8:45pm
Aimee was still shell-shocked. Still too stunned to think straight, but finding out that Robbie had been offered money – money he would now never receive – to try and make sure she kept away from Danny, well, that had killed her. That had hurt. That had made her feel more stupid and weak than she’d ever felt before in her life.
‘I really can’t believe he did that to you,’ Jemma said, coming out of their tiny bathroom, spraying herself quite liberally with something by J-Lo. ‘When Cal told me, I swear, I wanted to track that bastard down and maim him with my bare hands. But then I reckoned that when your brother Eddie finds out he’ll probably do that for me, so why damage my nails, eh?’ She winked at Aimee, hoping to get a smile. Which she did. ‘So, tell me, Aimee, hon. You’re not still marrying him, surely?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ Aimee said, getting up and going over to the mirror, checking her make-up looked alright. No smudges, no lipstick on the teeth. She wanted to look perfect tonight.
‘So, what are you going to do then?’ Jemma asked, fiddling about with the strands of curls that hung over Aimee’s tanned shoulders.
‘You’ll see,’ Aimee smiled, running her tongue over her teeth one last time, just to be sure.
‘Okay,’ Jemma sighed. ‘As long as you don’t make me wait too long. You know how impatient I can be. Anyway, you talked to Danny since all this has kicked off?’
Aimee shook her head. I just ran out of there, Jem. I couldn’t face it anymore, my head was spinning. Look, I need to concentrate on sorting things out with Robbie first, okay? That’s my priority. Anything else can wait.’
‘Sorting things out with Robbie? What does that mean?’
Aimee quickly kissed Jemma’s cheek, smiling as she popped her lip gloss into her clutch bag, snapping it shut. ‘I’ve told you, you’ll see. Now, I’ll meet you down in the Clipper Bar in a few minutes, alright?’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘Just got something to do first. See you down there in about ten minutes or so, okay?’
‘Yeah. I suppose so,’ Jemma said, watching as Aimee almost ran out of the cabin, which impressed Jemma no end because of the heels Aimee was wearing.
Aimee made her way up onto the next deck, half running half walking as she headed towards The Pub, where she found Brendon at the bar, sipping a pint of his favourite Guinness. He smiled as he saw her approach, letting out a low wolf-whistle. ‘By, me darling. You look grand, so you do.’ He leaned over to quickly kiss her cheek. ‘What can I get you, pretty lady?’
‘A large vodka and coke please, Brendon. I think I’m going to need it.’
Brendon said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay. You said you had something on this Englebert bloke. Something concrete?’
Brendon handed her her drink and she slid up onto a bar stool, taking a very welcome long sip through a straw. She didn’t really want to smudge her carefully applied lipstick.
‘We’re 99.9% there, Aimee. I’m waiting on one more e-mail from Alan then, if what he says confirms everything I’ve found out, then I’ll be paying your mammy a visit at this party, but not to congratulate her on her engagement. I still feel awful though, upsetting Marcie like this.’
‘You’re doing her a favour, Brendon. And I really appreciate you doing this. If there is anything even remotely dodgy about this character then I want my mam to know about it. For her own sake.’ Aimee took a longer sip of her vodka and slid down off the stool, impatient to get to the party for reasons of her own now. ‘Just let me know when you get that e-mail, okay? Let me know what’s going on.’
‘I will do, me darling. Now, you go off and enjoy yourself. Leave your mammy to me.’
She stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him with a smile as she ran out of The Pub, heading up another deck to the Clipper Bar where she found Robbie lurking outside, hands in his pockets, looking shifty, to say the least. She stopped for a second. What if Davina had already told him that she knew what had happened? That she knew what had been going on? Oh God, she hadn’t even thought of that possibility! If that had happened then what she planned to do next could be null and void. She felt a slight panic rise up in her but she swallowed it back and continued walking towards Robbie. Only one way to find out.
‘Hey, babe,’ Robbie grinned as she finally reached the entrance to the bar, hearing the dulcet tones of Engelbert’s namesake crooning something about a last waltz. How very ironic, Aimee thought.
