The Holiday Swap

She and Oli had been together five years; it was the anniversary of that first date, he was going to propose. She knew it. And where better?

***

Two days later, with a carefully prepared picnic, and a chilled bottle of bubbly, they caught the train out of Barcelona, heading towards ten days of bliss.

Packing had been pretty straightforward. A sexy going-out dress, for ‘the event’ because he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble just for a break, sexy underwear (there was a theme going on here, but after all, Paris was the city of love – and hopefully passion), high heels (more on the sexy theme), and some boots she knew she could walk in (for those romantic excursions on the Seine and the art galleries, where they would stroll hand in hand).

Flo didn’t care that the moment they’d sat down Oli fished out his headphones and disappeared into his own little world as he messed about with his phone (no doubt answering work messages), she was happy flicking through the pages of the guide book, gazing in awe at the photographs and working out just where she wanted to go (though Oli, no doubt, would have planned everything anyway – he was good like that – he liked an itinerary).

The next day, Friday, after croissants and coffee served in their room (no point in squandering money on a café, is there?), he spread out a city map on the bed and pointed out a route around the area that he’d carefully marked in red ink.

‘I thought we’d do this today. You don’t mind going on ahead though, do you, darling? Bit of a muzzy head, too much champagne yesterday.’ Oli grinned apologetically.

‘Oh no, do you need anything?’

‘I’ll be fine, honest,’ he glanced at his phone and gave an exaggerated sigh as yet another message came in, ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun.’ He tapped out a reply and Flo shook her head.

‘A few days’ break from work would do you good. It’s no wonder you’ve got a headache. Can’t you just let people leave a message, like you told me to do?’

‘One of us has to keep things ticking over, darling, and I want you to enjoy the break. I promise not to do much.’ He smiled, then pressed a hand to his temple and grimaced. ‘You go and explore, I’ll meet you for lunch. Look,’ he pointed at the map, where he’d put a star, ‘the guy at reception said this place is excellent value.’

Flo was not happy. She’d only got a short way down the street when the first spots of rain fell from the sky, and she realised she’d left her umbrella in the hotel room. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been at home, but no way did she want to look a bedraggled rat when she met Oli for lunch. He’d obviously asked the hotel for a recommendation, which meant the restaurant could be somewhere special, which meant… Well, she really didn’t want to count her chickens, but it was their anniversary, and what if he was leading up to…? Flo grinned and a man walking the other way grinned back, but she didn’t care. She was in Paris, the city of romance, and her boyfriend was about to propose, and she needed an umbrella because she wanted to look sleek and sophisticated, not frizzy beach-babe.

She ran up the stairs rather than take the lift; she might as well make an early start on being trim. I mean, Oli had probably already planned the wedding, had a date in mind. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have booked a place.

As she opened the door of their room, a gentle waft of air blew through from doors they’d left ajar, bringing with it the hustle and bustle of the Paris streets below, and Flo took a deep breath and smiled. What did they say? Heaven on earth? This place really was blissful. Oh God, maybe he’d brought her here because he wanted to hold the actual wedding ceremony in Paris?

‘You’re fucking gorgeous you know, darling.’

Her grin broadened as she stepped further into the room. ‘So are—’ The words died on her lips as she glanced at the empty bed. She frowned. It was Oli’s voice, but he wasn’t there. She peered in the bathroom, he wasn’t there either. Sticking her head out of the doors that led to the balcony, she risked getting her hair wet as a very feminine (and definitely not Oli) giggle reached her ears.

His voice was clearer out here, as were the muffled oo’s and ahh’s.

Flo leaned out further, desperately trying to see into the next room. Then she froze.

‘You bastard.’ The words choked in her throat. ‘You total utter bastard.’ This time they came out full throttle.

Marching back through their room and out of the door, Flo careered into the corridor, just as Oli popped out of the next room like a rabbit out of a bloody magician’s hat.

‘That’s Sarah, and she’s—’

‘Hang on, Flo, let me explain.’

‘She’s naked, on a bed, and you,’ Flo glared pointedly at his crotch, which was now encased in underwear, ‘were fucking naked with her.’

He winced. ‘Keep your voice down. Do you have to talk like that, you know I don’t—’

‘Do I have to talk like that?’ For a moment she was speechless, but it didn’t last more than a couple of seconds. There were so many words trying to burst out of her it was just a case of getting them in a straight line, and the right order. ‘Do you have to fuck another woman like that?’

