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As soon as the door is closed, Ed rushes over to me. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he says. He looks absolutely stricken.
‘It’s my fault,’ I tell him. ‘I couldn’t hold it any longer, and I flushed without thinking.’
‘What’s done is done. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do except face them now. There isn’t another way out unless you fancy jumping off the balcony. Will you be OK?’
Of course I’m not going to be OK! I’m going to be on national TV as the consolation prize that Ed picked up on his honeymoon. How the hell am I going to live this down? On the other hand, as Ed says, there’s nothing else I can do. I do briefly consider hurling myself off the balcony, but I reluctantly conclude that facing Dave and Jamie is marginally preferable to breaking every bone in my body.
I quickly finish dressing, plaster a smile on my face, take Ed’s hand and force myself to walk out into the sitting room with him. I realise I’m clasping my bag to my chest with the other hand, like some sort of security blanket. I don’t even remember picking it up.
There are two cameras, both pointing straight at us, with bright lights above them. I’m a literal rabbit in the headlights.
‘While we were filming the interview, we became aware that Ed wasn’t alone,’ Dave says into the microphone. He turns to me and says, ‘Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, and how you got to know Ed.’ His voice might be back to professional presenter mode, but he’s leering at me in a most unpleasant way. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel like a piece of meat. I’m burning with embarrassment and humiliation. I can see the red lights blinking on top of the cameras indicating that they’re filming. I can’t do this.
‘I’m Charlotte,’ I manage to say as I drop Ed’s hand, ‘and, umm, I have to go. Sorry.’
‘I don’t think so, darlin’.’ Dave tries to block my path but I push past him and throw open the door. As soon as I’m outside, I start running as fast as I can. To begin with, I’m aware of Dave panting behind me and calling me back, but it doesn’t take me long to outrun him. I don’t have a plan for where I’m going, I just know that I need to get away. Away from leering pervy Dave, away from Ed and his honeymoon that I shouldn’t have got involved in, away from the shame I’m feeling. As the distance builds between me and the honeymoon suite, I realise I need a plan. I could go back to my room but, if they’re going to threaten Ed with breach of contract, he may feel his only option is to come and find me to try to talk me round. I need to get out of the hotel.
I sprint towards reception and, as I approach, I notice a minibus with ‘Antigua Boat Tours’ painted on the side. A few tourists are already sitting inside. As I run into the reception area, I see the driver talking to one of the receptionists. I dash up and interrupt them.
‘Are there any spaces left on the boat tour today?’ I ask, breathlessly.
‘There are, but we’re just leaving now,’ the driver replies.
‘How much?’
‘One hundred and twenty US dollars.’
‘OK. Just give me five minutes, please. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
He agrees, reluctantly. I hand my credit card to the receptionist to take the money. I give her my room number and, as soon as she’s processed the payment, I dash into the hotel shop. I’m still wearing my evening clothes from last night, and I’m going to boil to death if I have to keep those on all day. I find the rack of bikinis and flick through them as fast as I can, looking for one in my size. The only one that I find is skimpy, has a brown and gold swirly pattern on it, and tassels on the bottoms. It’s hideous, but there’s nothing else. It’s also, if I’ve done the currency conversion right in my head, £70. How can anyone charge that much money for so little material, for goodness’ sake? I also find a floppy hat (£30), the cheapest pair of sunglasses I can (£50) and a bottle of sun cream (£15). This is becoming a very expensive escape.
However, beggars can’t be choosers. I pay for it all and dash into the changing room to put the bikini on. I stuff my knickers and bra in my bag, don the sunglasses and hat, and I reckon I’m ready to go. As I pass the receptionist, I stop. There’s one more thing I need.
‘I’m really sorry, but do you have a towel I can borrow for the day?’
‘I do,’ she replies. ‘But you have to pay a deposit.’
Mouthing my apologies at the increasingly impatient driver, I hand over my credit card once again. As soon as it’s gone through and the towel is in my hand, he practically pushes me out and onto the bus.
We pull out onto the road and, as the hotel starts to recede from sight, I feel my pulse start to slow. I’ve pulled it off. I’ve escaped. The further we get from the hotel, the more relaxed I feel. The bus stops at a few other hotels to pick up customers, and I study each one, looking for clues to indicate whether each hotel is nicer, or not as nice, as ours. It’s a welcome distraction from the events of the morning so far.
I realise after a while that I haven’t told Mum and Dad where I’m going. They’ll assume I’m spending the day with Ed though, as planned, so they won’t be worried, unless… Oh no. Ed will be bound to track them down to ask where I am. In my rush to escape I didn’t consider them at all. If I call them from my mobile, the cost will be astronomical, but this is an emergency and I’ll just have to suck it up and be as brief as I can. I rummage frantically in my bag for my phone, even emptying the other larger items such as my underwater camera onto the seat next to me so I can see more clearly, but it’s not there. With a sinking feeling, I realise that it’s still attached to its charger on the bedside table in Ed’s bedroom, and I’m all alone in a strange country with no way of contacting anyone, let alone Mum and Dad. Oh, God. Can today get any worse? I hurriedly consider my options. I could ask the driver to take me back, I suppose, but given that I’ve already made him late, I don’t think he’ll be very receptive to that idea. There’s nothing I can do right now. I’ll just have to hope for the best and deal with them when I get back.
20
The boat, when we get there, is a catamaran that has definitely seen better days. Music is pumping out from speakers on board, and my heart sinks even further. This looks just like the booze cruise that Ed and I decided to avoid. Kicking myself for my panic back at the hotel, I join the other passengers in the queue to board. Listening to their voices, I realise I’m probably the only English person on the trip, as all the people around me have broad American accents. I allow myself to be swept along and file onto the boat, taking my seat on an empty bench where I hopefully won’t be disturbed. I’m proved wrong almost immediately, however.
‘Excuse me, honey, are these seats taken?’
I turn to look at the woman addressing me. I guess she’s in her early forties, and she is accompanied by a man that I imagine is her husband, plus two surly-looking teenage boys.
‘No, please help yourselves,’ I reply, as hospitably as I can.
As the boat leaves the jetty and the journey begins, she introduces herself and her family. I find out that she’s called Hannah, her husband is Doug, and their two boys are Joel and Matthew. They’re from Connecticut, and they’ve come to Antigua as part of her fortieth birthday celebrations. She’s pleasant to talk to, and chats away to me as the boat heads out to sea. I can’t help remarking that she’s seems young to be the mother of teenagers.
‘Ah well, Doug and I married young,’ she tells me. ‘We both come from Christian families, and were brought up to believe that sex before marriage was a sin. By the time we were twenty-one, we were pretty much fit to burst, so married as early as we could.’ Out of the corner of my eye I can see her boys rolling their eyes with embarrassment, and I flash them a sympathetic smile.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Hannah assures me. ‘They’re used to us, aren’t you, boys?’ The boys studiously ignore her, pretending to be completely absorbed in their phones.
