely to meet you,’ she smiled, holding out her hand to Barbara, who seemed to have been temporarily struck dumb.
‘I thought it was you!’ She looked at Aimee. ‘Is your mam…? Your mam’s Marcie Marcello? The romance novelist?’ She stood up, immediately taking the hand Marcie was still holding out, shaking it delicately as she performed something Aimee could have sworn was a curtsy. ‘I’ve read all your books; I love your writing – the way you create those handsome, dashing heroes…’ She threw Bob a look as she finally let go of Marcie’s hand. ‘Oh-my-God! Is that a copy of The Sheriff’s Kiss? I’ve been waiting for that ever since you announced you’d be writing it! I read the prequel – A Wild West Romance – in one day, didn’t I, Bob? On a coach trip down to Torquay.’
Aimee watched as her mother went into full-on author-meets-fan mode that she had down pat by now.
‘Then you must stop by my cabin one afternoon, darling, and I can furnish you with your very own signed copy.’
‘Did you hear that, Bob? Marcie Marcello’s going to sign my very own copy of The Sheriff’s Kiss.’
‘And ‘ow much is that going to cost me then?’ Bob muttered, lighting up another cigarette, rolling his eyes, which made both Jemma and Aimee giggle again.
‘To me, it’ll be priceless,’ Barbara gushed.
‘To you, maybe, but she’ll no doubt want paying for it.’
Aimee dragged herself up off her lounger, pulling Jemma up out of hers too as a plan started to form in her head. Robbie Cartwright was not going to get in the way of her enjoying this holiday. Oh no. Not anymore. Not when there was fun to be had, and maybe the perfect person to have that fun with wasn’t all that far away. If she had the bottle to go for it, which she wasn’t entirely sure she had at the minute. Only time would tell.
‘Hey! This was just starting to get mildly entertaining!’ Jemma protested.
‘Yeah, well, there’s only so much I can take of my mother pretending she’s the next best thing to William Shakespeare. She’s got an audience over there, she won’t even notice we’ve gone.’
‘And where are we going, exactly? Because I was quite happy sitting in the sun, getting myself a bit of a tan.’
‘You’re already tanned. You were sprayed enough times before we left Newcastle, now come on. We’re going boy band hunting.’
‘We are?’ Jemma smiled, suddenly perking up.
‘Yep. We are,’ Aimee said, slipping a pair of white denim shorts and a strapless top over her bikini, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. ‘It’s about time I well and truly forgot about Robbie. Me and you, Jemma – we’re going back to the 90’s.’
*
‘Does that camera have to be shoved in me face 24 hours a frigging day?’ Danny moaned, stopping the run-through of the routine for a fifth time.
‘That’s usually what happens when you agree to make a fly-on-the-wall documentary, Dan,’ Andy said, grabbing a towel from the floor and wiping his forehead.
‘Yeah, well, I’m having second thoughts, I am.’
‘You are frigging kidding me, aren’t you?’ Cal asked, beginning to tire slightly of this tension between Andy and Danny. ‘You can’t bloody back out now, mate. We’ve signed contracts, we’re well on the way to making this comeback a reality, so whatever’s going on between you two, can you sort it out, please? Before things get out of hand. Because we don’t want the whole of this reality programme to be about how you two still can’t sort out your bloody differences.’
Andy looked at Danny, genuinely confused by his attitude towards him. They’d never really got on as band mates all those years ago but, even though he’d always known Danny was one to bear grudges, he had no idea what he was supposed to have done to garner this reaction from him. Well, there was one thing, but surely nobody else had any idea about that, did they? He hoped not. No, he was just being stupid. There was no way anybody could possibly know anything about that. This behaviour of Danny’s was just proof that he couldn’t let go of the past, that was all. Andy just hoped it wasn’t going to become a problem.
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