Maddie Please - Come Away With Me - The hilarious feel-good romantic comedy you need to read in 2018

Fabulous. There’s nothing quite like chilled champagne at ten-thirty in the morning.

‘I hope Jerry’s all right,’ she said after a few minutes, the corners of her mouth turning down. ‘We’ve never been apart this long before.’

Any minute now we would be on to the wedding and things had been going so well. For the first time in ages it seemed we’d been getting along – perhaps it was the holiday spirit? Or maybe it was the champagne?

‘Of course he is,’ I said, trying to damp down my exasperation and empathise with how India felt. That’s what Mum said – try and see it from your sister’s perspective. ‘He’ll either be in work, being clever and demolishing someone’s alibi, or he’ll be smashing up concrete bunkers and shooting aliens on his Xbox. It will make him realise how much he depends on you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.’

‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ India said gloomily, ‘and there’s loads of stuff to do for the wedding. D’you know …’

I interrupted her before we could get on to the table settings, Dad’s speech or the flower girls’ shoes.

‘Too late now, we’re here. Buck up, we have pretzels …’ I picked up the bowl in one hand. ‘We have champagne!’ I waved my glass in the air with the other.

Unfortunately, at that moment, one of the rowdy children came back and crashed into the back of my chair before scrabbling about under the table for some random plastic animal she had left there. My champagne flew out in a graceful parabola and dowsed the man sitting at the next table.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ I gasped.

Grabbing a handful of paper napkins I began dabbing at him, but of course they aren’t much use for anything except wrapping cutlery, and trying to rub the back of someone’s shirt is definitely invading their personal space with knobs on. He did smell rather gorgeous though, some woody-green sort of aftershave. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t looking for another man in my life – I’d only just got over the last one.

‘It’s fine, perfectly fine,’ he said in a tone of voice that said the exact opposite. He had unusual grey eyes and at that moment they were fixed on me; very cold and unfriendly. Like ice chips. His voice was deep and attractive with a very slight American twang. I felt quite fluttery and flustered for a moment and stood on one leg looking stupid while he shook some of my pretzels off his laptop, which mercifully appeared undamaged.

‘I’m awfully sorry,’ I said. ‘I was just …’

I waved my glass in an explanatory way and he flinched.

‘It’s okay, it’s empty.’

‘I know,’ he said coldly, ‘but don’t do it again, will you? Should I move perhaps?’

‘No, of course not. I will. Sorry.’

I crept back to my seat and ducked my head into my shoulders.

‘You idiot! What did he say?’ India hissed, pulling me down into my chair.

‘Nothing much.’

‘He must have said something.’

‘He said you are so much prettier than your sister and then he asked for my mobile number.’

‘I bet he didn’t. Did he?’ India could be very gullible sometimes.

‘No, India. He told me to go away and stop being a nuisance.’

‘Hmmm. Well, do you want to go and get some more champagne? Seeing as you chucked your last one over him.’

‘I didn’t chuck it over him; it was an accident,’ I whispered urgently, feeling my face flushing with embarrassment.

‘Well, you could have chatted him up. He’s quite nice-looking.’ India twirled her hair round her fingers and looked at him from under her lashes.

I nudged her, stifling a giggle. ‘For heaven’s sake, India, stop it. You’re on your hen holiday and you’re flirting with strangers? Really?’

‘I wasn’t flirting, I was just looking. Watch and learn.’

This was so typical of my sister; she couldn’t pass up any opportunity. She’d even been known to flirt with Tim in work and I was pretty sure she scared him to death. He had to have the day off after the last works Christmas party.

‘Look, let’s swap seats? I’d feel better and I’m sure he would too.’

I went to get some refills and some more pretzels and moved into her chair. I was aware Mr Grumpy was still typing at high speed into his laptop but also watching me out of the corner of his eye. That’s quite a skill too, isn’t it? Perhaps he was a spy?

After a few minutes Mr Grumpy stood up and packed his laptop away, pulling his damp shirt away from his back and sending me another look.

He called a waitress over.

‘Is there somewhere I can get a shower?’ he said. ‘I need to change my shirt.’

The waitress fluttered a bit and took him away and I tried to put the image of him doing the aforementioned activities out of my mind. I was thinking he’d look rather marvellous though. Sort of big and rather chunky and … Oh, shut up, Alexa.

Still, I watched him go with a tinge of sadness. He walked with long strides but an unhurried grace and was the best-looking man to notice me in a very long time. Actually he was the first man to notice me for a very long time. It was just a shame it was for the wrong reasons. Though there was still no sign of the wife/girlfriend/significant other, so things could be looking up.

I wondered where he was going. He had missed the flight to Miami by now and also flights to Dubai, Rome, Sydney and loads of other places. I knew this because I had a special app on my laptop. I liked to fantasise about where I would go on holiday … if I ever had time to go on holiday, which I hadn’t for the last four years. As I’ve said, a weekend in Paris in November in the rain does not count as a proper holiday.

Perhaps he was a businessman travelling alone to some vital financial conference where he would address the World Bank about foreign aid? Or perhaps he was going to present a proposal to a board of shifty-looking venture capitalists for some huge office tower block in downtown Manhattan? Either way he was gone.

India wandered about looking out of the windows and fidgeting while I sat eating pretzels and sipping champagne. I tried to relax and look cool and not like someone who was in the habit of slinging drinks around.

‘Can we go to duty free now?’ she said at last. ‘It’s still over an hour till our flight. I want to find a lipstick to wear at the wedding.’

I resisted the temptation to groan and we gathered up our bags and made our way into consumer paradise, avoiding the huge bears, remote-control helicopters and iPad covers, and heading straight for the make-up. I didn’t really mind although I wouldn’t have admitted it to my sister. To be honest I’m especially keen on those dinky little palettes of eyeshadows and blushers with the tag ‘ Airport Exclusive ’. There’s just something about ‘travel-size’ products I can’t get enough of. Within seconds India found a male assistant to help her. I was just having an enjoyable few minutes playing with a battery-operated pig when she found me.

‘Don’t wander off like that,’ she said furiously. ‘You’re supposed to be looking after me. Mum said.’

I gritted my teeth. The phrase ‘Mum said’ had haunted me down the years for as long as I could remember. It didn’t hold the same power now though; after all, India was twenty-six and more than capable of looking after herself.

Luckily we heard our flight being called and scurried off to the right gate, oohing and aahing as we saw the bulk of our plane just outside the window. We were on our way.

*

We found our seats, had a slight argument about who would sit next to the window (India won; as she kept reminding me, this was ‘her’ holiday after all); we pressed all the buttons on the entertainment system; we read the menu card. The plane took off without crashing into the Queen Mother Reservoir so we drank gin to celebrate. Then we had dinner and some wine. Then India started moaning about how much she was missing Jerry so I stuck my earphones in and watched a film about a detective who would have got the case solved far quicker if he had stopped smoking quite so much. When it was obvious I wasn’t going to agree how marvellous Jerry was or discuss the colour of the sugared almonds, India curled up on her seat like a cat and had a nap.