Chapter 8
SAMMIE
By the time we leave Nice airport – yep, Nice in France!
– I have managed to convince myself that whatever my mum has planned is probably, at the very least, going to be restful.
So far, so good. The flight was great, the destination is beautiful, Mum is in a fantastic mood – so easy-breezy – so I need to follow in her footsteps.
This actually seems like it could be just what I need.
She’s started strong, in a way that gives me confidence.
I didn’t even know that she was planning something abroad, so anywhere feels like a bonus, but she’s doing it all with style.
Well, no one sips champagne in an airport lounge, has the comfiest seats and then lands in France and checks into whatever the equivalent of a French Travelodge is, right?
I still don’t know the details of where we’re going exactly but knowing we’re in France has my imagination piqued. I’m imagining flaky pastry, delicious coffee, fresh bread, more cheeses than I can name. Oh, it’s going to be great from a food perspective alone.
A driver takes our cases without making a fuss, and opens our doors for us, which feels incredibly luxurious to me because the last time I got a taxi the driver didn’t even want to stop the car to let me in, never mind open the door for me.
It’s nice, having one less practical thing to do.
Like I’m on holiday from absolutely everything.
My mum slides into the back of the car beside me with the expression of a woman who does this sort of thing all the time, when I know in fact that she doesn’t, and she would probably be squealing with glee were the driver not here.
‘This is nice,’ she says.
I glance around the car. It is very nice – unaffordably so, to the likes of me.
I hope she hasn’t gone too wild, digging into the money she has set aside to buy her next home.
She deserves a nice holiday though, after losing my stepdad, and my dad years before that.
It must be difficult to move on, when things feel so temporary.
The seats are cream – and cream is such a luxurious colour, because you can only afford to have it if you can afford to get it dirty. Everything smells expensive – the leather, the diffusers on the vents, I can even smell the driver’s aftershave.
There is bottled water in a little compartment between us, cool air con blowing and soft classical music playing.
‘Mum, you’ve really splashed out,’ I tell her.
She smiles.
‘Maybe,’ she says.
‘Maybe? Mum, unless we’re about to be dropped off at a campsite without a tent, this has definitely been the most luxurious holiday I’ve ever been on, and we’ve not even arrived at where we’re staying yet.’
She laughs and casually reaches for a bottle of water, like she’s used to travelling in style already.
‘Just enjoy it,’ she says with a laugh.
‘Oh, I am enjoying it,’ I reply. ‘But I’m allowed to be in shock.’
I admire Nice as we drive through it. I love the pale buildings, the palm trees – and of course the sunshine.
The sea appears on my right, beautifully blue and sparkling underneath the sun. I’m so glad Mum convinced me that a few bikinis would come in handy because I can’t wait to take a dip.
I lean back against the seat and look at my mum.
‘So where are we actually staying?’ I ask curiously.
‘You’ll see,’ she replies.
‘You’re still keeping it a surprise?’ I check. ‘The jig is up. I know we’re staying in Nice.’
‘Guess again,’ she says cryptically.
‘We’re not staying in Nice?’ I reply. ‘Well, I know we’re staying in France.’
Her smile widens.
‘Mum – we’re not staying in France?’
‘Just wait and see,’ she says with a laugh.
She leans back against the headrest, tipping her head to one side so that she can take in the view.
Oh, I have never been so intrigued in my life. Not only by where we’re going, but by what’s got into my mum all of a sudden. She’s an organiser – she’s more organised than I am, and I know how much better I feel when I have a plan.
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what she’s up to, but it is hard to stay suspicious when the sun is shining and you know you’re going somewhere good.
We leave Nice behind and eventually happen upon a sign.
‘Mum!’
She looks at me and smiles.
‘We’re staying in Monaco?!’
‘Surprise,’ she sings. ‘And it’s not even my last surprise either. Wait until you see where we’re staying. I just thought, with you being so generous, letting me stay with you, that I owed you one.’
‘You absolutely don’t have to do this, Mum, but thank you,’ I tell her sincerely. ‘I’m so excited.’
The road begins to wind as we get nearer to our destination. There’s sea to one side, hilly greenery on the other – each side as picturesque as the other.
The road dips, curves, revealing different views at every angle – every one of them screen-saver worthy.
If I’m honest, I am starting to feel a little guilty for feeling like my mum has been getting in the way. She hasn’t, it’s just been tricky with dating, and having unwanted guests, but I’m happy to forget all about it and enjoy a girls’ holiday with her.
