CRUISE
DAY 1
Newcastle International Airport
– North East England
7:25am
The voice booming out over the tannoy
system announced that everybody for flight FX3235 to Palma,
Majorca, should proceed directly to Departure
Gate 3. Or, at least, that’s what Aimee thought they’d said because, in all
honesty, it sounded as though they were talking through a teabag. And even if that was what they’d said she couldn’t proceed anywhere until Jemma came
out of the toilet.
Checking
her watch one more time, Aimee tried to block out that slight panic she always
felt when there was a chance she could be late for something, fanning herself
with a copy of Celebrity Secrets as
she leant back against the wall and waited – rather more impatiently than she
had done five minutes ago – for Jemma to show her face.
‘What’s
the matter with you?’ Jemma asked,
finally making her exit from the toilets, her head buried in her
far-too-oversized fake Luis Vuitton handbag, which Aimee was surprised had even
been allowed through as hand luggage because she’d seen smaller suitcases being
slung down that baggage belt.
‘The
flight’s been called,’ Aimee replied, shoving Celebrity Secrets back in her rather more sensible-sized handbag,
checking her boarding pass was still there.
‘We’ve
got ages yet, come on, let’s go grab a beer.’
‘No, hang on, Jemma!’ Aimee ran after her friend, who was heading
at an almost indecent haste towards the large bar in the centre of the
Departure Lounge, which was a feat in itself in the heels she was wearing. But that was one thing about Jemma – it
didn’t matter what the occasion, there was no way she was going anywhere
without her heels. ‘We haven’t got time
for a beer!’
Jemma turned round and looked at
Aimee – but not before she’d thrown one of her flirty smiles at a group of
young lads sat at a table behind her, which in turn earned her a barrage of
wolf-whistles – her hands on her hips, her suitcase-sized bag resting in the
crook of her spray-tanned arm. ‘Of
course we’ve got time. How long does it
take to get a beer down your neck?’
North east born and bred, Aimee
Anderson and Jemma Jordan were both thirty-three-year’s old and had been best
friends since Primary School, gone through college together, and now they both
worked in the same branch of SuperStyle –
a large and popular chain of beauty stores – as retail supervisors. They’d always looked out for each other,
always been there for one another through good times and bad; more like sister’s
than best friends, neither one of them could really think of their life without
the other one now. They were good for
each other – Aimee kept Jemma’s feet on the ground during those times when she
had a tendency to get carried away, and Jemma brought out the more confident
side of a much quieter Aimee. They
balanced each other out, which could only be a good thing when they were due to
spend the next two weeks together sailing the Mediterranean
on an all inclusive cruise.
‘It’s 7.30 in the morning,
Jemma. I’m having enough trouble getting
a cup of PG Tips down at this hour; can we please leave the beer until we get
on the boat? We’re all inclusive on the
ship, remember? We can drink as much as
we like once we get there.’
‘I’m a firm believer in the holiday
starts the minute you set foot in the airport,’ Jemma smiled, receiving a round
of applause and more whistles from the table of lads behind her. ‘And anyway, where’s Marcie? We can’t go anywhere until she turns up?’
Aimee sighed, suddenly feeling that,
now, the only kind of holiday spirit she could cope with came out of a green
bottle and belonged to someone called Gordon.
Maybe Jemma was right. Maybe one
drink wouldn’t hurt.
‘Where did you last see her?’ Aimee
asked, turning round and scanning the departure lounge of Newcastle
airport, which was growing steadily busier by the minute, filling up with more
and more people heading out of the north east of England to sunnier climes.
‘I left her in WH Smiths about half
an hour ago,’ Jemma replied. ‘She was
trying to sell a copy of her new book to a slightly startled woman she’d
cornered by the bottled water.’
Marcie Marcello was Aimee’s mother –
real name Kathleen Anderson – but ever since she’d won a short story
competition in Ladies of Leisure magazine,
which had subsequently bagged her a book deal with the well known romance
publishing house, Hearts & Flowers – something
which had allowed her to leave her good but mundane job as a doctor’s
receptionist to follow her writing
dream – she’d decided that the name Kathleen just wouldn’t do. So, after careful consideration, and an
afternoon of watching crappy TV movies on some satellite channel to gather
together ideas, she’d come up with the name Marcie Marcello, and so the north east’s
newest romance novelist was created.
