The Holiday Cruise: The feel-good heart-warming romance you need to read this year. Victoria CookeЧитать онлайн книгу.
even feel like I had a reason to get out of bed, and why I didn’t want to talk about it?
‘Thanks.’ I lifted the polystyrene cup and took a sip of the hot, bitter liquid. ‘Daniel came over yesterday to talk about the house and stuff,’ I finally managed. I was right – it didn’t sound anywhere near as bad as it felt.
‘Oh, Hannah,’ she soothed. Her brow furrowed in a recognizable attempt at sympathy. ‘How did it go?’
How did it go? Shit, painful, torturous. His words went off like a cluster bomb exploding through my chest, tearing apart my very being, but somehow the glue of utter worthlessness kept me in one piece.
‘Not great,’ I replied. Tears welled in my only-just-dried eyes. She didn’t speak; she just perched on the arm of the sofa next to me and rubbed my back.
‘It will get easier, you know?’ she said gently. I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to get easier, because that would be like committing myself to being alone. I’d be accepting it. I couldn’t do that.
‘How is that any better?’ I snapped.
‘Because you’re young enough to forge another life. Work, relationships – they can be replaced if you want them to be. You don’t have to accept misery and loneliness. You can be happy again.’ Could I? Jen’s tone remained calm. If she ever wanted to get a job she’d be brilliant in customer services.
‘It doesn’t feel that way.’
‘Hold on.’ She gave me a small smile and left the room. I took the opportunity to scan the latest pile of letters beside me. Most looked formal, as if they were from banks or solicitors, so I tossed them aside. At the bottom of the pile was a thick brochure of some sort. Curious, I pulled it out, and my eyes fell on a picture of a mammoth white ship in sparkling turquoise waters, next to what looked like a Mediterranean fishing village.
I felt a stab of sadness. I’d always fancied a cruise but Daniel wasn’t keen. I’d requested a brochure hoping it would persuade him to consider one – they had sent them randomly ever since. I stared at the picture. It was beautiful, the colours so bright it looked surreal.
Jen came back into the room with two pains au chocolat on a plate. Instinctively, I slung the brochure onto the coffee table; it was irrelevant anyway. ‘Here.’ She thrust the plate at me. ‘Comfort food.’ I stared down at the plate of stodge, which on any other occasion I’d devour, allowing happy endorphins to dance around my body.
‘I can’t eat,’ I said, shoving the plate away.
‘You have to. It’ll make you feel better. Just take a bite.’ She folded her arms like she wouldn’t take no for an answer. So to please her, I did. I chewed and chewed, but struggled to compact the dough enough to fit around the lump in my throat. When it eventually passed, it hurt. Slowly, it travelled down my oesophagus before landing in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t even tasted it.
‘I can’t. I just can’t eat right now.’ I handed her the plate and this time she took it.
I knew Jen was only trying to help, but the only thing that would make me feel better would be another bottle or two of wine.
‘I’m going back to bed,’ I snapped. Not waiting for a reply, I stomped up the stairs. ‘You can let yourself out,’ I yelled back down when I reached the top.
As I flung myself face down on the bed, I heard tentative steps approach me. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘No. You’ve been wallowing for long enough; it’s time you got up, got dressed, and got out there. Come on!’
‘You have such an easy life, Jen: a loaded husband, a nice house, and you don’t even have a job. You’ve never experienced pain like I have and just because you can’t have kids, doesn’t mean you can mother me, so get out, get out of my house. Now.’ It wasn’t until I stopped, that I realized I was screaming. I looked up quickly enough to see Jen’s eyes fill up and a look on her face I hadn’t seen since … that fateful day. It was haunting.
‘I haven’t felt pain,’ she repeated, her voice trembling.
‘I didn’t mean …’ She ran off before I could finish. I flung my face back into the bed as the front door slammed.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and before I knew it, it was dark. The house was still and quiet once again. My bladder was full, so I dragged myself to the bathroom before heading downstairs to look for something to drink. I was out of alcohol. I checked the time – it was eight-thirty p.m. If I threw on some clothes I’d make the off-licence before it closed at nine.
I pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and old UGG boots, a sweater, and puffa jacket, not caring what I looked like, before grabbing my purse and heading out the door. I walked quickly towards the high street. The off-licence was the only shop open, lit up like a beacon of hope. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of bottles of red wine, looking only at the price and colour, not caring about the labels.
‘Just these please, Judy.’ I placed them on the counter, glaring at her, willing her not to ask how I was. The power of telepathy seemed to work, as she smiled and said nothing. I didn’t even detect sympathy behind the smile. I almost felt normal.
‘That’s fifteen ninety-eight,’ she said, handing me the wine in a flimsy red and white striped carrier bag.
As I handed her the money, a high-pitched shrill pierced my eardrums.
‘Hannah Davis?’ I spun to see who the hell would be shrieking my name at this hour, when most villagers would’ve been snuggled up in front of a fire drinking hot chocolate, if they weren’t in the pub. Cherry. Her large frame, accentuated by a faux-fur leopard-print coat, almost filled the aisle. I groaned. A conversation with her was the last thing I needed.
‘Oh, hello,’ I replied shortly.
‘Hannah my love, you’ve been through such a rotten time. I just don’t know how you’re coping.’ She barely took a breath as she swooped over and wrapped her arms around me, embracing me in an unwelcome hug. I coughed, struggling for air as her fuzzy purple hair engulfed my face. I wriggled out of her clutches. ‘I see that husband of yours flaunting that tart around and think to myself, what a pig. Us women have to stick together.’
I clenched my jaw. She was utterly unbelievable. It was only then that I realized I’d showcased a super-polite, finely tuned version of myself. Not a façade as such but not my natural state either. I was done with that version. I no longer had any pretence to keep up – the whole damn village knew my business.
‘Us women weren’t really sticking together when one of us was taking advantage of the other’s unfortunate situation by poaching all of her clients, were we?’ I ranted, not buying her act for a minute. She feigned a look of horror and clasped her hand to her mouth. It was almost amusing to watch.
‘Oh, Hannah, I know you’re just snapping like that because you’re hurting, love. It’s what you’ve been through.’ Judy placed my change on the counter then discreetly left the till area and began tidying shelves that didn’t require it.
‘Yes, it’s funny how losing the business I spent ten years building up turned me into an utter bitch,’ I retorted. I forced myself not to gasp at my own reaction. Even Judy looked up because it was so out of character.
‘But, sweetheart, nobody knew when you were coming back. Your staff needed paid work; your customers needed maintenance. Some more than others,’ she added, with a grimace. ‘I just took care of everyone. I can take care of you too. You’re a great beautician. Come and work at Glam Shack with us – Amy and Jess would love you to be there. They always talk about you, and with all the growth we’ve had recently, we could really use a spare pair of hands.’
Is this woman for real? ‘Thanks for the generous offer of sacrificing my competitive business for a fraction of the financial reward whilst you reap the benefits, Cherry. It really is big of you, but you know what? You can shove your job