‘I wasn’t actually fu—’

‘You, Oliver, are the only man I know who could split straws over whether you were actually doing it or not. You were naked. You were flesh on flesh. Like this.’ She flapped the palms of her hands together, ‘I’m surprised you’ve not got friction burns.’

‘If you’d let me explain, instead of flying off the handle.’

‘Explain? Explain? What is Sarah bloody Rogers doing here, in Paris, in the next fucking room? You, you, you fuckwit.’

Oli raised an eyebrow. ‘Look, you don’t normally swear.’

‘You don’t normally sleep around, or at least I didn’t think you did.’

He didn’t say anything, just made a move towards their room, so Flo reversed and planted herself firmly in the doorway. ‘Did you ask for adjoining doors so you could just pop between us naked and not waste a precious second of your time?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t bloody know they’d put her in the next room, did I? Be reasonable.’

Flo stared. ‘Did you really just say that?’

‘It was pure coincidence, if I’d have known…’

That was when she slammed the door and emptied every bottle she could find in the mini-fridge into his underwear drawer, and gave it a good jiggle. Shaken not stirred.

‘Flo, Flo, be reasonable.’ Oli banged on the door, hissing through the keyhole. ‘Calm down, you’re over-reacting and making a fool of yourself.’

‘I’m making a fool of myself? I’m not the one in my pants in a hotel corridor. I should have known you were up to something. That’s what all those late sessions working have been about, isn’t it? All the editorial work you’ve been doing.’ She’d been stupid. Accepted all his excuses at face value, trying to keep the status quo when deep down she’d known it wasn’t acceptable.

‘Flo, open this door, I’m standing here in my underwear.’

She added the olives and peanuts to the mix in the drawer, and hoped his gritty and oily extremities would cause him and the lovely Sarah a fair bit of discomfort for days to come. ‘I’ll give you friction!’

‘Flo, I didn’t even know she’d be in the same hotel.’

‘Oh, so that makes everything better. Tons better. How considerate.’

He’d urged her to shop that morning, which had seemed perfectly acceptable. Oli wasn’t really one to window shop, the odd breaks that they had enjoyed together had been ‘activity’ or ‘visiting ancient monuments’ but this holiday had, he’d said tucking her hair behind her ear, been for her.

How sweet. How considerate. What a load of bollocks.

Flo went back to the knicker drawer, pulled it out and emptied the entire contents into the one that held his t-shirts. The bastard. How could he do it?

He’d even bought her a red rose last night. The one she’d thought might be accompanied by a little jewellery box and a bent knee.

‘Flo, be fair, just let me talk to you.’

She opened the door a crack, aware that she now looked like a complete mad woman, her hair all over the place and her face, no doubt, bright pink.

‘What?’

‘It’s been all work and no play lately, I thought a break in your favourite place would be nice.’

‘Did you mean you remembered it was my favourite place, or hers?’ She paused as the realisation hit. ‘I’m not even supposed to be here, am I? That train ticket was for her.’

‘Flo, it was you that grabbed my phone.’

‘So all this is my fault? You’re blaming me for being here.’ Flo narrowed her eyes. ‘So,’ she put one hand on her hip, ‘what was it you’d organised for me?’

He looked blank.

‘When we were in the bar you said you’d arranged something,’ she paused, ‘something for me, that I’d love.’

‘Well, I arranged for you to talk to a guy who’s opening a new trendy fusion bar in Barcelona, so you could do a piece for the magazine. The guy is a genius, he—’

‘You bastard.’

Oli had a pained expression on his face. ‘It’s going to be an in-place, you’ve no idea how hard it was to get that interview.’

‘You’ve no idea how hard I want to hit you right now.’

He ignored her, put a hand on the door jamb, confident he’d be able to talk his way back inside.

‘Look it’s not you, it’s me.’

‘You loser.’ She stared open-mouthed. ‘That is the crappiest line ever, but you’re right. It is you. You really are the biggest dick on earth, aren’t you?’ Throwing all her weight at the door, Flo managed to slam it shut. There really was nothing else she could do. Then she threw all of her clothes into her case, and half of his out of the window. The half that hadn’t been caught up in the pre-dinner drinks-and-snacks saga.