‘Hey,’ she smiled, letting him slide an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a quick kiss that actually made her stomach turn, but he didn’t need to know that just yet. And, thankfully, it seemed that he had no idea – for now, anyway – about the events of that afternoon. Probably been too distracted by little-miss-stage-school, but that was fine with Aimee. He’d know soon enough. ‘You had a good day?’
‘Oh, not bad,’ he said, taking her hand as they walked inside.
‘What did you do?’ Aimee asked, knowing that this line of questioning was going to make him uncomfortable but he deserved it. He deserved it, and a whole lot more.
‘Nothing much,’ he shrugged. ‘Just hung around the boat, caught a few rays, had a few drinks, that kind of thing.’ That kind of thing? Yeah, whatever.
‘Were you waiting for someone out there?’ Aimee carried on questioning him, taking a glass of cava from a tray laid out on a length of tables that ran along the entire centre of the room, filled with plates of sausage rolls, mini quiche’s, tiny triangle sandwiches – whoever had helped organise this little shindig certainly knew how to cater a good old British buffet.
‘Waiting for someone?’ Robbie asked, shoving a sausage roll in his mouth. To hide the guilt he was feeling? Maybe. Idiot! ‘No. I wasn’t waiting for anyone. Just, y’know, getting a bit of air.’
Aimee quickly wiped a spray of pastry crumbs off her shoulder. The last thing she needed was grease stains on her lovely white dress. And what did he mean, getting a bit of air? The bloody bar was indoors! Standing at the entrance got you about as much air as standing here by the buffet table. So she didn’t respond to that. Let him think she hadn’t heard him, and instead she focused on a group of Barmy Bon Voyagers running past the open doorway, screaming like a gang of hysterical teenagers (which none of them were – well, some of them might have been hysterical but it had been a long time since any of them had seen their teenage years, that was for sure) as they quite obviously made their way to the Vegas Show Lounge for Bon Voyage’s final appearance. Aimee wished she was going with them – well, not going with them as such, but going to the Show Lounge. But she had a job to do first. And it wouldn’t be too long before she was done here and she could make her escape. For the final part of her plan.
She smiled as Jemma walked in, rolling her eyes as the last stray Barmy Bon Voyager ran past, a scarf stuck in the back pocket of her jeans which flew out behind her as she ran to catch up with the rest of her gang.
‘You okay?’ Jemma mouthed and Aimee nodded, laughing at Jemma’s expression as she clocked the buffet. Jemma had never been one to knock back a vol-au-vent.
‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ Aimee said to Robbie, and he almost jumped out of his skin as her voice shook him back to reality. ‘Considering this is our engagement party. Something on your mind?’ Someone, more like, Aimee thought, watching him as he tried to compose himself. Boy, he really was distracted tonight. It was almost as if he was being forced into doing something he wasn’t really all that keen on…
‘I’m fine. Just a bit… just a bit tired, y’know?’
Yeah. Tired from shagging little-miss-stage-school all afternoon, most likely, Aimee thought, turning her attention to her mother, resplendent in a pale pink kaftan and matching scarf tied round her pink hair, her bracelets jangling as she was twirled around by a mint-green safari-suit-wearing Engelbert as he sang the words of the song – Tom Jones’ Delilah. Raymond from ‘Revival’ must be loving this gig!
– to a glowing Marcie. And all Aimee could do was hope she heard from Brendon soon, because just watching her mother glide around the dance floor gave her a bad feeling, and not just because it was a pretty rubbish waltz.
‘Are you going to be this quiet all night then?’ Aimee asked Robbie, making him almost jump out of his skin again. Jesus! He was a bit on edge, wasn’t he? Did he have an inkling something was going to kick off? Because she’d never seen him this jumpy before. Or did he really just not want to go through with this – a second time? Well, he wasn’t going to have to. Aimee would see to that.
Suddenly his phone started ringing, causing him to literally jump this time, and that was it for Aimee. She’d had enough. And with one quick movement she’d snatched the phone out of his hand and answered the call, a look of complete horror on Robbie’s face.
‘Hello? Robbie Cartwright’s phone. Who’s calling, please?’
