Honeymoon For One

by Portia MacIntosh

  I let myself in and plonk myself on the sofa.

  ‘What the hell are you looking at?’ I ask the big purple dildo.

  It doesn’t reply.

  I feel so comfortable on the sofa, I don’t want to get back up. Instead, I grab the beach towel I removed from my suitcase earlier, and pull it over me. I can’t face sleeping in that bed tonight, not with all that romantic crap on and around it. I’ll clean it all up tomorrow and I’ll try to do better. I just need to get through tonight and I’m sure, in the morning, things won’t seem quite so bad.

  I hope…

  8

  Day 3

  I don’t know what hurts more, my head or my stomach.

  I open my eyes and immediately answer my own question – it’s my head; my head hurts the most. It feels as if I’ve been hit with a blunt object, like a…

  I notice the dildo on the table. It probably would make an excellent weapon, but I think I’ll take my chances without it. What the hell am I supposed to do with it? Other than Ali’s suggestion, I have no idea. I need to dump it somewhere. Perhaps I could put it in the bin, but it’s so big, I’m sure the maid would see it. Best case, I look like a pervert. Worst case, I look as if I’ve had a really big row with my significant other and snapped. I’m not a million miles away from such a spree, if I’m being honest. Daniel is lucky he’s in England and I’m here.

  This place is stunning, but with the ocean-facing wall being made entirely of glass, it’s like a greenhouse – even with the terrace door that I forgot to close last night. Once I put the air conditioning on, I’m sure I’ll feel much better but, right now, the heat is making me feel sick.

  I look at my phone. It’s 10:30 a.m., and it’s so warm already so I kick off the towel that I’ve been using as a blanket all night.

  From where I am I can see my private pool, glistening in the sunshine. I’ll bet the water is so lovely and refreshing right now. Maybe a swim would make me feel better. It would definitely cool me down and it might even distract me for a bit. Then maybe I’ll be able to get some work done.

  I wonder what one of my strong, female lead characters would do in a situation like this. Something liberating, to show what a strong single woman she was. Like, I don’t know, taking all her clothes off and jumping into the pool, like a sort of baptism before she started her life again, a much better version of herself.

  I wish I had the guts to do something like that. I can’t even imagine how good it must feel. Thinking about it, I do have my own private pool. There’s no risk of indecent exposure, no one to see my bloated tummy after all the crap I ate yesterday… I can have a ‘strong woman’ moment if I want one. You know what, I think I will. Balls to it. I’m going to do it and it’s going to feel amazing.

  I take off my tracksuit and my underwear. As I pull my hoodie off, I realise just how big my hair is. I must’ve looked so funny last night.

  I hover by the sofa for a moment, staring at the pool, trying to talk myself into going for it, because I’m definitely getting cold feet.

  But, really, why wouldn’t I just do it? I’m going to do it. Yes, I am. I’m going to do it right now. I’m still standing here though, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

  I’m doing it!

  I run towards the pool, with a level of athleticism I haven’t shown since never. By the time I reach the edge of the pool, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I jump in – I don’t know if it’s head first or feet first. I don’t suppose it’s either. It doesn’t feel like a very graceful manoeuvre, but I’ve done it, and I’m so proud of myself.

  As the icy cold water hits every inch of my body like a million tiny knives, I kind of wish I hadn’t bothered. I don’t feel liberated, I feel as if I’m going to get hypothermia. But as soon as I come up for air and swim towards the edge of the infinity pool, I finally take in the incredible view of the beach and the ocean, low down on the ground below me. Everyone looks so small from up here, and I feel a million miles from anyone. It’s just me and my pool, and it’s amazing.

  ‘Good morning, Lila.’

  I turn around and see Freddie, standing next to the pool, holding a fishing net. He looks so good, I want to bite my lip. His body is ripped with muscle – muscle everywhere, muscles on his muscles! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with a body like this in real life. Given that he isn’t wearing anything but a pair of small, tight swimming shorts, I can see a lot.

