Bon Voyage

by Michelle Betham

  Danny shook his head, pulling his mobile phone out of his back pocket and checking for any missed calls or messages. ‘Not really in the mood.’

  Cal sat down on the edge of his own bed, leaning forward as he spoke. ‘Danny, mate – Andy said he saw you with a girl today, in Pisa.’

  Danny turned his head to look at Cal. ‘And? Do we have a problem with that? Am I not allowed to talk to anyone now?’

  ‘Of course you are, it’s just – look, this reunion…’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Danny sighed, sitting up and taking another swig of beer. ‘What is it with everybody round here? If it isn’t bloody Barry with his camera hanging around like a frigging bad smell it’s you lot spying on me…’

  ‘Nobody’s spying on anybody, Danny. But if this reunion is going to work then we have to be careful. It’s no secret your relationship with Davina is on the rocks, but…’

  Danny raised an eyebrow. ‘On the rocks? It’s over, Cal. Does everyone get that? It’s over. And have you got a point you’re trying to make here? Because I’m really not in the mood for this.’

  ‘Any whiff of scandal – no matter how trivial – and it could really go against us. People will be looking for anything they can to dig up on us, and technically you’re still married, mate, so if it gets out you’re seeing another woman…’

  Danny couldn’t help but laugh out loud. ‘Ha! So that’s it! Did Andy put you up to this? Has he said something?’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘Leave it, Cal. Okay? I’ll see who I want when I want, and whatever I do, it’s got nothing to do with anyone else, you got that?’

  Cal sighed, standing up, realising he was going to get nowhere with this. Not tonight, anyway. ‘Just, be careful, okay?’

  Danny watched as Cal left the cabin, shutting the door behind him. Why was everyone so bloody concerned about his love life all of a sudden? None of them had given two frigging hoots for almost sixteen years and now they all wanted a say. Well, Danny had had enough. Enough of Davina, enough of the crap the rest of the band were giving him, enough of feeling like he was back in that goldfish bowl that had been his home for over five years back in the 90’s. He’d had enough of it all. Danny Johnson wanted to do what he liked, when he liked, with whom he liked. And he liked Aimee Anderson.

  CRUISE DAY 5

  CANNES

  11:15am

  ‘Cannes on the cheap. You can tell we’re Northerner’s,’ Jemma said as they approached the end of the dock that practically brought them straight out to the sea front at Cannes.

  ‘We’re not doing it on the cheap on purpose, Jemma,’ Aimee laughed, positioning her sunglasses on her nose as she looked around, the late-morning sun beating down on her bare shoulders. ‘It just made sense to go it alone here, seeing as we can walk from the ship to the sea front in less than ten minutes. Why pay nearly £20 for a trip we can do ourselves for nowt?’

  Jemma shrugged, fishing her own sunglasses out of her bag, slipping them on over her big, brown eyes. ‘You’re right. I mean, everything’s here, isn’t it? Everything’s within walking distance.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s why the excursion the rest of them have gone on is called ‘The Cannes Walking Tour’. And anyway, who wants to follow Laugh-a-minute-Lydia round when we can go at our own pace and see what we want when we want?’ She slipped her arm through Jemma’s, checking the small map they’d picked up from reception on their way out, so they could reference points of interest. ‘Come on. The Festival and Convention Centre is this way, apparently.’

  They headed off in the direction of the famous Convention Centre, where the Cannes International Film Festival was held, strolling slowly arm-in-arm along the street under the shade of the many palm trees that lined the path, enjoying being out in the warm sunshine in such a beautiful place. They’d even dressed up for this self-styled excursion – not wanting to look too much like the typical tourist – in gorgeous maxi dresses they’d bought in a little boutique in Newcastle, teamed with delicate silver sandals, over-sized sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats.

  As soon as they reached the Convention Centre, just a few minutes later, the first thing they saw were those iconic red-carpeted steps, you couldn’t miss them, and neither of them could resist taking photograph after photograph in various different poses, both of them pretending Bradley Cooper and Ryan Gosling were just “running late” and would be with them “any second now”, dissolving into fits of giggles at their movie-star role playing. It was fun, being in this famous place on a beautiful sunny day during a holiday that Aimee loved more and more as each day went by. For so many reasons.