It was quite a spectacular sight. A Parisian street, she decided had probably never seen so many Calvin Klein knickers, Armani shirts and designer jeans hooked in trees. The best bit, she decided, was seeing his pretentious Panama hat land in what he’d termed ‘cat-shit alley’ after treading in something unsavoury just after they’d arrived.

She stared for a moment, out of breath from all her exertions, then clutched the balcony rail and closed her eyes. She needed a drink, but she’d gone and thrown every last bit of alcohol in with his remaining clothes, and she wasn’t quite desperate enough to suck it out. Yet. Even her chocolate fix was in there.

Ringing reception, she very calmly reported a fire in room 406, and then waited until she heard Oli loudly declaring there was no such thing, and a member of staff insisting they had to check, before slipping out of room 405 and running down the stairs. She was out of the hotel, up the street, past the underwear-festooned trees, and round the corner before she stopped to draw breath.

It was when she realised she’d left the umbrella behind that she started to cry.

Chapter 4 – Flo. Heading home

No way was she going to sit on a train, decided Flo. The last thing she wanted to be reminded of was the journey out here, when they had shared a romantic buffet laden with champagne, and all things nice, including some chocolates to die for. When her head had been in the clouds and she’d been wondering what kind of ring he’d chosen, and whether he’d go down on one knee.

Bastard.

Instead she headed for the airport, determined to make use of the company card one last time. Oh God, she gulped down the lump in her throat. Their whole lives were meshed together, two halves of a zip. And now it was stuck, with Sarah Rogers caught in the teeth. And when she finally got past that fluffy obstruction and undid it to the bottom she’d be well and truly stuffed.

No job, no man, no apartment if she didn’t work out the job bit. Fuck.

That was what happened when you relied on somebody. When you set up a business with them. When you loved them.

A little whimper escaped, despite the fact she was biting her lip. She had to get a grip. And had to get back to Barcelona as quickly, and unromantically, as she could.

Unfortunately it seemed the rest of the world, well Paris, didn’t appreciate how quickly she needed to exit. And how little she wanted to queue up behind loved-up couples.

‘Our next flight goes out in four hours, and it is full I’m afraid. Would you like to come back later and see if there are any no-shows?’ The woman behind the airline desk flashed a professional you’ve-got-no-hope smile.

‘No-shows sounds fantastic. I’ll wait.’ First in the queue sounded better.

‘We won’t know until boarding.’

‘Not a problem.’ What else did she have to do with her time?

‘Some people check in very late.’

Flo gritted her teeth and tried to keep the smile plastered to her face. ‘It’s fine.’ She could plan revenge. Or work out how she’d ever been desperate enough to let herself get into this situation. How had she not seen it coming?

Two strong cups of coffee and a rumbling tummy later she knew she had do something before she exploded or dissolved. It was touch and go either way. She had a sudden yearning for Tippermere, the village she’d grown up in. Normality.

Since her Spanish mother had decided to leave the UK and move back to Spain, and she’d followed, she’d spent her time in various places before finally settling for what had to look like an idyllic lifestyle. She had Oli, her own company (well the shared magazine with Oli), and the trendiest part of Barcelona to live in. But sometimes, she had to admit, it felt lonely.

Sometimes she yearned to put her wellies on and trudge through fields, to curl up in front of the fire with a mug of milk and a pile of cookies. Sometimes she just missed her childhood friends.

She flicked through the Facebook posts of her friends, Anna (who posted lots) and Daisy (who obviously had a far too busy real-life and didn’t post often at all). Pictures of them sharing a bottle of wine in the local pub, laughing, having fun. She felt a twinge of jealousy and a soft ache in her stomach that brought her to the verge of tears. She wanted to be there, to rush back – but she had to make a go of it here. It had been her choice. Life in Barcelona should be wonderful (everybody said so); she hadn’t even wanted to admit to herself until now that sometimes it was hard. That sometimes beneath all the perfect stuff there was a gaping hole, something missing.

Now she felt like toddler-Flo who wanted her comfort-blanket back.

Right now she needed a friend. An easy-going, non-judgemental friend – which Anna had always been given her dating and fashion disasters, which she was more than happy to own up to publicly. Unlike her, who just pretended everything was fabulous.