Ever since then she’d made Barbara Cartland look subtle. Gone were the slacks and blouses, the smart
but safe clothes that Kathleen had always worn, and in came the flowing
kaftans, candyfloss-pink-dyed hair and an abundance of gold bangles and
earrings that made so much noise when she walked you could hear her coming half
an hour before you saw her. But Marcie
Marcello had an image to keep up.
From across the other side of the
departure lounge Aimee heard her mother’s familiar shrill voice, so loud they
could probably hear her in Gateshead, and she couldn’t help but cringe.
‘She’s trying to hide the Geordie
accent again, isn’t she?’ Jemma said, examining her newly-manicured nails
before slapping away the hand of one of the lads behind her as he tried to grab
her bum. ‘That’s sexual harassment, that
is. Try that again and I’ll lay you out.’
And that wasn’t an empty threat
either. Aimee had seen Jemma deal with
unwanted attention on more than one occasion on plenty of nights out. One incident in a curry house near Newcastle’s Quayside stood
out in particular after a keema naan bread had been used to ward off a table of
over-exuberant lads from Stoke out on a stag night, causing more than one of
them to wear their chicken rogan josh.
It hadn’t been pretty.
Aimee grabbed Jemma’s hand before
anything else kicked off, and they ran off in the direction of Marcie’s voice,
which was telling anyone within a five mile radius that she had a new book out and
would anyone like a signed copy?
‘You grab one arm, I’ll grab the
other, then we drag her – kicking and screaming if we have to – down to that
departure gate, you got that?’ Aimee asked, shoving her bag up onto her
shoulder, glad she’d made the sensible choice to wear trainers for this
flight. ‘I am not missing this cruise
for anyone, or anything. Okay? I need
this holiday.’
Jemma looked at her friend, stopping
briefly to give her a mock salute. ‘Why-Aye,
Captain!’
Palma - Majorca
12:30pm
Back in the 1990’s, Bon Voyage had been a phenomenally
successful boy band from the north east of England. They’d been manufactured, of course, thrown
together thanks to a long and lengthy audition process, but once the perfect
mix had been found, a money-making, million-selling machine had been created.
Back
in the day they’d played sell-out shows in huge arenas all over the U.K. and
Europe; they’d been followed by legions of screaming fans, had groupies hanging
round stage doors at every gig, some had even camped outside their homes for
days on end and those girls were usually the same ones who, somehow, always
managed to find out which hotels they were staying in on tour – which meant
they were also usually the ones who got to live out that fantasy they dreamed
about constantly of meeting their favourite pop star, and maybe even do more
than just meet them. Bon Voyage had
never been ones to miss out on anything the life of a popular boy band member
had to offer. Oh, Bon Voyage had had it
all – fame, money, invitations to the biggest and best showbiz parties and
award ceremonies, model girlfriends; their faces in the papers and magazines on
a daily basis. They’d been big.
Andy Crabtree, Danny Johnson, Ross
Nelson, Cal Connor and Frankie Monroe had been 90’s heart-throbs, the dream men
of a million and more girls and women of all ages.
Andy had been the “front man”, the
one they’d pushed forward because he’d had the strongest voice. Originally from a small Northumberland
village his life in Bon Voyage had been a revelation, a chance for him to
escape the rural confines of his close-knit northern community and get out into
the big wide world. Tall, with dark
blond hair and a dry sense of humour, he’d been the sensible one, the grown-up
of the group; the one who’d kept the band together during those wild
times. He’d never been the best looking
of the bunch, but he’d had enough charm to get more women than he’d ever
dreamed possible. But the one thing
about Andy was that the older he’d got, the better looking he’d become. Time had been very kind to Andy Crabtree.