  Once they’d exhausted their role playing, and realised that neither Bradley nor Ryan were turning up any time soon, they made their way back down onto the street to explore the various celebrity handprints which were set in cement around the building, crouching down to see if their own hands fitted any of the imprints and imagining what it must be like to be so famous that you had your own handprint embedded in concrete forever.

  After that – swearing blind they’d seen Brendon settled at a table in a café across the road with a bottle of wine and a copy of The Sun – they headed back along the palm-lined boulevard of La Croisette towards the sea front, their eyes occasionally diverted towards the occasional, somewhat over-stated supercar as it cruised slowly along the road, demanding attention from anyone and everyone.

  But it wasn’t just cars that caught Jemma and Aimee’s attention. People-watching came into play big time as they hit the sea front, the mix of people walking along the promenade quite eclectic – everything from tourists in their shorts and T-shirts to beautifully dressed locals, all of them enjoying the warm French sunshine.

  After buying ice creams from a polite and not-bad-looking French man – who reminded them both of a very young Raymond Blanc – in one of the many food and drink kiosks dotted around the promenade, ready to catch tourists in need of some light refreshment, Jemma and Aimee took a break from the heat and the walking, sitting down on one of the benches that lined the boulevard, facing the sea.

  ‘It kicks Whitley Bay into touch, I’ll give it that,’ Jemma said, stretching her legs out in front of her.

  ‘Can’t argue with you there,’ Aimee agreed, her pistachio ice cream really hitting the spot. It was just what was needed on a day like this.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Jemma sighed, tilting her face up towards the sun as she shoved the last of her cornet into her mouth in a not-particularly-ladylike fashion.

  Aimee looked at her out of the corner of her eye, smiling. ‘You could get a bit more in there if you tried y’know.’

  Jemma couldn’t help laughing, spluttering fragments of cornet all over her lime-green maxi dress. ‘Bloody hell, Aimee. I’m trying to be refined here.’

  ‘Too late for that, kidda. Ooh, look, it’s Bob and Barbara! Seems like they’ve gone for the go-it-alone option too.’

  ‘This heat is really doing me in,’ Barbara panted as she and Bob approached the bench Aimee and Jemma were sitting on. ‘Budge up, girls. If I don’t sit down soon I’ll fall down.’

  ‘Aye, and I ‘aven’t got the strength to lift ‘er back up again,’ Bob said, lighting up a cigarette as he leant against a nearby palm tree, puffing smoke into the clear blue sky.

  ‘No, he’s used up all his energy this morning opening his wallet,’ Barbara went on, reaching into her bumbag for a wet wipe to cool her down.

  ‘Too chuffing right!’ Bob protested. ‘Eleven bloody euros for a pint of lager I paid in that café! Eleven bloody euros! That’s a chuffing night out with a bag of chips on the way ‘ome and change left over for a paper in the morning where I come from.’

  ‘Tight old git,’ Barbara said, running the refreshing wet wipe over her forehead. ‘It’s bloody hot out here, isn’t it, girls?’

  ‘Oh, stop your moaning, woman.’ Bob blew more smoke into the air, his head turning swiftly as a beautiful, tall, statuesque dark-haired girl in a gorgeous gold
and bronze-coloured sarong and copper bikini top sashayed past, leaving a haze of something expensive in her midst. ‘I’m trying to take in the sights.’

  Jemma and Aimee looked at each other, giggling silently.

  ‘Can’t take him anywhere,’ Barbara sighed, reluctantly getting up from the bench. ‘We’d better get back to the ship. It’s almost lunch time and I doubt his-nibs here wants to put his hand in his pocket for food.’

  ‘Aye, you got that right,’ Bob said, stubbing his cigarette out against the rough trunk of the palm tree. ‘Everything’s free on that ship. If it was up to me I wouldn’t set foot off the thing, think what a bloody cheap ‘oliday we could be ‘aving if she didn’t want to chuffing explore.’

  Barbara just rolled her eyes and grabbed Bob’s arm. ‘We’ll see you girls back on the ship.’

  ‘Yeah. See you later,’ Aimee smiled, both of them giggling again as Bob winked at them before being dragged back off along La Croisette by his formidable wife.

