‘Bloody traffic,’ I say as we inch closer to the outskirts of the city only to be halted by yet another red light.
‘That’s Friday night for you,’ says Luke.
‘I’m itching to get onto the open road and try this baby out.’
I stroke the steering wheel of the electric car we’ve been loaned for the weekend.
‘Do you think we’re ever going to get there, I’m starving.’ My stomach starts to growl to illustrate the point.
‘I’ve got some food,’ he says, reaching down into his satchel and pulling out a Tupperware tub. ‘Miles at work was trying out some Bake Off recipes. It’s Asian week next week and he made me extra spring rolls because he knows how much I love them.’
‘I love them too, give me one,’ I say, holding out a hand and Luke passes me one.
‘Do you think they’re a bit messy to eat in here?’
‘This car’s so hi-tech it’ll probably clean itself,’ I say, biting into the flaky pastry and spilling crumbs everywhere. ‘Oh my God, that is so good. The standard of the last few contestants is so high. I don’t know how they’re going to pick a winner.’
‘We’ll soon find out. Have you heard that they’re announcing the winner at the Christmas party?’
‘Yes, Mrs Harris has already bought her dress for when she goes up on stage.’
‘Let’s hope she at least makes it through the last two rounds then,’ says Luke.
‘She’d better do, or that’s all we’ll hear about forever more.’
He hands me over another one and I stuff it in my mouth.
‘What’s in them? Is it chicken?’
‘Prawns, I think. You’ve got to try his samosas too.’
He hands me one and I almost miss the light turning green. Luckily for me the car behind me beeps and I shove the rest of a samosa into my mouth before I pull away. I make it onto the main road and the traffic is flowing and I finally get the car to go over 20 mph for the first time since we pulled out of the garage.
‘This car is amazing,’ I say, the speedometer ramping up.
‘Can you drive it a bit slower?’ I watch him searching to find something to cling onto. ‘Why doesn’t this one have handles?’
‘Maybe if you say “handles” loud enough one will appear like they did on the outside. I feel like I’m James Bond,’ I say.
‘Well, you don’t have to drive like him.’
‘Calm down, grandma, I’m hardly going that fast – just feels it because we were stop-start in traffic before.’
‘You’re going fast enough,’ he says, clearly having palpitations.
‘Look, there’s nothing wrong with my driving but if you’d prefer we could let the car drive itself,’ I say, flicking a lever. ‘Look, no hands.’
I wiggle my fingers and Luke actually looks like he’s going to lose it.
‘Put your hands back on the wheel. Put them on now! You’re not supposed to be doing that. The woman said that even when self-driving you have to keep your hands on the wheel; it’ll sense you don’t have them on.’
I groan like he’s a killjoy before I put my hands back on the steering wheel, but to be honest I was shitting my pants. As cool as this car is, I’m not sure if I like it being in control.
‘OK, I’ll put it back onto manual drive.’
‘Actually, I think I felt safer with the robot.’
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m a good driver. At least I have my licence.’
‘So do I, it’s only been suspended temporarily.’
‘And you’re the one telling me off for speeding and that’s how you lost yours.’
He grips onto the side of seat.
‘I got done by the same bloody speed camera in a thirty.’
‘Four times.’
‘Yeah, but three of them were in the same week and I just thought the lights were bright down that road. Anyway, there’s a difference between going fast and being reckless.’
I start to giggle. No one has ever called me reckless before. I’m not even exceeding the speed limit.
‘I still don’t know why you agreed to test drive a car for the weekend if you couldn’t drive,’ I say.
‘It said it was a driverless car and I read it quickly. I just thought it would look better than arriving at the hotel in your little Micra. No offence.’
‘None taken. Have you got any more of those spring rolls?’
Luke hands me another and I gobble it down and by the time we make it to our turning we’ve eaten the whole tub.
‘Take a left here,’ says Luke, just as the onboard computer tells me the same thing.
I pull off the main road and follow the sat nav. A few minutes later, we pass the sign for Ingleford Manor and we head down a long driveway to an imposing-looking country hotel.
‘Wow, this place is beautiful.’ We drive around the large fountain in the middle of the turning circle and follow the signs for the car park. ‘That rain’s really coming down now.’
I spot a space close to the entrance and I slow down to pull in.
‘Whoa, what are you doing?’ gasps Luke.
‘Parking.’
‘Um, that space might be big enough for your Micra, but it isn’t big enough for this car. Why don’t you let it park itself?’
‘I’m perfectly capable of doing it.’
‘What’s the point of barking if you have a dog? Come on, put the auto park on.’
I want to make a point but, even though I’m convinced that that space is big enough, I don’t really want to take the car back to the shiny showroom with a massive scratch down it.
I set the car into auto park mode and fold my arms for a moment before Luke gives me the stare of death and I place my hands back on the wheel.