  And then I remember what I’m wearing. Nothing.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I ask.

  With absolutely zero grace I scramble closer to him, so I can hide my nakedness behind the wall of the pool. If I can just hang onto a little bit of my dignity, that will be great.

  ‘I’m fishing mosquitos out of the pool,’ he replies. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

  ‘Like… like you’re being a pervert,’ I reply. I’m not sure if my face is red with anger or embarrassment – I think it’s a bit of both.

  The last thing I expected to see out here was the barman from last night, cleaning my pool. I suppose he does a few different jobs here, and I know that he needs to make a living, but shouldn’t he be cleaning the pool when no one is planning on using it? I don’t care how fit he is.

  ‘I’m being a pervert?’ he says. ‘I’m not the one skinny dipping!’

  ‘Are you allowed to talk to me like that?’ I ask.

  Freddie just laughs and takes a seat on a sunlounger. He lies back and places his hands behind his head. I am momentarily distracted by the bulge of his biceps, which look even better without a shirt on them.

  I squeak in disbelief.

  ‘And now, what, you’re sunbathing?’

  ‘You’re smart,’ he says sarcastically.

  ‘What do you think your boss will say when I call up and say the barman is sunbathing by my pool?’ I ask.

  Freddie’s face falls for a moment. Hopefully the threat of me calling his superiors will send him packing. He shuffles towards the end of the sunlounger.

  ‘Lila… do you actually think I’m a barman?’ he asks.

  ‘Erm, yes,’ I reply, only now I’m not so sure. ‘You served me a drink in a bar.’

  ‘You asked me to.’

  ‘Because you’re the barman.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘I’m so confused. So, you’re the pool boy?’

  Freddie laughs so hard he falls back onto the sunlounger.

  ‘Oh, Lila, you’re killing me,’ he says. ‘I’m a guest too. I’m staying in the suite next door to yours.’

  Oh, God. Oh-h-h-h, God.

  I look over at the villa. I hadn’t really processed just how big it is, in relation to how much smaller my living space is. It is one villa, with multiple suites inside. Well, it was dark when I got here and, after my first post-wedding drink, I’m not actually convinced I was fully sober for another second of it. Looking at the building now, I’d say there are maybe three separate suites in this one old villa. And there are three ladders into the pool, one outside each set of bi-folding doors.

  ‘The porter told me this was my private pool,’ I say.

  ‘It’s the villa’s private pool,’ he tells me. ‘The three suites share it.’

  ‘Oh… my… God, I am so embarrassed.’

  Still leaning on the side of the pool, I place my head in my hands.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he insists. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I’m mortified,’ I reply.

  I thought I’d hit rock bottom yesterday, but I hadn’t. This is rock bottom. It has to be.

  ‘Can I grab you a towel?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, please. There’s one on my sofa.’

  Freddie dashes inside my part of the villa to grab it for me, and I hear him roar with laughter. What’s so funny in there?

  Oh, God. Oh-h-h, God. No, please, God no. He’s seen the dildo – I mean, how could he bloody miss it?

  He walks out with my towel, with the biggest
grin ever plastered across his face. I want to slap it off.

  He holds the towel out for me.

  ‘Here we go,’ he says, stifling a laugh.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I say.

  Freddie does as I ask, so I hurry out of the pool, snatch the towel from him and wrap it tightly around my body, before dashing towards my apartment.

  ‘Hey, at least the water made your hair less massive,’ he jokes. Today his teasing just pisses me off.

  I don’t reply.

  ‘Hey, Lila,’ he starts, following me towards my door.

  ‘Just leave it,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry, I just thought—’

  ‘Please, just go away,’ I snap.

  ‘Okay, fine,’ he replies, taking the hint. ‘I’ll leave the two of you alone.’

  Freddie retreats back to his portion of the pool area. I close my door behind me.