‘Aimee…’
‘Back off, Robbie,’ Aimee hissed, waiting for the voice on the other end of the line to reply. And when it did it was with a cold tone, and a scouse accent harder than a house-brick.
‘This is Sonia. Who the frig are you?’
‘Me? Oh, I’m just his fiancée, don’t worry about it.’
Robbie had his head in his hands now, but Aimee wasn’t done yet.
‘Actually…’ She waited until Robbie looked up again, then she faced him head on, staring right at him as she said the words, glad that the whole bar had gone silent because that’s what she’d wanted. She’d wanted everyone to know what she was about to do. It was the least Robbie Cartwright deserved, after what he’d done to her. ‘Make that, ex-fiancée.’ She ended the call and threw his phone into the punchbowl on the table behind her. ‘I’m done with him,’ she said, still looking him right in the eye. ‘So, tell me, Robbie. Exactly how much were you going to be paid to make sure I kept away from Danny Johnson?’
An audible gasp went up around the room but Aimee didn’t take her eyes off Robbie. Was he sweating? Well, he had every right to be nervous, didn’t he?
‘How much, Robbie?’ Aimee repeated.
‘£10,000,’ he replied, to which an even louder gasp echoed round the quiet Clipper Bar, not to mention the sound of someone choking on their drink, and when Aimee looked around her she noticed Jemma receiving a pat on the back from Barbara. Aimee turned her attention back to Robbie, who’d started shifting from foot-to-foot, running a hand through his black hair, wiping his sweating forehead with a handkerchief.
‘£10,000,’ Aimee said slowly, her eyes meeting his again, although he was finding it hard to look at her, the guilt obviously making him way too uncomfortable. ‘You really do have no respect, for anyone. Do you?’
‘Aimee, please… let me…’
‘Explain?’ Aimee laughed out loud, she couldn’t help it. ‘No, Robbie. No explanations necessary. Just go, will you? Because I can’t stand to even look at you. Go on, go and find your little holiday fling, because you deserve each other. You make me sick!’
‘Aimee…’
But his voice was drowned out by a round of applause and whistles as people showed their support for Aimee and their dislike of the cheating, lying bastard that was Robbie Cartwright. And, as Aimee watched his sorry arse retreat to the exit amid a barrage of boos and jeers, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
‘Gimme five!’ Jemma grinned, running over to give her best friend a high-five and a hug, and Aimee let out what felt like the biggest sigh of relief as she shook away the tension that had been building up for what felt like days. Well, ever since Robbie and Davina Black had turned up on board. Thinking back, things hadn’t really felt right from that point – not really. But she could turn that around now. She could make everything right again. Take it back to how things should have been.
‘I need a drink,’ Aimee breathed, glad that chatter and noise had been restored around the bar, even if that chatter was all about her. All she cared about was that Robbie was no more – he was history. Like he always should have been.
‘I’ll go get us two very large cocktails,’ Jemma smiled, giving Aimee’s hand a squeeze as Aimee leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes for a second, opening them only when she heard the familiar jangle of Marcie’s bracelets approaching.
‘Aimee, darling!’ Marcie sighed, pulling her daughter into her arms for a hug, squeezing her so tight she felt it hard to breathe for a few seconds. ‘I never liked that boy.’
Boy? He was forty-year’s-old!
‘And I’ll be giving that Cora Cartwright a piece of my mind when I get back home, won’t I, Engelbert? He was never good enough for you, my darling.’
‘I’m fine, Mam. Really. Just glad it’s over.’
Marcie held her out at arm’s length and smiled at her, gently stroking her fringe from her eyes. ‘You deserve a man who’ll look after you, Aimee. You deserve a good man. Someone who can love you like you deserve to be loved.’
Aimee felt hot tears prick her eyes. Sometimes her mother could be so lovely and this was one of those times, when Marcie Marcello let Kathleen Anderson back out to play. ‘So do you, Mam,’ Aimee whispered, wondering where Brendon was. Then, right on cue…
‘Marcie!’ Brendon’s booming voice caused the Clipper Bar to fall silent once again, everyone’s expressions turning eager as they sensed another slice of entertainment about to kick off. ‘Marcie, you can’t marry that man!’