She sighed as she stared at the picture of a laughing Anna, and then, before she could change her mind, she opened Skype.

‘Wow, what a coincidence. I was going to call you.’ Anna’s familiar face, slightly pixilated, beamed at her from the too-small screen of her phone, and she felt even more like crying. The beam dropped a few kilowatts. ‘Are you okay, Flo?’

‘Not really.’ She wanted a hug. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and opened them. Blurted it out before she changed her mind. ‘It’s all a farce.’

‘Sorry?’ Anna leaned in closer to the camera, her frown was clearly visible even over the dodgy internet connection.

‘My life. Oli. Everything.’

‘But you’re getting engaged, you’re going to … Hang on, you’re actually in Paris,’ she paused, ‘aren’t you?’

‘I am, I’m at the airport.’ Don’t cry.

‘Oh, and Oli…’

‘Is still in the hotel room, with another woman.’ She spat that bit out. Anger was better; anger she could cope with. ‘Oh God, I’ve been a complete idiot, Anna.’ Getting pathetic again, but she couldn’t help it. Anna’s look of sympathy made it worse. ‘I’ve been so caught up in the idea of this perfect relationship and my wonderful life.’ A sob caught at the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. ‘He even got a new scooter.’

‘Sorry?’ Anna looked confused.

‘A more powerful one so he could get around quicker, go further. I couldn’t see the point, and he said we didn’t have much money, but he said we had to project the right image.’ It was all about image with Oli. They were both kidding themselves big time. ‘He got it so he could whizz up the coast and shag her, then be back before his beer went flat and I’ve only just realised.’

‘Ah.’

‘I’ve wasted five years of my life on that inconsiderate, pompous, self-centred idiot. He wouldn’t even let me have a dog, and I listened to him.’

‘Sorry, there’s a lot of interference, he wouldn’t let you have what?’

‘A dog.’

‘Oh, you did say dog.’

The dog had been a sticking point, and was now symbolic of all the other things she realised he hadn’t wanted her to have. ‘And it is just so boring working on the stuff he wants me to do for the magazine.’

‘I thought you loved the magazine? Writing was always your dream job.’

She studied her fingernails. How could you have your dream job and mess it up? ‘I do, it was, but he just leaves the really tedious stuff for me. He does the interviews, and travels around to get the gossip and I end up sorting the adverts out and doing ‘how to pack your suitcase’ features. Have you any idea how hard it is to come up with a new angle for packing a suitcase?’

‘Er, no. I just tend to throw stuff in.’

‘Exactly, and if I have to write one more recipe for tasty tapas for tourists I’m going to scream.’

Anna giggled and Flo looked up. ‘You’re right, it’s a joke. I’m a joke, my whole life…’

‘Oh don’t be daft, Flo. Me and Daisy love reading your updates, your life is much more exciting than ours. You’re just in shock.’

‘I miss Tippermere, and you guys.’

‘Believe me, you don’t miss Tippermere. But I can go with the second part.’ Her face suddenly went serious. ‘I am sorry, Flo, he’s a shit. I can’t believe he could do that.’

‘I think I can believe it.’ Flo couldn’t look her friend straight in the eye, instead she concentrated on the keyboard of her mobile phone. ‘The warning signs have been there.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve just been ignoring them. Keeping up appearances.’

‘You couldn’t know he was going to do that.’

If she’d stopped her determined efforts to live the perfect live, to convince herself and everybody else that things were great, then maybe she could have. ‘Sorry to dump on you.’

‘That’s what friends are for.’

‘I’ll be fine when I get home.’ And throw the rest of his belongings off the rooftop terrace. ‘You said you were going to ring me?’

‘It’ll wait until you get home. What time’s your flight?’

‘Hang on, the woman on the airline desk is waving, maybe that means they’ve got a spare seat.’

‘Oh Flo, you are okay?’

‘Fine.’

‘Call me when you get back to Barcelona. I’ve got an idea.’

Flo pocketed her phone and made her way back to the airline desk, where a smiling girl was already holding a hand out for her passport.

So, that was it. So much for her smug outward journey with alcohol-laden hamper and gorgeous fiancé-to-be. Now she was make-up free, splodgy-pink faced, wild-haired, on the verge of tears and singledom was yelling her name.

