Victoria Cooke - The Holiday Cruise - The feel-good heart-warming romance you need to read this year

I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I had to get it off my chest, ‘Daniel, I’ve lost my customers because of you. I have no business, because you left me for another woman and I had to deal with that. I couldn’t just carry on like nothing had happened.’ My body shook as I fought back the flood of tears. It took the strength of the Hoover Dam, but somehow I managed.

The closer I got, the more he backed away. ‘You can’t keep blaming me. You need to get a job or whatever. The house is your responsibility if you want to keep it.’ Keep blaming him? I hadn’t even spoken to him. How could he accuse me of that and just disregard our past? Why didn’t he care about the house, where all our memories, love, and laughter had absorbed so deeply into the walls that I could feel it as I walked in?

‘I … I need time,’ I stuttered, defeated. ‘I can’t just build my business back up like that – my customers have all gone to Glam Shack and I can’t keep afloat waiting for if and when they return,’ I pleaded. ‘Can’t you just help me out for a month or two?’

He checked his watch. ‘No, I can’t. I’m sorry.’ There it was: the apology I’d longed for, only there was no empathy, heart, or sincerity in it. Instead, it reeked of an attempt to shut me up and end the conversation. Like a big, fat full stop. When did he become so cold? ‘Also, Hannah,’ he said, moving towards the door, ‘just a heads-up. I’ve started divorce proceedings. Judging by the pile of post on the worktop over there, you probably aren’t aware.’ I glanced over to several weeks’ worth of unopened mail and spotted a large, thick, cream envelope.

‘Right,’ was all I could manage, clamping my jaw tightly to suppress its tremor.

The door closed behind him. My body sagged against the kitchen counter, and my tears fell. It was his coldness towards me that had hurt the most, and I couldn’t shake the pain. My shoulders bounced uncontrollably as my body synced up with the tears.

By the time I composed myself, the daylight had faded, leaving me wrapped in a murky twilight. It felt comforting – the silence, the darkness, and the solitude – and so I sat for a while. The salty tear residue stung my face and I let it; it was what I deserved for being so worthless.

Eventually, I made it to the cupboard and pulled out an oversized red-wine glass, perfect for breathing ‘they’ say, which was ironic since I could barely manage to. I filled it to the brim with white wine from the fridge and trudged up to the bathroom. When I turned on the light, the stark brightness seared my eyes, momentarily blinding me. The pain brought me back and forced me to run the bath. I added bubbles and lit some candles before turning the light back out. Slowly, I peeled off my clothes, letting them slump to the floor, and slid into the hot soapy water, keeping my glass close by.

I took a long, cold gulp of wine and closed my eyes, letting my head rest on the edge of the bath. I’d suffered a setback. I’d thought I might be ready to start to build my life back up, but that was before I’d seen Daniel. It had been as though he’d just been working away or something. Deep down, I think I’d expected he’d come back with his tail between his legs, begging for my forgiveness. I probably would have forgiven him too, after making him work for it, at least. I wasn’t prepared to see him move on. I wasn’t prepared for him treating me like a nobody.

***

I woke the next morning in bed, naked under my dressing gown, with an empty wine bottle by my side and no recollection of finishing it or going to bed. Feeling groggy, I contemplated going back to sleep, but as I snuggled back under the duvet the doorbell rang. Daniel? I dashed over to the window for a look, but of course it wasn’t him. It was my sister. I thought about ignoring her and going back to bed, but she started hammering on the door and there was a good chance she’d call the emergency services if I didn’t answer.

‘Hannah, open the door. It’s bloody freezing out here,’ she yelled through the letterbox. I groaned and dragged myself downstairs.

‘Morning, Jen,’ I grumbled as I opened the door.

‘Well that’s not a nice way to speak to your sister, especially one who’s just arrived with coffee and pastries.’ She looked me up and down. ‘You look like shit.’

‘Thanks. Listen, Jen, I’m not really in the mood for visitors. I’m probably just going to have a quiet day today,’ I said, barely able to lift my gaze from the floor. I noticed a new pile of mail on the mat so bent down to scoop it up before she had chance to comment.

‘Hannah, what’s happened? You were doing okay the other night.’

‘I can’t talk about it.’ The nausea began its ascent, re-emerging up through my body. Jen lifted a hand to my chin and gently raised it, forcing my eyes to meet hers.

‘Hannah, what’s going on? Come on.’ She took my hand, led me into my immaculate cream lounge, and sat me down on the sofa before placing a hot polystyrene cup in my hand. ‘Drink this,’ she said softly.

I dropped the mail onto the sofa beside me, trying to organize the words in my head and string together a sentence that summed up those few minutes I’d had with Daniel the previous day, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound trivial. I considered the options:

Daniel came round.

Daniel said I should get a job if I can’t afford the house.

Daniel doesn’t care about me any more.

She knew all of that. How could I articulate those few minutes in a way that meant Jen could somehow feel a fraction of the pain I felt, so she’d really understand why I looked like shit, why I didn’t 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.