Come Away With Me: The hilarious feel-good romantic comedy you need to read in 2018. Maddie Please
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songs in tribute to Dean Martin, where he very convincingly almost fell off his stool.
India was properly asleep by that point, resting her head back on the red velvet seat, her mouth open. I just hoped ‘Dean’ couldn’t see her.
The show ended with a rousing dance routine to a selection of Chuck Berry hits, ending with ‘Johnny B Goode’; there was air-guitar playing on the part of the boys and some choreographed hand jiving by the girls. It was really jolly good.
As the other guests headed off to the bars and casino, I nudged India awake and we tottered off to our cabin and made half-hearted attempts to get our make-up off. I looked out at the dark sea and the glitter of far-off lights on the coast that was slipping past us and smiled as my head span. Then we both fell into bed. What a day!
*
It felt like I’d had ten minutes of sleep when I woke up. Daylight was streaming through the windows and occasionally I heard people chattering as they walked down the corridor past our room. I lay in bed wondering if the room was indeed rocking or if I had a worse hangover than expected. Then I remembered I was on a ship, which explained it. The tenders were due to take us off the ship and into Newport, Rhode Island, from nine o’clock, and it was now eight-thirty.
I wondered for a few moments if I really needed to see Newport, and then I remembered Marion’s comment the night before. Apparently, Newport was ‘a darling town’, very exclusive and good for shopping and dining, with ‘the best handbag shop’ she had ever been in.
‘India! Get up! It’s time to move. Breakfast!’ I shouted, chucking one of my pillows at her.
India made a few horrified noises and rolled away from me, but I chucked another pillow that caught her smack on the head and then I went into the bathroom to shower and steal all the complimentary toiletries, which were Jo Malone and absolutely gorgeous. By the time I came out she was sitting up on the side of her bed.
‘Breakfast!’ I said. ‘Hurry up. We can go to the food court self-service. It’ll be quicker.’
I threw open the doors to the balcony and let in a fresh gust of salty air, feeling much better after my shower. India fell backwards on to her bed and whimpered.
‘Oh God, why do you always have to be so bloody enthusiastic in the mornings?’
‘Come on! Remember what you said? Would you rather be in work?’
‘No,’ she said rather pathetically.
‘Well then, come on. We could go and see The Breakers; a dream come true for a couple of half-arsed estate agents like us.’
To give India her due, she surprised me. In twenty minutes we were in the food court with trays and India was trying to decide what to eat in order to get rid of her hangover.
All the time, food trolleys laden with new breakfast choices were hurtling through the kitchen doors and out into the food court at frightening speed. There was a group of travellers dithering and fretting to such an extent that I swear we had finished our food and were on our way back to our cabin to collect our passports and ship’s identity cards before they had eaten anything.
Newport was indeed glorious, with pretty artisan shops and cafés clustered around the quayside. As we passed a beautiful shop full of handbags, we saw Marion inside with a forlorn-looking Marty. Still feeling a bit fragile, we had decided not to join the tour around The Breakers, the house built for the Vanderbilt family, who evidently had more money than was good for them from the look of the photographs.
Instead we wandered in and out of the immaculate little alleyways around the quay, admiring the jaunty yachting clothes on sale. There was a whole raft of incredibly expensive, impossibly chic, home-style shops filled with every type of throw, vase, candleholder and hand-carved bird necessary to make one’s weekend cottage perfect.
Everywhere there were tourists plodding about, pretending they had a boat, and the occasional genuine boat owner who could be distinguished by their good looks, expensive clothes and – in the case of the young girls, at least – constant laughing and glossy blonde hair that needed a lot of flicking.
I looked at them from the weary heights of my twenty-nine years and felt unexpectedly sad. Were they as happy as they seemed? Or had they just not been alive long enough to be disappointed? Would they too one day find their boyfriend, half-naked, sprawled over another woman and then listen to his preposterous explanations about CPR and the Heimlich manoeuvre? I wouldn’t go through that again. I’d made up my mind.
Philosophical thoughts put firmly to one side, we went to sit at an achingly stylish wine bar overlooking the sea with the intention of ordering a glass of water and an elegant sandwich. One of Newport’s prettiest, blondest, happiest girls came across and introduced herself to us.
‘I’m Callie – happy to be your server.’
We thanked her for handing over the menus.
‘You’re welcome,’ she said with a dazzling smile. ‘Can I bring you something while you’re waiting?’
In the manner of all American restaurants she had already brought us some iced water, which took care of India’s dehydration.
‘No, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. Would you like the parasol adjusted? The sun’s really hot today.’
‘No, it’s fine, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Callie skipped away happily towards the kitchen in her size-four denim shorts and T-shirt. She had a glossy mane of hair caught up in a high ponytail and long brown legs that ended in smart pink deck shoes. She made Olivia Newton John in Grease look fat and sloppy by comparison.
‘Is she going to say you’re welcome every time we say thank you?’ India said, watching her blearily.
‘I expect so.’
In front of us bobbed millions and millions of dollars worth of boats of all shapes and sizes. There were a few of Callie’s clones wandering about on board the one nearest us, laughing and flirting with some excessively handsome young men as they pretended to mop the decks. I felt even older and wearier just watching them. Perhaps I was destined for a cantankerous old age, getting more and more cynical about men and love and relationships until I just didn’t bother any more?
I rested my head back on the chair and closed my eyes as, beside me, India glugged back her iced water with a groan.
‘Enjoying your day?’
I looked round, rather startled to see Callie showing Gabriel Frost to the adjacent table. Gabriel Frost, here at the same restaurant we were sitting in … What were the chances?
‘Oh yes, absolutely, it’s a very pretty place,’ I said, rather flustered, trying to smile but probably just grimacing.
‘Hey, are you folks friends? Would you care to share a table?’ Callie smiled helpfully.
No, actually no. I didn’t think I could cope with him sitting right next to me and having to make small talk …
He hesitated for a moment.
Say no, say no.
‘Well, I suppose that might be nice.’
‘Hey, that’s so cool!’ Callie said, topping up our water glasses. ‘Small world! I’ll bring you over a menu momentarily, sir.’
She gave Gabriel a smile he was not intended to forget and skipped away. I was so surprised I picked up my glass to take a sip, just to have something to do with my hands, and spilled some water on the table. The fizzing was back suddenly. Gabriel took his seat and seemed to fit into the scenery perfectly.
‘Not tempted by The Breakers then?’ Gabriel said, yanking me out of my thoughts.
‘Not really. I think we just wanted to soak up the atmosphere,’ I said stupidly.