‘Something bothering you, Danny?’ Andy asked, pushing Cal in the direction of a gradually more irate Brummie Barry – the cameraman who was following them around on this cruise – who was becoming increasingly annoyed with the amount of interruptions they were encountering right now. But if anyone could placate him, Cal could.
Danny stared at Andy for a second, but said nothing.
‘Well? You heard me. Is something bothering you, Danny? Something to do with me?’
‘No,’ Danny replied. ‘Nothing’s bothering me.’
‘Then let’s get back to work, okay?’
From outside the entrance to the Vegas Show Lounge, Jemma and Aimee couldn’t make out what was being said as they crouched down like a couple of naughty school kids spying on something they shouldn’t, but they could see practically everything through the gap in the double doors.
‘Blimey! Ross and Frankie have piled on a few extra pounds since 1996,’ Jemma commented, wincing slightly as Ross tried to spin on his head, resulting in him landing on the stage in a heap at the feet of Cal Connor.
‘Haven’t we all?’ Aimee sighed. ‘But Cal is looking good!’ She craned her neck to try and get a better view of the rest of them as they moved about the stage, her view occasionally blocked by a burly cameraman.
‘Hang on. You never fancied Cal back in the day, did you?’ Jemma asked.
‘Ooh, no,’ Aimee shuddered. ‘I was very much a Danny girl, as you well know.’
‘Yeah. You never did make a secret out of it, hon. Oh-my-God! Have you seen Danny Johnson? Aimee, look! How hot is he?’
Aimee craned her neck even more, her eyes finally falling on Danny Johnson, who was indeed looking better than good in black tracksuit bottoms and trainers, a tight white T-shirt clinging to his toned body, showing off his tattooed arms to full effect. ‘Yeah. He looks okay.’ That was an understatement, actually, but she’d been thrown a touch off balance, seeing him in the flesh after all these years. Danny Johnson. How many times, all those years ago, had she kissed that poster of him beside her bed goodnight? But surely someone like Danny Johnson was never going to look twice at someone like her – shy Aimee Anderson from Whitley Bay, supervisor at SuperStyle and avid Rom Com fan? Anyway, he was still married, wasn’t he? So it was pointless even dreaming about anything happening. Still, like she’d said before, there was no harm in looking, was there?
‘Okay? He looks okay? He looks more than okay, in fact, I’d go as far as to say that he looks better now than he did back then. Look at him!’
‘I thought you were very much a Cal fan?’ Aimee asked.
‘I am. But you can’t ignore how hot Dan the Man is.’
‘Yeah, but he’s the only one still with a wife in tow, isn’t he?’ Aimee sighed, wishing he wasn’t still married to Davina Black, and then hating herself for wanting a marriage to be over. She guessed it was still that touch of bitterness she felt towards anything matrimonial after what had happened with Robbie.
‘Not for much longer,’ Jemma replied, cutting into Aimee’s sudden daydream about Danny Johnson’s divorce. ‘I know for a fact that Danny’s marriage to Davina Black is all but over.’
Aimee looked at her friend. ‘How do you know that, Jemma? It’s not like they’re even famous enough to be featured in Celebrity Secrets anymore, is it?’
‘His sister gets her hair done at the salon in town where my cousin Eileen works, and she – Danny’s sister, that is – was in there the other day with her best friend getting matching red highlights put in. Our Eileen overheard them talking about it. Apparently, that Davina is being a real bitch to him.’
Aimee was still staring at Jemma. ‘Why do you never tell me these things the minute you find them out?’
Jemma shrugged. ‘I forget, Chick. Got a memory like a sieve sometimes…’ She suddenly stopped talking and grabbed Aimee’s arm, pulling her away from the door, both of them quickly running down the corridor, giggling like a couple of star-struck teenagers, not stopping until they were back outside, safely settled on stools at the Calypso Pool Bar.
‘Do you think anyone saw us?’ Jemma gasped, clutching her sides as she tried to get her breath back, ignoring the strange looks the barman was giving them.
‘I don’t think so,’ Aimee replied, leaning against the bar as she also tried to get her breath back. ‘I feel about fifteen again,’ she giggled, suddenly feeling as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was having fun! And it felt great. This was just what she needed.