Danny Johnson, however, had very much
been the one with the drop-dead gorgeous looks back then. He’d been the group’s major heart-throb, the
“bad boy” of the band with his many tattoos and a reputation for drinking,
women and wild nights out. He’d been the
one who’d always got the most screams, the one all the woman had wanted first
and foremost with his dark, sometimes unruly hair, piercing blue eyes and
killer smile, but once he’d been taken the rest of the lads had been quite
happy to accept his cast offs. Time had
also been kind to Danny because, unlike his hometown – the small seaside town
of Whitley Bay – Danny had weathered the years extremely well, and despite now
being in his (very) early forty’s, he still looked incredible with the body of
a man half his age, thanks to tireless hours in the gym.
Ross Nelson, along with Frankie
Monroe – two boys from the west end of Newcastle – had been the dancers of the
group, the ones with the moves, the ones who had caused the band’s army of fans
to scream with delight as they’d spun round on their heads or back-flipped
their way across the stage during their energetic gigs. Both of them had been good-looking in a
quirky kind of way, very tall and very lean, thanks to all that dancing, but
unfortunately the years hadn’t been all that kind to their physiques. Middle-aged spread had come to say hello, and
although they were still two fairly good-looking guys, the prospect of any
head-spinning or back-flipping wasn’t looking likely these days.
And last, but definitely not least,
there was Durham
boy Cal Connor. With his green eyes and
dirty-blond hair, and a cheeky smile that could melt a girl’s heart all the way
over in the back row, he’d been the cute member of the band with boyish good
looks that had drawn him a fan club from all over the world. Cal
hadn’t been able to put a foot wrong during their hey day. Popular didn’t even begin to describe him,
and whenever he’d taken lead vocals on stage the place had erupted with the
sounds of thousands of over-emotional girls begging him to take them home and
do whatever he wanted to them. Which he
had done. Sometimes. As long as he’d been certain they were old
enough.
Yeah.
Those had been the days. But it
hadn’t lasted, of course. Bon Voyage had
started to get very tired and very tetchy with each other during their spring
1996 Stretched to the Limit arena
tour, which they should have seen as a kind of omen, really, because by the end
of that tour they’d all but reached
their limit. The rows between Andy and
Danny – their relationship had always been slightly on the edge of mutual
dislike – had turned into something of a daily occurrence, and jealousy within
the band had started to rock relationships even more when Cal had bagged a
modelling contract for a trendy jeans company.
It soon became evident that Bon Voyage were very much on their way
out. Their time was up.
They’d called it a day just before
Christmas 1996, causing an outpouring of grief from their loyal army of fans
the like of which hadn’t been seen in decades, leaving the boys from the band
with the biggest decision of their lives – just what did they do now the pop
star dream was over? Because it didn’t
take all that long for Bon Voyage to be forgotten. It didn’t take long at all.
They’d all gone their separate ways,
with most of them heading back up to their native north east England. Only Andy had stayed in London, settled in a house he’d bought with
the more-than-good-but-not-quite-as-much-as-you-might-think money they’d made
during their time in Bon Voyage, and tried to forge out a solo career that had
lasted until the summer of 1998, when he’d realised that he couldn’t really
hack it on his own. His music was being
panned, the fans were slowly deserting him, and a more-than-very-public-affair
with an infamous glamour model hadn’t helped matters either.
With the money drying up he’d had to
look into other ways of making a living, so he’d bought a pub with an old
school friend, and whilst it was doing okay, it wasn’t exactly giving him the
retirement prospect he’d hoped for. And
he missed the fame. He missed it a
lot. So, when he’d got a call from a TV
production company just a few weeks earlier asking him if he’d like to get the
band back together for a reality show that would follow them over the course of
two weeks as they performed a series of reunion gigs on a cruise ship sailing
the Mediterranean, he’d jumped at the chance.
