Page 63 of Hook, Line and Single

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I have no idea how I got through Cameron’s massage without jumping on him, but I just about managed to maintain my composure, thank goodness. The downside is that I had an incredibly filthy dream about him and woke this morning still feeling distinctly flustered. Thankfully, the bed was wide enough that there was no possibility of a repeat of erection-gate, as I don’t think I could have been held responsible for my actions. One thing is in no doubt: I’m looking at Cameron in a totally different light today. Despite my best efforts, however, I can’t work out whether he feels it too; if he does, he’s doing a good job of concealing it. It’s probably for the best. This is a temporary hormonal setback, nothing more. If I’d given in to temptation, it would have undoubtedly been fun in the moment, but it would also have led to a morning of incredible awkwardness and regret. I like him. I fancy him even. But I can’t cope with the mess of what that would mean in reality if we acted on it.

We’re now back at the airport, waiting to catch our flight to Paris. We’re still pink, but the lotion has done a good job of soothing the worst of the sunburn, and I’m feeling much more human, having had a long shower and dressed in clean clothes this morning. I’m just about to switch my phone to flight mode when it pings with a message. It’s from Sam, and my heart sinks. If she’s going to tell me something’s gone wrong and they’re not docking in Florence, I might react badly.

GOOD NEWS! We’re docked in Livorno, and we’re here for two nights so you’ve got plenty of time to make it here. Robin and I are off to visit Florence today, but really hoping we’ll see you later. Sx.

The relief is intense as I turn the phone and show Cameron the message. ‘All we need now is for the flights to behave and we’re home and dry,’ I tell him.

‘Don’t jinx it,’ he warns me. ‘Bad luck comes in threes, remember, and we’ve only had two doses so far.’

‘You’re a barrel of joy this morning,’ I observe. ‘Did you get out of bed on the wrong side?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be negative.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ll be blaming you if we get stuck in Paris.’

‘There are worse places to be stuck,’ he remarks.

‘Paris is probably even more expensive than Cannes,’ I retort. ‘Not being funny, but I have a fully paid-for cabin that I’d like to get some value for money out of.’

‘It has been an adventure though, hasn’t it? Can you believe we’ve only been away from the ship for two nights?’

‘Is that really all? So much has happened that I can’t believe it was only the day before yesterday that my phone was stolen in Barcelona.’

‘I know it’s been a faff, but we haven’t actually missed out on anything, have we? In fact, we’ve done better because we got to see some of Cannes, which nobody on the ship did. Do you think you’ll keep in touch with Claudine?’

‘I don’t know. She wasn’t going to let me go without getting my number but what have we actually got in common?’

‘Who knows, when you’re a fully-fledged member of the nudist community in the UK, you might want to invite her and Philippe over.’

‘That’s not going to happen. It was strictly a one-off, under duress.’

‘If you say so.’

Thankfully, further debate on the subject is prevented by the announcement that the flight is ready to board. Annoyingly, we had to leave the toiletries behind at the hotel as they wouldn’t have been allowed in the cabin, so our hand luggage consists of a single carrier bag with a few clothes in it. On the plus side, this allows us to sit back and enjoy the spectacle of the other passengers, most of whom are trailing wheelie cases, jostling for position so they can get on first and secure the all-important overhead locker space. By the time we wander down the jetway to the aircraft, pretty much everyone else has boarded and there’s carnage as the cabin crew try to explain to the unlucky passengers who weren’t quick enough that their bags will have to go in the hold.

‘But I’vepaidto have bloody hand luggage,’ one particularly irate English-sounding man is practically yelling at a stewardess. ‘It’s myrightto have my bag with me.’

‘Uh-oh,’ I murmur to Cameron. ‘Angry Brit alert. Why is it always us?’

‘Monsieur,’ the stewardess explains, remarkably patiently in my opinion, as the rest of the cabin goes quiet to listen. ‘The aircraft is full. There is nowhere for your bag to go. Either you can let me put it in the hold, or you can get off and try a later flight. Shouting at me is not going to change anything.’

‘This is an absolute joke,’ he rants, unmollified. ‘That man there had two bags. Why aren’t you getting him to put one of his in the hold?’

‘Because he has one in the locker and one under the chair in front of him. He’s not taking any more locker space than anyone else.’

‘For fuck’s sake. This is totally ridiculous. I demand you find me a space for my bag.’

‘There is space. In the hold.’

‘I don’t want it in the fucking hold. I’ve got meetings when I get to the other end. I haven’t got time to wait around for your lazy-arsed baggage handlers to come off whatever strike they’re currently on and load it onto the wrong sodding carousel, like they always do. And that’s assuming the useless bastards haven’t lost it first. I’ve specifically paid to have hand luggage, and it’s not my fault your aircraft doesn’t have enough storage. Piss off and find me a solution.’

‘Certainement, monsieur,’ the stewardess tells him before marching up to the front of the plane, where we all watch agog as she engages in conversation with one of her colleagues. A few moments later, a stern-faced woman wearing a badge identifying her as the cabin manager approaches the man.

‘Monsieur,’ she begins in a steely tone of voice. ‘My colleague informs me that you have been abusive to her. I must ask you to leave the aircraft at once. We do not tolerate this behaviour.’

‘I haven’t been bloody abusive,’ the man retorts, turning an even darker shade of purple. ‘I merely explained to her that I’ve paid to have hand baggage, and therefore it’s the airline’s responsibility to find space for it.’

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