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“Why are we standing here? We are late for check in! I need to grab something to eat once we’re through security.” I am not about to embark on a lengthy plane ride without adequate snacks and a decent sandwich.
“Hold it, Lizzie. I changed our tickets to business class.”
“What? Why?” I hate it when he splashes out on me. I know he can afford it, but I don’t want our friendship to be based on money.
“Because, if I’m going to stay for seven days in a godforsaken tiny village in the middle of nowhere in freezing Canada, I want to at least have a comfortable journey there. Tell me again why we couldn’t escape Valentine’s Day with a trip to the Caribbean?”
“Are you insane? That’s where couples go. It will be Valentine’s overload there. Nope. A place no one has ever heard of in snowy Canada. That’s the place to be. Trust me.”
I booked us rooms in a hotel called Jamie’s Lodge and emailed the owner to make sure they were not planning some heart-filled bonanza. I was assured that there would be a private wedding taking place and that’s it.
I can’t even recall exactly how I found the town. I think I read about it in a book once. But when the name Coal’s Lake popped in my head, I googled it. It's in rural Alberta, Canada. The pictures looked stunning; the tourism board website was sparce, which I took as a good sign. Where there are no tourists there won’t be a wacky marketing team who turn the town pink on this dreadful day.
Getting there is a bit of nightmare because, of course, a tiny place like that doesn’t have an airport, so we have to fly into Calgary and then hire a rental car. But it will all be worth it; I just know it. I refuse to join in with this faux holiday and Coal’s Lake will be my haven. Let the Valentine’s rebellion begin.
CHAPTER2
welcome to purgatory
COOPER
Ican see the fire in Lizzie’s eyes when she defends her plan to escape to a place where Valentine’s Day is not a big deal. I don’t have the heart to tell her that such a place doesn’t exist. Valentine’s Day is too tempting as a marketing tool for any business owner to ignore it. I saw once a tyre company offering Valentine’s Day deals and that was a bit much; I pity the clueless guy that thought that was a great gift for his significant other.
I also don’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t actually mind Valentine’s Day. I’m not crazy about it, but it doesn’t really bother me either. If a woman I’m dating wants to celebrate it with me, I happily give her a rose or some overpriced chocolates. It is a bit silly but if it makes my date happy, why not? I do, however agree with Lizzie in one point; I don’t need a special day of the year to show the person I love how much they mean to me. Frankly, I would show her every day if she’d let me.
And by her I mean Lizzie. Yes, I’m madly in love with my best friend. Does she know about it? Nope. For some reason, she put me into the friendship drawer on the first day we met and I never made it out of it. For the past twelve years or more, I've been in this cycle of thinking I could tell her how I feel, only for her to make it clear that she just doesn’t see me that way. So, I head out and find a woman who somehow reminds me of her. Whether it's the tempting figure, the hair, the grin, or that crazy mentality, the passion, or whatever else, there's always something that takes me back to Lizzie. When I finally clock what I'm doing, I ditch my date and go back to hoping Lizzie will eventually open up her heart to me.
Is it driving me insane? Sure. Would I prefer her to not be a part of my life so I can move on? Absolutely not.
Welcome to my own personal purgatory.
“You know I don’t like it if you spend your money on me,” she protests. She is probably the only woman I have ever met who doesn’t want me to spend money on her. Hell, she still insists that we split our dinner bills or take it in turns to pay for coffee. My company makes as much in a day as she earns in a year and yet she still wants to go Dutch on everything. Did I mention that she is as stubborn as a mule?
“I know, I know. But, I’m not sitting in economy class for ten hours for the sake of a few thousand pounds.”
“Snob,” she shouts over her shoulder as she pushes her monster of a suitcase towards the business class check in desk. I no longer have arguments with her about her luggage. She always packs too much and ends up wearing the same three outfits instead of the brand-new ones she purchased just for the trip but feels too insecure to wear. I’ve tried to teach her minimalistic packing and we almost fell out. I’m not going down that route again.
She probably also has Henry in that bag. I never knew I could be jealous of a pillow or a bloody actor until she explained the logic behind naming the pillow Henry. My jealousy went so far that I lied to her. I attended a big charity gala a year ago and when she found out that the actor in question would be there, she begged me to bring her along. I told her I only had one ticket. I’m a selfish arsehole, what can I say. I mean, it's bad enough that she dates wankers who don’t treat her the way she deserves to be treated. But seeing her fawn over some twerp from Hollywood? Nope, I couldn’t do it. So, I fibbed. The only time I've been less than truthful in our friendship, well, aside from the Valentine’s thing and that I’m in love with her. But that’s it.
As we pass the entrance to the business class check in desks, I notice that there are more people queueing than usual. I normally have no more than four or five people ahead of me, but today there is a line of at least twenty.
“Oh great, if we have to wait too long, we can’t go to the business lounge,” Lizzie groans which makes me smile. My little Scrooge. Her motto is “If you’ve paid for it, make the most of it.” Knowing her, she’ll make sure she gets her, or my, money’s worth in the lounge because, after all, “we paid for it”.
“Next please.” The young British Airways employee finally waves us over to his desk.
“Hi, we are flying to Calgary,” Lizzie announces with excitement in her voice.
“Right, do you want a refund or do you want me to check when the next flight is that I can rebook you on?” he asks before we even have time to place our passports on the counter.
“Sorry?” Lizzie replies.
“Refund or rebook?” he asks again and gives us a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He actually looks quite stressed.
“There’s a misunderstanding, we’re here to check in for our flight to Calgary,” I explain.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but the snow…”
“Surely they are used to snow in Canada,” Lizzie chuckles.