What did they have to lose? Apart
from their dignity, reputation, street credibility…
Luckily, with the rest of the band
not exactly flying high in the post-boy band career stakes either – Danny had
started his own painting and decorating business, Ross had become a landscape
gardener, Frankie an insurance salesman, and Cal was a local radio DJ, making
him the only one to have retained even a modicum of fame that he could cling
onto, even if he was on at 4am – it
hadn’t exactly been difficult to get any of them to join him in making their
reunion a reality. And, with failed
marriages behind three of them (Ross,
Cal and Frankie), Danny’s on the
rocks, and Andy still free and very much single, nothing was stopping any of
them from grabbing this opportunity with both hands. Whatever the outcome. Bon Voyage had faded into pop oblivion, so
maybe now it was time for the world to wake up and see that they were
back. That was the plan, anyway.
So, here they all were, aboard the MS
Atlantica for two weeks of heaven knows what, and this time they were going it
alone. This time they were in charge of
their own destiny. No manager, not even
a record company as yet, but hopefully that could all change if this trip was a
success. They’d be getting some excellent
TV exposure, the money they were being paid wasn’t bad, and who knew? Maybe Bon Voyage could do what everyone
thought was impossible. Maybe they could
actually make a comeback, and whip up the same kind of hysteria they’d created
all those years ago.
‘Hey, Andy, we’re here,’ Frankie
said, calling Andy back as he wandered off up the narrow corridor, wheeling his
chrome-effect suitcase behind him. ‘The
cabins are here, mate.’
Andy stopped and turned around,
wheeling his case back in the direction of their allotted cabins. Home for the next fortnight. ‘Sorry.
I was miles away there.’
‘I can’t wait to be miles away,’ Danny said, swiping his key card through
the slot on the cabin door, pushing it open with his shoulder. ‘As far away as bloody possible.’
‘Davina giving you a hard time is
she?’ Cal
asked, holding the door open as Danny wheeled his suitcase through.
‘Like you wouldn’t frigging
believe. She’s changed her mind about
the divorce now, hasn’t she? Suddenly
decided she doesn’t want us to split
up anymore, and she says if I still want a divorce then she wants
half of everything I’ve got, which – right now – is precisely not-very-much-at-all.’
‘You should have something by the end
of all this though,’ Ross remarked, opening the neighbouring cabin door. ‘We could start raking it in again if this
all goes well. I mean, loads of 80’s and
90’s bands are getting back together now, aren’t they?’
Danny came back out of the cabin,
leaning against the doorpost, folding his arms as he looked at Ross. ‘Yeah, and that’s the whole problem though,
isn’t it? When I met Davina I had nowt,
when I married her I had nowt – even though it’s quite evident now that she
only married me because of who I was
and how that might benefit her – and
when that didn’t work and I still had
nowt, and she still didn’t have that
Z-List celebrity career she so desperately wanted, she started divorce
proceedings, which I quite happily agreed to, but now – now she’s playing Queen Bitch, saying she’s decided to hold off on
the divorce until after all this has finished.
She wants to try again, can you believe that? When I had nowt I meant nowt to her, but now
there’s the prospect of some cold hard cash on the horizon and maybe – maybe – even a sniff of some kind of
rekindled fame, and she wants to try again!’
‘I take it you’re not happy about
that then?’ Ross asked, standing aside to let Frankie through into the cabin
they were sharing.
‘What do you think?’
‘Okay, look, I think we should all
try and get settled into our cabins, maybe have a little bit of a rest, get our
heads down for a bit,’ Andy suggested.
‘We’ve got a meeting with the Cruise Director this evening,
remember? So maybe we should meet up in
a couple of hours or so. In the Show
Lounge. I’d like to start getting a feel
for the place, you know? Start thinking
about routines and…’
‘Routines?’ Frankie asked, somewhat
surprised to hear that word mentioned.
‘What? You mean, like, dancing?’
Andy stared at him, kicking open his
cabin door, relieved he’d won the coin toss to get the single cabin. ‘Yes, dancing. What did you think we were going to be doing when we got here?’
‘Well, sitting on stools and singing,
mainly,’ Frankie replied, looking around at the others for support.
Danny just rolled his eyes and walked
back into his cabin, closely followed by Cal,
wondering if this was the best thing they’d ever done – deciding to get back
together – or the biggest mistake of their lives.