  I can’t believe I thought he was the barman – but why did he make me a drink, if he wasn’t? And he didn’t just make me a drink, he made a drink, a real one, an amazing one. He knew what he was doing.

  I plonk myself back down on the sofa and place my head in my hands. So this is rock bottom. I’ve had a few false starts, but this is the one. This is my lowest point. Things can only improve from here.

  One thing I know for sure though: I never, ever, ever want to see Freddie again. I don’t think I could look him in the eye.

  9

  I watch the text cursor flashing on the blank page of my Word document. I’ve been staring at it so long, I’m convinced my heartbeat has fallen in sync with it. I realise it is probably quite slow for a heartbeat, but that’s what it feels like. It feels as if I’m giving up, as if my heartbeat is about to grind to a halt. It’s going to down tools, just as my brain has. I think they’re going on strike, after everything I have put them through over the last couple of days. Between the heartbreak, the over thinking, the binge drinking and the overeating, my poor body has been through so much.

  After my embarrassing pool incident with Freddie, I thought it best to hide away and get on with work. I’ve drunk lots of water, and I had a salad brought to my suite for lunch, which my body feels much better for. There is just one problem though… my book, or lack thereof.

  My book is due in around five weeks – two of which I am here for. While I admit I have been neglecting doing my work, because things got so crazy in the run-up to the wedding (although, in hindsight, not as crazy as they could have been), I do actually have two thirds of a novel and the plan was to write the final third after my honeymoon. But I can’t do it; I just can’t. How the hell am I supposed to write a love story, when I think love is stupid/possibly doesn’t exist? There’s writing fiction and then there’s completely making things up, and I cannot flog the happy ever after I have always believed in, when I’m not all that sure it exists any more.

  So, I’m starting again. I don’t have much choice. There’s no way I can finish writing the love story I started while I was all loved-up and happy. Every romantic thing I wrote, I wrote with Daniel in my head. My mindset has totally changed. There’s no way I can just pick up where I left off – the tone will be completely different.

  I dropped my mum a text message to let her know that I’d arrived here safe, promising to call her in the morning. It’s the afternoon now and I’m sure she must be worried about me. I can’t put off talking about what happened any longer, as much as I'm trying to bury my head in the sand by working – or trying to, at least.

  ‘Hello,’ my mum answers after one ring. I feel guilty, as if she’s been waiting by the phone for me to call.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I say with a faux-cheery attitude. She sees straight through it.

  ‘Oh, love, are you okay?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I say, continuing to play it down. ‘Just taking things a day at a time.’

  ‘Still got him blocked?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Although I might unblock him, maybe see if he tries to call, see what he has to say for himself now I’m over the initial shock.’

  Well, I’m not exactly over it, but I’m a little calmer at least.

  ‘His mum says he’s gone into hiding,’ she continues. ‘She gave me a call to apologise. She was mortified. Couldn’t stop apologising. He doesn’t get his lack of manners from his mum.’

  That’s so like Daniel, to just hide from his problems. After chatting with my mum for a while, I decide that I will unblock him, giving him a chance to call, but I doubt he will, not if he’s hiding. I wonder if he thinks giving me space will allow this whole thing to blow over.

  I massage my temples for a moment before I begin staring at my screen again. Less dwelling, more keeping myself distracted. That’s what I need.

  My eyes are pulled from my blinking cursor by something else, dancing in front of my window. It looks like a pole with… white underpants on the end.

  I pull myself up from the sofa and go check it out. When I get to the door, I realise it’s Freddie. I think he’s making a gesture of peace.

  I feel my cheeks trying to tug my mouth into a little smile. I open the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asks.

  ‘OK,’ I reply. ‘But leave your pants outside.’

  Freddie raises his eyebrows but resists a cheeky comment.

  I sit back down on the sofa. Freddie sits next to me.

  ‘Oh, are you writing your next book?’ he asks, nodding towards the screen.

  ‘Trying,’ I say. ‘It’s not going all that well. Story of my life at the moment.’