She was right that I needed a break. Work has been relentless, I have been tense for so long that it has started to feel normal, and so this is exactly what I need.
The car slows as we reach the marina, and I thought I knew what Monte Carlo was like from the movies, but it’s even more stunning in person.
I mean, we’re driving by what is essentially a car park for yachts – this really is the playground of the rich and the powerful.
And then there’s me and Mum, who are neither.
The yachts line the harbour in gleaming rows, enormous and spotless, with tinted windows and polished chrome – most of them look bigger than my first apartment (and some of them probably have more square footage than my house).
‘Okay, wherever we’re staying, I already know it’s going to be amazing,’ I blurt, practically pressing my face up against the glass.
‘We’re close,’ she tells me. ‘Really close.’
The butterflies in my stomach dare to flutter as we drive along the harbour road.
Then the car slows beside a yacht, eventually stopping. The driver gets out.
‘Mum?’ I say, my smile widening as I turn to face her.
‘Yep, we’re here,’ she replies.
The driver opens my door, and I step out of the car and straight into paradise. The sun warms my skin, and the sea air fills my lungs – I finally feel like I can relax.
‘We’re staying here?’ I check.
‘Yep,’ Mum says proudly. ‘There.’
I turn to look up at the yacht – the Carpe Diem – admiring its sleek finish, the size of the thing, the…
‘Ahoy,’ a voice calls out from the deck.
I look up and see a man in a captain’s hat. There’s something familiar about his voice. His face too. He takes off his hat and waves it at us. I squint to get a better look as the sun beams into my eyes, and… Oh. My. Gosh. It’s Hank! It’s fucking Hank!
He’s waving both arms like he’s trying to guide in a helicopter.
For a second, my brain refuses to connect the dots that are available – the picture they make is obvious, but I’m fighting it, as though that might make it not true.
‘No,’ I say quietly to myself. ‘No, no, no…’
I turn to my mum, and she gives me the kind of smile people show before they reassure you that something is okay that is absolutely not okay.
‘Sammie…’
‘No,’ I repeat. ‘No, no, no…’
I’m clearly going for quantity, not quality, but… no. What else can I say? What else can I beg but no?
Hank is grinning like a fool. He’s positively giddy – and obviously expecting us.
‘Mum, are you serious?’
‘It’s okay, let’s just climb aboard, see the place – I know you’re going to love it, trust me, okay?’
I don’t know what to say. I mean, I did trick her into going to a singles night but, as a response, this feels like a huge overreaction.
‘Chrissy! Sammie! You made it,’ he calls out. ‘Come aboard.’
I don’t really know what else to do but follow my mum onto the yacht.
Maybe the thing that is annoying me the most right now is that this – seeing Hank’s face – is ruining stepping onto a yacht for me.
‘Welcome aboard,’ Hank says grandly as we approach him. ‘This is my boat, the Carpe Diem.’
The first red flag is the way he pronounces it. Carp Dime.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ Mum tells him.
‘Named her myself,’ he says proudly. ‘Because I love fishing for carp.’
You know, I’m not sure that he’s joking.
‘How was the flight?’ he asks.
‘Wonderful,’ Mum replies. ‘We’re both so excited to be here, aren’t we, Sammie?’
My instinct is to be well mannered, to fall in line and agree, but Mum has gone too far this time. I can’t hold my tongue.
‘I did not, in fact, know where I was coming,’ I say.
‘What a great surprise, eh? Your mum wanted to do something nice for you.’
Then why didn’t she?!
‘We’re both so excited to be here,’ Mum tells him. ‘Thanks so much for having us.’
‘Ah, no problem at all, I’m glad of the company,’ he says. ‘Step inside, let me show you around.’
‘Ooh, exciting,’ Mum coos.
I puff air from my cheeks. What other choice do I have but to follow them?
‘Oh, wow…’
Mum can’t hide how impressed she is, whereas I’m too annoyed right now for it to fully take hold.
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Hank says, gazing around with genuine affection. ‘Three cabins, lovely little galley, top deck for sunset drinks, decent sound system, and she behaves herself beautifully in calm water.’
I’ll admit it, the yacht is even more impressive once we step inside. It’s modern, clean, sleek – more stylish than I would’ve given Hank credit for. I can’t believe this is his. He must have some money, to own a yacht like this.
We’re in the main cabin and I’m impressed to see that it’s a proper living space, with cream sofas built around a polished table, warm wood panelling, soft lighting and windows wrapping almost all the way around us to showcase the view.
It feels less like being on a boat, more like being in a luxury apartment.