  ‘They really love each other, don’t they?’ Jemma sighed. Aimee looked at her for a few seconds before they both dissolved into yet more fits of giggles.

  ‘Can we join in the fun?’

  Aimee almost choked as she tried to stop laughing, looking up to see Danny and Cal Connor standing there, Danny looking handsome and tanned in a tight white T-shirt and khaki combats, his dark hair once again pushed back off his face so those piercing blue eyes bored right into you – if you were looking at him, that is. Which Aimee was. She couldn’t help it.

  ‘Erm… Oh, hello,’ Aimee said, trying to regain her composure. ‘What – what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be rehearsing or something? Isn’t there a show tonight?’

  ‘We’re filming sightseeing scenes – again,’ Danny replied, rolling his eyes. ‘Barry’s got Andy, Ross and Frankie running up and down those bloody steps at the Convention Centre. We made a break for it, said we were going to get drinks.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ Aimee was aware she was still staring but she really couldn’t take her eyes off him, even though she kind of wanted to, because she had a feeling she looked more than a little strange, even if she was staring from behind dark glasses.

  Jemma finally nudged her and she turned to look at her friend as Cal leaned in towards Danny, whispering something in his ear before he held out his hand to Jemma, who let out a little squeak of surprise.

  ‘Come on,’ Cal smiled at her, and Aimee watched as her usually confident and outgoing best friend was struck speechless. ‘Why don’t me and you go grab a coffee or something?’

  Jemma managed to mouth “Oh, my God!” at Aimee before taking Cal’s hand and following him along the promenade like a little lost puppy in search of coffee, leaving Danny and Aimee alone.

  ‘You having a nice day?’ Danny asked, sitting down in the spot vacated by Jemma while Aimee still tried to get her head around the fact that this man sitting beside her was a man whose picture she’d once had hanging on her bedroom wall, someone she’d lusted over and daydreamed about during lessons at school, and yet she’d been talking to him these past couple of days as though he was just some ordinary bloke she’d bumped into in the queue for a late night burger in the Lido Café. But wasn’t that all he really was now anyway? Just some ordinary bloke?

  ‘Yeah. It’s been good,’ Aimee smiled, because she couldn’t seem to stop smiling whenever he was around. ‘And we’ve done our fair share of running up and down those steps too, by the way.’

  Danny laughed, looking out to sea for a second before turning back to face her, wishing she’d take those over-sized sunglasses off so he could see her eyes.

  ‘We pretended we were movie stars at the Cannes Film Festival,’ Aimee went on, then wondered why she was telling him this. He wasn’t interested in this.

  ‘I can’t wait to see the photos,’ Danny smiled, leaning back, slowly sliding his arm along the back of the bench.

  Aimee felt herself blushing again, hoping her gradually darkening tan was managing to hide that fact. She could always pass it off as the sun’s fault – it was incredibly hot out there.

  ‘I take a rubbish photograph. I’m not very photogenic at all,’ Aimee said quietly, fiddling with the bracelet she was wearing. A nervous reaction, obviously.

  ‘I bet you don’t,’ Danny said, still smiling. ‘I bet you take a great photograph.’

  She slowly looked back up at him. Why was she suddenly so shy? Yesterday she’d let him kiss her in the shadow of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and yet today she was acting like some simpering character from a costume drama, and that wasn’t the way she wanted to feel. She was a grown-up now, not that screaming, teenage super-fan she’d used to be.

  ‘Danny, I…’ She had to stop talking because she wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to finish that sentence, but the enquiring look on his face told her that he was expecting her to at least try. Oh, God, she couldn’t even string two words together now, what the hell was wrong with her? She’d put a great deal of money on the fact that Jemma wouldn’t be having anywhere near this amount of trouble communicating with Cal. If anything, she’d have chewed his ear off by now because she could talk for England once she got going.

  ‘You alright’ Danny asked, and Aimee looked up at him, resuming the fiddling of her bracelet.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she smiled. Should she tell him about Robbie? No. He didn’t need to know about all of that when she’d only just met him, and anyway, who knew where this was going? If it was going anywhere at all, after all, it was only a bit of fun for both of them for a couple of weeks so the whole Robbie thing wasn’t really relevant, was it? He didn’t really need to know just why she needed that fun so badly.

