“But you’ve been alone this whole time.”
“I just don’t feel like going anymore. It’s tainted now.”
Millie’s shoulders visibly sag. “Fine. But I’m sad for you. I can’t remember the last time you had a proper holiday, canyou?” She stands up, shrugging. “I don’t usually say this, because frankly I’m the only one who deserves a holiday most of the time, but you reallyneedthis. You work insane hours. You’ve been even more stressed recently. I just think you need an adventure. When was the last time you did somethingjustfor you? And not for someone else? Not for Mike, for me, Abby or Gemma? Dad! Even Hattie!” The question tugs at my heartstrings. It is a rare sight indeed to see Millie looking beyond her own nose.
Dare I say, it’s cute.And persuasive.
“It’s not that simple,” I say, shrugging it off.
“Why not? It should be that simple. You’ve booked a holiday. You’ve not cancelled your annual leave, have you? I can’t think of anything you need more right now than to just get away from it all.”
“It will just remind me of…” I can’t finish my sentence in the way I want to. “Of how it ended.”
“Bullshit!” she exclaims. “I don’t know what went down between you and Mike because you tell us nothing.” She rolls her eyes. “But I know you. And you don’t make mistakes. Something happened. Something serious and I know you wouldn’t have run if he didn’t deserve it. If you’re looking for permission to go, you have it from me.”
I can’t fight a smile. “Thank you, Millie.”
“Yay! So what bikinis do you want to pack?” she asks, spinning towards my room.
“I’m still not going,” I call after her. “I’m sorry, but it really just doesn’t feel right.”
“Fine,” she says, sticking out her tongue. There’s a frustrated pause as she frowns across the room at me. Then she sighs. “I guess I’ll just head out then. Give you thatmuch needed space, and all. Besides, I’ve checked on you, you’re alive, everyone can relax.”
I mumble a quiet thanks and within seconds my flat is quiet again. Outside, I catch the exhales of buses climbing the Brighton hills and the constant chatter of seagulls soaring along coastal gusts. I know I shouldn’t lash out at Millie, but can she really blame me? The last thing I need right now is to be antagonised.
My phone vibrates again.
“Ah, what now?!” I groan. I expect to see a message from Abby, Gemma or Dad, but instead, it’s from the cruise. I dare myself to open it, stare at that picture that lured me in all those months ago.
I never thought I’d be a cruise kind of girl, but this isn’t just any old cruise. This is an intimate, luxury cruise on a ship that looks more like a giant superyacht. It’s all black, sleek, sharp edges. I booked a stylish cabin and it’s ready for me now, docked in Venice harbour. The photo they use in their emails features their main restaurant, all cream table clothes and shiny, spotless furniture. Keep scrolling and you’ll find pristine ocean views, and beyond that? Mountains and the exquisite backdrop of the Croatian coastline.
That grief pooling in my mind deepens, making my heartbeat faster.
Maybe Icouldgo.
Maybe Icoulddo it.
Maybe, and this is abigmaybe, Millie is right. Maybe this is what I need, and I shouldn’t feel guilty about it.
Fifteen days of luxury and sightseeing around the Mediterranean. All-inclusive fine dining. Round the clockpampering. The schedule teases me: the cruise starts in Venice; heads down the coast of Croatia, stopping at Rovinj, Split and Dubrovnik; goes into Kotor, Montenegro; heads around the bottom of Italy and back up the coast, docking at Taormina, Rome, Portofino; sails towards Monte Carlo, Monaco; takes you to Toulon; and finishes in Spain at Palamos and Barcelona.
It reallydoessound like the trip of a lifetime. I look around my empty flat.
Would I make it in time if I left now?
I never did cancel my annual leave. I had planned to spend the fortnight moping around and feeling sorry for myself. But… I might as well do that in the sun, right?
Adrenaline hits me like a bus. I’m on my feet and dancing through my bedroom, tugging my suitcase out and throwing it on my bed. I practically beat my clothes and shoes in, packing enough underwear so I’m prepared if I shit myself thirty times on the trip, before finally dressing in loose jeans and a vest. Then I rummage through my paperwork drawer in search of my passport.
In a matter of minutes, I’m out the door and striding up the street towards Brighton station, booking a ticket to Gatwick Airport on my phone. I text the group chat.
Congrats. You brats win. I’m going. Tell Dad. See you soon. I can’t believe you set up a group chat without me. Not forgiven!
Three
Venice is exactly how I imagined it.
Narrow streets with colourful, ancient, angular buildings, all crammed on top of one another in a majestic, medieval kind of way. I can’t help the smile that works its way onto my lips as I finally come across the Piazza. Pigeons cluster around tourists dropping breadcrumbs as they pose for selfies. I decide to take one myself and send it to the girls.