  Freddie is wearing a rather short pair of shorts, which show off his muscular legs. On his top half, he’s wearing a low-cut white vest – I’m not sure when the trend of men showing their ‘cleavage’ kicked off, but I’m as confused by it as I am secretly delighted. As always, his hair is messy and he’s wearing the same pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses as this morning. The glass is mirrored, so when you try to look into Freddie’s eyes, all you see is yourself. There’s just something so mesmerising about his eyes – the fact that I can’t see those glittering blue pools of his puts us on more of a level playing field.

  ‘I just wanted to apologise, for earlier,’ he begins. ‘And last night, I guess. I thought maybe you were being cute, asking me to make you a drink. I didn’t realise you thought I was the actual barman. But it was just a silly misunderstanding and I don’t want you to feel bad about it, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today. I don’t really know what happened…’

  ‘I’m going to say that was all me,’ I respond.

  ‘You and your friend,’ he says, nodding towards the dildo.

  ‘I really need to move that,’ I say with a deep sigh. ‘It’s not mine. Well, I suppose it is. It was a sort of joke honeymoon gift, from my best friend.’

  Freddie’s face falls for a second before he smiles bigger than ever.

  ‘You’re on your honeymoon? Congratulations! It should have occurred to me, that you’d be here with someone,’ he says. ‘I’m here by myself. I think I forget that it’s supposed to be for couples.’

  ‘You’re here alone?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He laughs awkwardly. ‘I was after some solo time and, well, a place full of loved-up couples seemed like a really great place to be left alone.’

  ‘That actually makes a lot of sense,’ I reply. ‘I’m here by myself too – less by choice though, more like my wedding was supposed to be a couple of days ago but it never happened, so I thought I’d come on my honeymoon alone.’

  ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out.’

  Freddie takes his sunglasses off.

  I stare at him for a few seconds.

  ‘You look oddly familiar,’ I tell him. ‘Do you ever get told you look like anyone? I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

  Freddie laughs.

  ‘I just have one of those faces,’ he explains, befo
re quickly switching back to our previous topic of conversation, not even detecting (or perhaps just ignoring) my attempt at a subject change. ‘I can’t believe you’re here on your own too.’

  ‘I’m sure it happens,’ I reply.

  ‘It really doesn’t,’ he says. ‘I got talking to someone who works here – they told me no one comes here alone. Why would they? It’s a place designed for couples. I didn’t think I’d notice, other than there being couples everywhere, but it’s amazing how apparent it is.’

  I shrug.

  ‘I have a lot of work to do anyway. I don’t suppose I’ll notice,’ I tell him. It’s partially true, and partially a big old hint, to get him to leave. We might have cleared the air, but I’m still so, so embarrassed, and I feel so uncomfortable right now.

  ‘Do you want to go for a drink or something to eat?’ he asks.

  ‘Are you inviting me by default, because I’m the only other solo person here?’

  ‘No, I told you, I came here to be alone,’ he replies, sounding almost hurt at my suggestion.

  ‘If you’d come here and my husband had been with me, would you have asked us both to dinner?’

  ‘If I’d seen you both naked, then yes,’ he jokes. ‘Lila, I’m only asking because we’re both here by ourselves, and it sounds like you’ve had a crappy few days, with a big shock…’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Really, I am. I just want to get on with my work, and to be left alone. Surely you understand, if that’s why you’re here?’

  ‘Okay, yeah,’ he replies, standing up. ‘I completely get it. Well, I’m just next door, if you want me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply.

  Freddie takes off, leaving me to my blank document.

  I hope I wasn’t too hard on him by telling him I want to be alone, but even if I weren’t still absolutely mortified by everything that has happened so far, it feels so weird and wrong to even be entertaining dinner with another man – on my honeymoon, too. I mean, I know it isn’t technically my honeymoon, even if it was supposed to be, but unsurprisingly, my new status is taking a lot of sinking in.