‘Good,’ Jemma smiled, crossing her legs and rearranging her sarong as the barman approached them. ‘That’s good.’ She turned her smile on the dark haired, not-bad-looking barman. ‘Two glasses of sparkling wine, please.’
‘Sparkling wine?’ Aimee frowned. ‘Are we celebrating something?’
‘Are we celebrating something? Of course we’re celebrating something, Missy! We’re celebrating the fact this holiday has finally started.’
Aimee shrugged. ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’
Jemma swung round on her stool, shaking out her dark hair so it fell loosely around her shoulders. ‘So, which one do you fancy now then?’
Aimee frowned again. ‘Sorry? Which what do I fancy now?’
Jemma sighed heavily, throwing her head back in an exasperated manner. ‘Which member of Bon Voyage, stupid? Because I am strangely drawn to Andy myself…’
Aimee stared at Jemma. ‘Andy? But you always said Andy was the ugly one of the group.’
‘I never said he was ugly.’
‘Yes you did.’
‘I didn’t! I may have said he hadn’t been first in the queue when they were giving out the best looks…’
‘That’s calling him ugly,’ Aimee said, smiling her thanks at the barman as he put their two glasses of wine down in front of them, checking their all inclusive passes.
‘It is not calling him ugly… Anyway, what does it matter what he looked like back then? Look at him now! He’s grown into those looks of his, you have to admit.’
‘Hmm,’ Aimee mumbled, taking a sip of wine. ‘Whatever. What about Cal?’
‘What about him?’ Jemma asked, looking out at the huge expanse of sea that surrounded the MS Atlantica as it made its way towards Corsica, their first port of call.
‘I thought you fancied him.’
‘I do. He’s gorgeous! But I don’t know whether I fancy a bit of a challenge or not.’
‘I thought you were staying strictly single?’ Aimee smirked, the bubbles in the wine going straight up her nose, making her sneeze.
‘Circumstances can change, can’t they?’ Jemma winked.
Aimee couldn’t help laughing, in between sneezes. ‘Have you heard the pair of us? I mean, as if any of them would even look twice at me or you.’
‘Why not?’ Jemma exclaimed. ‘They’re hardly at the height of their fame anymore, are they? Most of them are divorced, none of them seem to be that rich anymore and to be honest, nobody really knows who the hell they are. They should be lucky to have women like us falling at their feet.’
‘I’m not falling at anyone’s feet,’ Aimee sniffed, taking another sip of wine.
Jemma smiled, leaning forward, resting her chin in her hand. ‘Okay. But, just hypothetically, if you had to fall at anyone’s feet, which one would it be?’
Aimee smiled too, winking at Jemma. ‘Ah, now, that would be telling.’
9:30pm
The dining-room was crowded and noisy, the sound of never-ending chatter and the clattering of cutlery and crockery filling the air as a barrage of waiters walked constantly back and forth from kitchen to table, smiling at their allotted guests, all doing their best to make everybody feel special.
The Fontana Restaurant was the more formal of the three dining-rooms aboard The Atlantica, and with it’s dark wood walls and velvet curtains that draped the line of windows that covered one side of the restaurant, the imposing round pillars that were dotted throughout the room, and the s
heer amount of people that filled the place, all dressed in their smartest suits and best frocks, it was the restaurant to dine in if you wanted to get dressed up for the evening. Which Aimee and Jemma wanted to do every evening. No way would they ever be able to eat out in places that called for this style of dress back home in Newcastle. Back home, eating out meant a trip to the Fish ‘n’ Chip shop for a large battered cod, and that didn’t exactly involve digging out your best Debenhams designer frock.
So the girls were making the most of this chance to scrub up and look good, both of them wearing new clothes they’d bought on a blow-out shopping expedition to Newcastle just before the holiday. From Primark’s finest to something from the small but exclusive designer boutique they’d found just round the corner from Grey Street, they’d given their credit cards a hammering and were determined to stun the cruising crowd this fortnight.