Marcie turned round to look at Brendon, linking her arm through Engelbert’s and pulling him closer to her in a protective manner, although it didn’t escape Aimee’s notice that Engelbert looked as though he’d much rather be beating a hasty retreat to the exit.
‘Brendon, really, I’ve told you, it’s pointless trying to win my affections. I’m with Engelbert, we’re getting married and…’
‘No you’re not, you silly old mare.’
‘Excuse me? Engelbert, are you going to let him speak to me like that?’
Jemma sidled back up alongside Aimee, handing her a large cocktail, both of them taking long sips as they watched whatever was going to happen next unfold.
‘Oh, come on, woman. Your man there isn’t called Engelbert and you’re about the only bloody one on this ship who still believes he is. This man you’re rushing into marriage with is nothing but a con man.’
‘Engelbert? Are you going to let him get away with this?’
But Engelbert was saying nothing, in fact, he let go of Marcie and began slowly edging away from her, looking down at the ground. But Brendon was making sure he went nowhere, stepping in front of him, preventing him from moving any further away. ‘Oh no, mister. You’re going nowhere. Marcie here needs to know the truth.’
Marcie put a hand on her chest, a look of total confusion on her face as she briefly turned to look at Aimee, who just shrugged. She didn’t know what was coming next either. But she couldn’t wait to find out.
‘Your man here is called Albert Jenkins, and he’s already happily engaged to a woman called Shirley who runs The Frog and Bucket, an English bar in Magaluf. He doesn’t live anywhere near you, Marcie, me darling. He resides – for the moment, anyway – in Majorca, with his partner-in-crime. Literally.’
Marcie gasped out loud and Aimee reached out to take her arm and steady her as she stepped backwards.
‘They make their money by sending Albert here on cruises to “pick up” rich and vulnerable middle-aged women. He puts on the charm – just like he has done with you, Marcie – sucks them into his web of lies, and makes them think he’s some wealthy businessman who’s hit on hard times and just needs a little bit of cash in order to kick-start a new business venture until his own money can be “released” from some off-shore bank account, which is how he promises to pay them back with interest and a percentage of the profits of this new-found business venture. Except, of course, no such off-shore bank account exists. And no such business venture will ever materialise because he accompanies these poor ladie
s home just long enough to get the money he needs out of them before telling them he has to make a quick visit abroad to set up the deal – and that’s when he makes his escape. Back to wherever it is he happens to be living at the time, because he’s not exactly known for setting down roots. So, by the time these poor women realise they’ve been shafted he’s covered his tracks, leaving them with big holes in their bank accounts and more regrets than they care to mention. The authorities haven’t managed to track him down yet because he uses a different name for each cruise and each scam and to be honest, Marcie, if he hadn’t used such a ridiculous pseudonym this time around, I’m not sure I’d have been so suspicious.’ Brendon turned his attention to a very quiet and somewhat cornered Engelbert/Albert. ‘He only wanted you for your money, Marcie. He never really wanted you.’
Marcie had started fanning herself with a napkin Jemma had found on the buffet table, her other hand on her forehead as Aimee tried to keep her upright. ‘Aimee, pet, I feel rather faint. I’d already been in touch with my solicitor to sort out transferring some money, and I was going to contact him again in the morning… make sure it was all set up to go the minute we got home. He – Engelbert… him…’ She pointed at Engelbert/Albert with a quivering finger, ‘… he said he needed the money quick before the deal fell through. He said it was verging on an emergency.’
‘You didn’t actually do anything apart from talk to your solicitor though, did you, Mam?’
Marcie shook her head, accepting the glass of brandy Jemma handed her, knocking it back in one. ‘Oh, girls. I feel such a fool!’
‘It’s okay, Mam. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.’
‘What have you got to say for yourself then, man?’ Brendon asked Engelbert/Albert, who stood with his head hung low, a stance that told the entire room that he was now resigned to his fate.
‘What can I say?’ he said, shrugging, the smooth and charming Northumberland accent suddenly giving way to a much harsher, northern lilt as Engelbert disappeared and Albert made himself known, and this was a response that didn’t sit well with Brendon who looked – for a second – as though he was going to go for him.
Bon Voyage Page 31