Page 4 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“Erm, sure.”
“Well, what’s hotter than a hot girl?”
“An even hotter girl?” Billie questioned her own response.
“No. A hot girl that gets hot in the bedroom. It adds extra lubrication.” Sarah winked.
Billie raised her eyebrow. “Interesting concept.” She reached for a second sandwich bag and began filling it with sugar.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“They never do English Tea abroad, and I can’t be expected to function normally without one.”
“Okay, but why the sugar?”
Billie sealed the small plastic bag. “It’s just a precaution.”
“Billie, it’s a five-star resort in the Caribbean, not a shack in the depths of the Amazonian rainforest.”
“Sugarcane grows in the Amazonian rainforest,so that’s a bad example.”
I hated how smart she was. Ever since the three of us took a trip to Greece and the hotel didn’t provide adequate refreshments Billie resorted to bringing her own.
The taxi was due in twenty minutes, and I’d only achieved one physical sense check of my luggage, mentally cross-examined that with my holiday list, and searched the house top to bottom for anything I used on a regular basis. My twenty-three-kilogram suitcase had reached its limit, so I had to trust in the reliability of the hotel’s room amenities section on the website. They promised me a hair dryer.
I’d switched into holiday mode three days prior, working my way through the super ambitious to-do list. It was a month’s worth of tasks crammed into two measly days. I did it every single time without self-reflection. I spent the days leading up to my holiday a crippled, stressed, adrenaline fuelled mess, and I was about to feel the effects when my cortisol levels crashed. I’d spend the first three days of my holiday nursing myself back to health.
Whoops.
When we hit the motorway, I was internally cursing the taxi driver for arriving ten minutes late. Up ahead the unnerving red glow of taillights caused the churning in my stomach. There was a bend in the road, and I could see the queue of traffic in the distance.
“Can we get off at this junction to avoid the traffic please?” I asked politely.
The driver just grunted, but he took the next turning and the alternative route on my phone decreased our time by twenty minutes.Phew.
“That’s good, right? We have enough time, don’t we? I know we are supposed to arrive at the airport three hours early for international, but we’ll only be a few minutes late.”
“It’s a guide time, Harps. Chill.” Sarah said calmly whilst smirking at her phone, no doubt on to her next conquest.
“Yes, but I like to be on time. What if we don’t get checked in?”
My worst nightmare involved all three of us hurtling through Manchester Airport dodging pedestrians and luggage like aMario Kartgame whilst a monotone muffled voice announced final boarding over the loudspeaker. It was the ultimate walk of shame. If that happened, I didn’t know if I would ever fully recover.
“Harps—” Billie reached out and placed her hand on my knee. “Do I look concerned to you?”
I shook my head. She didn’t, ever.
“Exactly. It’s all good.”
“You also wouldn’t look concerned in the middle of a tornado, so—” Sarah added.
“Not helping!” Billie scowled.
After watching the precious minutes tick away before my eyes, we made it to the airport, gliding through check-in and security with ease.
“Duty-free isn’t any cheaper than online; you guys know that, right?” Sarah said, nodding towards the queue of people purchasing alcohol, chocolate, and beauty goods. I couldn’t remember the last time I purchased anything from duty-free, and the days of having foreign currency left over at the end of the holiday were longgone. Cost of living saw to that. I was lucky if I made it through a holiday without declaring myself bankrupt.
“It’s one of the most popular travel myths. Duty-free being inherently cheaper is a lie,” Billie affirmed. Duty-free was good for a few things: the trusty alcohol shot that calmed your stomach and the free sample of perfume that nose blinded you from godawful smelling passengers.