  ‘Aimee, look – this whole band-getting-back-together thing, this being followed around by some crazy cameraman for Christ knows how many hours a day, it’s really doing my head in, y’know?’

  She didn’t know, actually. She’d never been in a really famous pop band or been remotely interesting enough to be followed around by a camera crew, but she kind of got what he meant.

  ‘But, meeting you… meeting you has been the one thing that hasn’t messed with my head. Does that make any sense?’

  She slid her sunglasses up onto her head, looking into his eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. ‘It makes sense,’ she smiled, wrinkling her nose. ‘Sort of.’

  Danny laughed, his fingers falling gently onto her bare shoulder, stroking it lightly, and she didn’t flinch, didn’t make him remove it. Why would she want to do that? ‘Can I… can I take you to dinner tonight? We can get something to eat and then…’

  ‘Then, what?’ Aimee asked, knowing what she hoped he meant, but she just wanted to hear him say it. To see if they really were singing off the same hymn sheet with regards to whatever it was that was happening here.

  He looked right into her eyes, the silent messages conveyed loud and clear. This game was about to be kick-started into action. No doubt about it.

  ‘Then – we get the party started, good and proper. What do you say?’

  Eat your heart out, Robbie Cartwright. You can go to hell because I don’t need you anymore. I don’t need you – anymore. ‘I’d say, what are we waiting for?’

  6:45pm

  ‘So, where’s he taking you to dinner then?’ Jemma asked, quickly brushing a dusting of bronzer over her collarbone.

  ‘We’re on a ship, Jem. There isn’t exactly a great deal of choice, is there?’

  ‘There are four restaurants,’ Jemma pointed out, sitting down on the edge of her bed and slipping on her five-inch-high black stilettos.

  ‘Well, we’re not going for the all-you-can-eat-option in the Lido Café, that’s for sure, or I’d be having serious second thoughts,’ Aimee smiled, flicking her mascara wand over her lashes. ‘And how can you walk in those shoes on this ship? I find it hard enough keeping my balance in flip-flops.’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to hold onto Danny Boy for support then, won’t you,’ Jemma winked, st
anding up and walking over to the full-length mirror on the wall by the door, inspecting her reflection.

  Aimee turned round, throwing her mascara back into her make-up bag. ‘Why are you so dressed-up tonight anyway? You’re only joining the geriatric love triangle for dinner, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, God, no. Change of plan there,’ Jemma shuddered, running her tongue over her teeth to get rid of any stray lipstick. ‘I’m meeting Cal for a drink in The Pub, then I’m joining Bob and Barbara and that lovely couple from Watford that we met by the pool the other day, y’know, the ones who run an online shoe store from their garden shed; they’ve got a pet pot-bellied pig called Colin… I’m having dinner with them in The Fontana Restaurant. Should be a laugh. I’ve been reliably informed it’s posh fish‘n’chip night tonight – whatever that means – so that should be an experience. Bob’s bringing his own bottle of HP Sauce and he’s threatening to ask the chef to make up some mushy peas, Barnsley style – no, I haven’t got a clue what that is either.’

  Aimee quickly applied a second coat of lip gloss and checked her reflection one more time. ‘Well, Danny’s taking me to Sirocco’s. We’re going A la Carte tonight.’ She checked her watch as she fastened it round her wrist, spraying a fine mist of Monsoon perfume over her shoulders and cleavage. ‘And I’d better get going. We’ve got a table booked for 7pm because Bon Voyage are on at ten in the Vegas Show Lounge and Danny doesn’t want to be too stuffed when he hits the stage.’ She got up, straightening the top of her short, strapless white dress. ‘Do I look alright? Oh God. I’m so nervous, but so excited at the same time. He’s just so – so bloody sexy, Jemma. And I’m just…’

  ‘Beautiful. You look beautiful. And you’re going to be fine,’ Jemma smiled, answering the silent question that Aimee had asked her. ‘Just be yourself, okay? And remember, he’s just Danny Johnson from Whitley Bay. He’s just a guy from the same town as you, remember that. He’s nothing special.’