And dinner in The Fontana had certainly been an experience, if nothing else; beginning with Marcie’s entrance on the arm of a red bow-tie-wearing Engelbert – although Aimee and Jemma had already decided to continue calling him Ricardo because they couldn’t say the name Engelbert without breaking into fits of giggles, it was just too stupid for words.
Marcie had floated in wearing an emerald-green Maxi dress and matching pashmina, her pink hair piled up on top of her head, her jangling array of gold jewellery alerting the whole of the dining-room to the fact that she was arriving. At least she’d, thankfully, left that copy of The Sheriff’s Kiss behind in her cabin.
Aimee and Jemma had then had to sit through dinner with Engelbert telling them all about his large house in Northumberland, and how his business (although he omitted to actually say what his business was) had made him millions which, Aimee noticed, caused her mother’s eyes to light up on frequent occasions. If it hadn’t been for the rather hilarious sight of Engelbert and Marcie trying to feed each other lobster ravioli that kept sliding off the fork every time it came anywhere near either of their mouths, Aimee and Jemma might have decided to skip dessert and head straight down to the Vegas Show Lounge to sample the entertainment they were going to have sit through this holiday. Bon Voyage weren’t hitting the Show Lounge stage for a day or two yet so that gave them a chance to see what else was on offer, although they both had to admit they were more than a little bit excited about seeing their favourite band back together after all these years. It was like being fifteen again. Except, this time, they could legally drink.
‘Tomorrow we sit at a different table,’ Jemma hissed under her breath as Engelbert wiped ice cream off Marcie’s chin with a handkerchief he’d pulled out of his top jacket pocket with a flourish worthy of any magician.
Aimee nodded, throwing her napkin down on the table and checking her watch. ‘Do you think we should leave them to it and make our way to the Show Lounge? It’s almost quarter to ten and I want a seat. I’m not standing at the bar all night. Not in these heels.’
Jemma reached down to grab her handbag, taking out a small compact and checking her make-up. ‘Yeah. We should definitely be making a move. It’s ABBA tribute night tonight, the place’ll probably be packed already.’
Aimee giggled, grabbing the compact from Jemma and reapplying her lip gloss, the very lip gloss that Robbie had once said made her mouth so incredibly kissable.
Jemma stopped what she was doing and looked at her friend. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Robbie loved this lip gloss,’ Aimee replied miserably, throwing it back into her tiny evening bag, a bargain at £3.50 in the Primark sale.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Jemma sighed, standing up and grabbing Aimee’s hand, pulling her up out of her seat.
‘Is everything alright, my lovelies?’ Marcie asked, turning her attention away from Engelbert’s attempts to try and share a crème caramel.
‘Everything’s fine, Marcie,’ Jemma smiled. ‘I’m just determined to get your daughter to start enjoying this holiday. Now, come on, Missy. Let’s go hit that all inclusive bar.’
*
Danny leaned back against the bar, watching as people streamed into the Vegas Show Lounge, all eager to catch the 10pm ABBA tribute show, all dressed in various states ranging from the slightly over-glamourised to the couldn’t-be-bothered. He found it fascinating, in a strange kind of way, but he’d always been a fan of people-watching.
Draining the last of his pint, he turned round to order another one, trying to catch the eye of one of the barmen because a long queue of waiters collecting drinks to take over to their respective tables was steadily forming as the Show Lounge grew busier and busier.
Finally grabbing the attention of one of the barmen he held up his glass, received a nod of acknowledgement, and turned back around to resume his people-watching.
It had been a weird day. He was still finding it quite difficult to get used to being back with the lads, if he was honest. It was a strange feeling, after all this time, trying to resurrect everything that had made them so successful all those years ago. And having a TV camera following them around didn’t make it any easier, in fact, he found that a real pain in the arse. It was like they had no down time, no privacy to get away from it all and escape for a few hours. The only reason he’d managed to shake Brummie Barry off tonight was because he was filming Frankie and Ross down in the gym and health spa as they tried to get back into some kind of shape for the band’s reunion. So him, Andy and Cal had a bit of precious time to themselves, but he’d left those two sampling the delights of the on-board cinema – he’d had no inclination to watch The Matrix for the thirtieth time – deciding that taking a look at just what the level of entertainment was on this ship was a much better idea.