Palma - Majorca
2:00pm
Aimee stood on the dock, staring up
at the imposing sight of the Atlantica cruise liner as it towered over her, the
searing heat of a beautiful Majorcan afternoon beating down on her bare
shoulders as she shielded her eyes from the sun that bounced off the bright
white ship in front of her – this all-British, floating holiday resort that was
about to be her home for the next two weeks.
As what seemed liked coach after
coach continued to pull up on the dock side alongside the ship, the crowd of
people all making their way through the terminal building ahead of them and up
onto the ship seemed to grow by the second, the ground around them covered in
an array of different sized and coloured suitcases, all waiting to be delivered
to their respective cabins so that their owners could start planning their
wardrobes for the various dinners and long nights of entertainment that were
going to take place over the course of this cruise. It was a freestyle cruise – which meant that
the dress code leaned more towards the casual than the formal – but dressing up
was still very much a big part of this kind of holiday. Especially for the women. And Aimee was no exception. She had a suitcase full of new clothes she
couldn’t wait to start wearing.
A mixture of excitement and
apprehension coursed through Aimee – excitement because she and Jemma had so
needed this holiday, an escape from their okay but not-particularly-exciting
jobs at SuperStyle, and apprehension
at the thought of her mother joining them, but after losing her father to Mavis
Wilson – the bowling club bike, as her mother liked to call her – Aimee thought
that maybe she needed a holiday
too. Although, after an excruciating flight
over from Newcastle where, for the most part, her mother had proceeded to interrogate
a rather bemused middle-aged man sitting in front of her who was travelling to
Magaluf to visit his daughter, citing the fact that he was proving to be the
perfect inspiration for Rock Ransom, the hero in the new romance novel she was
writing, Aimee was beginning to have second thoughts.
‘Are you coming onto this ship or
not? I’d kill for a cocktail,’ Jemma
said, pulling her long dark hair back into a loose ponytail.
Aimee looked at her, smiling, running
over to her and wrapping her arms around her in a huge bear-hug, squealing like
an over-excited toddler at a birthday party.
‘Oh, Jemma! I am so
happy to be here! I can’t wait to
get this holiday started!’
Jemma hugged her back, smiling at
Aimee, gently stroking her friend’s blond fringe from her pale blue eyes. ‘I know you do, chick. I mean, Robbie leaving like that… it couldn’t
have been easy.’
Aimee slipped her arm through Jemma’s
as they made their way towards the terminal building, joining the queue of
people undergoing the embarkation process.
‘No, well, I had no idea he was going
to dump me at our own engagement party, did I?’
She started looking around, suddenly aware that she hadn’t seen Marcie
for about ten minutes. ‘Where’s my
mother disappeared off to now?’
‘She’s already in the queue,
look. Over there. Talking to some dude who looks like that
bloke out of Fantasy Island.’
‘Which one? Tattoo?’ Aimee smirked, straining to get a
look, wanting to make sure her mother really was about to board the ship because the last thing she wanted to
have to deal with was Marcie Marcello stranded in Majorca,
bothering the islanders with her tales of heaving bosoms and bare-chested
heroes.
‘No, not him,’ Jemma giggled. ‘The other one, Ricardo whatshisface. The tall one.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Aimee said, finally
catching sight of her mother, who was in the process of throwing her head back
and laughing – in that coquettish manner she’d recently adopted – at something
the rather suave-looking, grey-haired gentleman beside her was saying. And was he wearing a safari suit? Aimee couldn’t remember the last time she’d
seen a bloke wearing a safari suit – not since the 1970’s, anyway.
‘Frigging coward,’ Jemma sniffed,
squeezing Aimee’s arm.
‘He’s only telling her a joke,
Jemma.’
‘Not Ricardo over there. I’m talking about your Robbie.’
‘He’s not my Robbie anymore, remember?’
‘Yeah, well, you didn’t deserve a
bastard like that, and he certainly didn’t deserve someone as fabulous and
beautiful as you. I tell you, Aimee,
after what happened to you it’s convinced me that I really am better off single.
Men! We don’t need them, hon. ’
Aimee sighed. ‘I thought it was what he wanted too though,
Jem. Marriage, kids, that lovely little
semi-detached house we’d looked at near the quayside. I really thought he wanted all of that
too. I mean, he said he loved me, didn’t
he?’