She’d been stupidly happy for two days, she thought, as she trudged down the aisle and took her seat next to a dreadlocked teenager who had earphones in and acknowledged her arrival with a twitch of her pierced nose. Two bloody delusional days. Plus five years.

The whole row shook, as with a cheery grin a large lady heaved her over-sized bulk into the seat next to her, jostling her elbows and wriggling her hips until she’d squeezed her ample frame into the restricted space.

Flo made a grab for the plastic safety card and hoped neither of her travel companions would try and talk to her.

She stared at the laminated card telling her how to evacuate in case of emergency and the pictures blurred. How could her life have gone so wrong so quickly? Even her pep talk with Anna hadn’t made it more bearable; in fact it was just making her feel more homesick – and more of a fool. A tear escaped and plopped onto the card, and she angrily squashed the rest with the back of her hand before they could join it. She was not going to cry. If she did she might never stop and would arrive back in Barcelona a soggy, pitiful mess.

‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen. Ooh it’s a bit parky with this air-conditioning isn’t it?’ A podgy elbow narrowly missed her good eye – the one that didn’t have the overflow problem. ‘Good job I kept my cardi on. Here, have one of these.’ A tin of boiled sweets was inserted between the evacuation instructions and Flo’s nose.

Flo shook her head, not daring to speak, and bit down on her lip.

‘Go on, there’s plenty,’ the tin was shaken violently, ‘a good suck stops your ears popping.’ She leaned across Flo, nearly squashing her with her generous cardigan-encased bosom, and waved the tin in Miss Dreadlocks’ direction. The girl, her eyes shut, continued to nod her head to the beat of the music being blasted into her ears, oblivious to her surroundings and Flo wished she’d thought of that.

‘Ahh, you don’t like flying. That’s what it is, isn’t it, duck?’ She prised the card from Flo’s fingers and pushed it back into the pocket. ‘I know these planes aren’t everybody’s cup of tea, though I must admit I love them, means you’re on your way somewhere exciting doesn’t it when you get frisked at security.’ She grinned, completely unaware that she’d just removed Flo’s first line of defence. What was she going to do now? Go into the full-on brace position so that nobody could see her face? ‘You don’t want to be looking at that thing, dear, it’ll make you feel worse. If we go down, then who’s going to remember that kind of stuff? They’ll all be diving for the doors and to hell with taking your shoes off and not pulling the toggle things. And chances are it’ll be boom.’ She waved her arms extravagantly and Flo dodged to avoid an elbow.

Flo bit down harder on her lip. How come when you really wanted to chat you ended up sitting next to Mr Monosyllabic, and when human interaction was so far down on your wish list it had fallen off the bottom, you found yourself next to the airborne equivalent of the chatty taxi driver?

‘Now, now love, there’s nothing to be scared of. I know rattling down the runway can be a bit bouncy at times but once we’re in the air it’s all plain sailing, isn’t it? Well, plain flying.’ She chuckled at her own joke and popped a sweet into her mouth.

‘I’m not scared.’ The words juddered their way out of Flo’s mouth before she clamped her teeth back over the wobbly lip. The pain in her chest had grown; in fact her whole body was aching. Maybe she should feign death, or once the plane had taken off she could lock herself in the toilet and say the catch had jammed.

The sweet tin was shoved into an oversize handbag. ‘Well, whatever it is, there’s no use crying over spilt milk, is there? I’m sure it’ll all seem better in the…’

Flo burst into tears. She couldn’t help herself, she’d held it together at the airport but just couldn’t hold it in a second longer.

‘Oh goodness.’ The sweets came out again, followed by a man-size tissue. ‘Now, now, don’t you be getting all upset. Don’t tell me…’ Flo hadn’t been about to.

‘Sorry, I, I’ve had a bit of a shock.’ The realisation that your life was a disaster didn’t exactly lead to happy-dancing. ‘I’ll be fine, thank you.’

Flo’s travel companion finished wrestling the enormous handbag under the seat and sat up red-faced, ‘I’m Carol by the way,’ then beamed at Flo.

‘Florence, Flo.’ Just saying her name seemed normal, and for a moment she forgot about him.

‘Now would you believe it, Flo, we’re about to take off. How about I tell you all about my hols to take your mind off it?’

Flo nodded and after blowing her nose a few times, taking a few deep breaths and letting Carol’s words drift over her she started to feel more like her normal self.