Looking over towards the oval stage at the back of the Show Lounge, he watched as members of the entertainment team shuffled about, making sure the props for the ABBA show were all there, the microphones were set up, the keyboard was working – everything that needed to be done was being checked over. They ran a pretty professional set-up, he had to give them that.
Suddenly, a female Geordie accent caught his attention and he turned to see a rather pretty blond-haired woman – probably in her early thirties, he guessed – leaning over the bar, trying to catch a barman’s attention. She had her hair piled up on top of her head with loose strands falling over her shoulders, and she was wearing a black, knee-length dress with a strapless top and a full skirt that flattered a figure that looked pretty good to Danny.
‘That’s an accent I never tire of hearing,’ Danny said, turning round to face the bar.
Aimee swung round to look at him. ‘Sorry? Are you talking to me?’ And then she suddenly realised just who it was that was standing right next to her and she had to quickly grab the bar to steady herself, hoping he hadn’t noticed her rather undignified stumble. This wasn’t how she’d envisaged her first meeting with Danny Johnson. She wasn’t anywhere near prepared, but she was just going to have to run with it now. She’d never really been one to think quickly on her feet, but it wasn’t like she could go out and come back in again, was it?
Danny smiled. He instantly liked this girl. She seemed very – real. Unlike Davina. ‘Yeah. I’m talking to you. You here on holiday?’
What a ridiculously stupid question that had been. Of course she was here on holiday. What else would she be doing?
Aimee quickly composed herself, leaning one elbow on the bar beside her in the hope that it would make her look more casual, nonchalant, not bothered that she was standing here talking to a man she’d spent so many years just dreaming of meeting, only her elbow slipped on some spilt drink on the counter top and she had to try and cover up yet another undignified stumble. Great. She must look like a real idiot now. She’d been daydreaming all afternoon about the moment they’d meet, the way he’d look at her; how he’d suddenly realise that she was the woman he’d been waiting for all his life and he was going to ditch Davina Black the second he got back home and ask her, Aimee Anderson, to marry him… What the hell was she thinkin
g of? Danny Johnson was never going to fall for someone like her – especially after this performance. And where the hell was Jemma? She seemed to have a habit of disappearing off to the toilet and then not returning for ages, especially when she really needed her.
‘I’m, erm, I’m here with my friend, Jemma, and my mam. We, y’know, we all needed a holiday.’ Why had she said that? Why? He didn’t need to know that. Good one, Aimee. Carry on rambling about owt and nowt and he’s really going to find you attractive.
Danny raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, yeah? Why’s that then?’
She began fiddling with the top of her dress – a nervous habit, obviously, because there was no need to fiddle with anything. ‘Oh, just needed to get away from the north east weather for a bit. You know what summers over there can be like sometimes. Pretty rubbish, really, so…’ She just could not stop rambling. What was the matter with her? She must sound like some stupid star-struck teenager, and why? He wasn’t exactly famous anymore, and she was thirty-three now, not sixteen. But he did look as sexy as hell, standing there with that messed-up dark hair and those gorgeous blue eyes and those tattooed arms… ‘Erm, so we, y’know, needed some sun. As you do.’ As you do? What was wrong with her? ‘And we’ve – we’ve never cruised before. We thought it might be fun.’
Danny finally got his pint from the barman and looked at Aimee. ‘Can I get you anything? Some drinks?’
‘Erm, okay, thanks. Two glasses of sparkling wine, please.’ This was mad! Was she really standing here, talking to Danny Johnson? Her one-time pop idol, her fantasy man? Was this really happening? Yes, it was, and she needed to start acting normal otherwise he was going to go away from here thinking she was nothing more than some weird fan he’d met at the bar, and that was the last thing she wanted him to think.
‘What about your mam?’
‘What? Sorry?’ Aimee shook herself back to reality, at least, she assumed it was reality and she wasn’t just in the middle of some pretty amazing dream. ‘Oh, erm, she’s – she’s still finishing dinner,’ Aimee replied, shuddering inwardly at the image of Engelbert and her mother fawning over each other over the cheeseboard.
Bon Voyage Page 4