‘He said a lot of things if it meant
he got his own way. I never trusted
him.’
Aimee stopped and looked at
Jemma. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that was how you felt?’
‘Because he made you happy,
Aimee. You’re my best friend and all I
want is for you to be happy. And anyway,
I honestly never thought he would turn out to be that much of a bastard. I
mean, who did? The only saving grace is
that your brother Eddie is still determined to track him down.’
They slowly shuffled forward as the
queue of people in front of them got smaller and smaller, the embarkation
check-in desks now almost within touching distance.
‘It’s over now, anyway,’ Aimee said,
linking her arm through Jemma’s again, reaching into her bag for her
sunglasses. ‘And what better way to get
over a broken heart than to have a holiday?’
‘And what a holiday this could turn
out to be. Two weeks of all inclusive
fun aboard a fabulous cruise ship… hang on,’ Jemma suddenly stopped, her
attention directed towards a handful of people outside on the dock who were
surrounded by huge silver boxes that were being opened up, one by one, as their
contents were checked over.
‘What’s the matter?’ Aimee asked,
following her friend’s gaze.
‘Over there,’ Jemma replied. ‘That stuff looks like boxes of TV equipment and
I know what I’m talking about, I was an extra on Byker Grove for a fortnight, remember?’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ A friendly crew member in a white shirt and
smart white trousers smiled at them as they approached the desk, handing over
their cruise documents and identification – the last step they had to go through
before they could finally board the ship.
‘Heard what?’ Aimee asked, more than
curious to find out what was going on now.
‘Bon Voyage,’ the crew member – who,
thanks to his name badge, they found out was called Adam and was a member of
the entertainment staff – said, still smiling.
‘Bon Voyage?’ Jemma repeated, frowning
slightly as she looked at Aimee. ‘Bon
Voyage as in, Bon Voyage? The
biggest boy band of the 1990’s? The boy
band we used to love? Hey, Aimee, do you
remember that gig in Newcastle
back in the early days? We were second
row centre and I threw a teddy bear in a tartan hat at Cal Connor only it
missed and hit Ross Nelson right between the eyes… hang on…’ She turned her attention back to Adam. ‘Are you telling me that Bon Voyage are here?
On this cruise?’
‘For the next two weeks,’ Adam replied,
handing them both their all inclusive passes and cabin key cards. ‘They’re filming a new reality TV series
charting their planned comeback. They’re
doing a handful of gigs over the next fortnight here on the ship, in the Vegas
Show Lounge. Okay, that’s you both
checked in so, if you’d just like to follow the signs over there to the
gangway, you can begin making your way onto the ship. Have a fabulous cruise, ladies!’
Aimee and Jemma walked slowly out of
the terminal building, back out onto the dockside, following the line of people
up onto the gangway.
‘Did I just hear him right?’ Aimee
asked, still clinging onto Jemma’s arm.
‘Did he just say Bon Voyage – our favourite, favourite boy band ever –
did he just say they were here? On this
ship? For the next two weeks? The same two weeks that we’re on the ship? Did he
just say that?’
‘I do believe he did,’ Jemma smiled,
a smile that slowly turned into a grin wide enough to please any Cheshire Cat. ‘I do believe he bloody did!’
And all they could do was look at
each other, and let out a scream that any Bon Voyage fan would have been proud
of.
© Michelle Betham 2012
Love it! Love the humour and the dialogue (yet again)Can't wait to read the rest. Title? Good luck, I'm having the same problem. How can so few words cause such a headache? We write whole books and then struggle with that! xxx
ReplyDeleteLove it. Get a move on lass! I loved Too Much Trouble In Paradise so can't wait for this one! xx
ReplyDeleteThank you, Pauline! :-) I'm having such fun writing this book, and it's lovely to be writing about beautiful, warm and sunny places, as well as gorgeous men, again! And hopefully I can translate some of the fun times we had on our own cruise holidays (and the weird and wonderful people we met along the way) into this book. :-) xx
ReplyDelete