‘Told you that space was too small,’ says Luke as the car drives past it.
‘Maybe, but it’s just driven past that one and it was massive.’
The car eventually finds us a space at the end of a row of cars and reverses with a precision that amazes me.
‘Now that was impressive,’ says Luke.
‘Would have been more impressive if it had been closer to the door.’
‘At least you don’t have to worry about your hair like I do,’ he says, touching his quiff.
I beg to differ on both counts because my hair’s going to turn into a frizzy mess the moment the humidity hits it and his hair has been gelled into oblivion and I’m pretty sure that quiff will be as waterproof as Gore-Tex.
I open the door and I plunge my foot into a puddle and the water seeps into my ankle boot. I walk around to the front of the car, shaking my foot.
‘Trust you to find a puddle,’ he says in a such a smug way and I hope that I’m wrong about his quiff and that it flattens like a pancake.
He walks round to the boot and opens it. I reach to get my bag but he holds my hand back. ‘Oh no, sweetie, I’ve got these.’
I roll my eyes. I’d forgotten that the act starts all over again. The car ride here wasn’t too bad, but mainly because I didn’t have to act like I was in love with him.
I look up at the redbrick hotel and the ivy creeping up over it. It looks beautiful highlighted by the warm yellow lights, even in the pouring rain. It’s so romantic and I wish I was with someone that I cared about. Aidan pops into my mind and I try to push him out again.
We walk up the steps and push open the heavy door and Luke takes my hand. We’re instantly greeted by the staff at the front desk with a warm, welcoming smile.
‘Good evening,’ smiles the receptionist.
‘Hello, I’m Luke Taylor and this is Izzy.’
‘Izzy and Luke,’ says a guy running out of the office. ‘You’re here.’
He claps his hands together before holding them out to us.
‘I’m the manager, Grant. I was the one who asked Russell to contact you.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, offering my hand which he shakes.
‘So I’ve given you lovebirds our most romantic suite. You’re going to love it – it was redone in the spring. All our honeymooners go mad for it, especially the amazing baths.’
‘Ooh, I love a good soak,’ I say, thinking that I can hide in the bath to get away from Luke for an hour or two.
‘I’ll take you up there personally, I want to see your faces,’ he says, leading us upstairs.
‘This staircase is gorgeous.’
I run my hand along the wooden banister. I love the way that it bends round. It’s the type that you can imagine a princess gliding down.
‘Everyone loves this staircase, especially brides,’ he says with a not-so-subtle wink.
Luke had better not be listening. I take a look over and luckily he’s swiping on his phone oblivious.
‘You know, we’re not only an extremely popular wedding venue but proposal venue too. There aren’t many couples that come here for a romantic weekend away and leave without a ring on a finger, eh, Luke?’
He looks up from his phone and Grant repeats himself.
‘Did you hear that, honey?’ he says, much to Grant’s delight.
I’ve only just met him but I can imagine what he’s thinking: if we got engaged here it would be an advertiser’s dream.
I look at Luke’s giant case and hope that it’s not hiding a very tiny ring box.
We head into a lift to the top floor and find ourselves in a corridor with only one door.
‘And here’s your suite.’
He flings the door open and we walk into an amazingly opulent room where everything vies for my attention: the modern four-poster bed, the ornate fireplace, the large sash windows that I bet when it’s light will reveal sweeping views across the countryside, and the his and her bathtubs in front of the window right in the middle of the main room.
‘Nice, huh?’ says Grant. ‘The bathtubs are such a hit with everyone who stays here.’
Luke is nodding. ‘I’m sure we’re going to love those, aren’t we, honey?’
I nod, disappointed that I’m not going to have my lazy soak after all. I pan round the room until I get to the bathroom.
‘Whoa,’ I say, unable to find the words. Instead I point at the glass wall that separates the bathroom from the bedroom. The toilet is parallel to the bed and the shower faces it.
My stomach starts to pinch in revulsion.
‘We find it transforms the bathroom space, makes it so light,’ says Grant.
‘Clever idea,’ says Luke, seemingly unfazed.
‘It’s quite a bold statement, isn’t it?’ I say, almost hyperventilating. ‘I mean what happens if you’re in the early stages of your relationship?’
Or not even in one?
‘I’m sure that isn’t an issue for you two lovebirds,’ says Grant, dismissing my concerns.
‘And the bed,’ I say, ‘that looks a little small for double.’
When he said we had a suite, I’d imagined some super-duper king-size bed that would have felt like Luke and I were sleeping in different postcodes. Or maybe even a sofa that one of us could escape to, but there’s only a small chaise longue that would leave your legs hanging off the end.
‘We did initially test the room with super-king beds but the feedback was that couples wanted to come together on their break and they felt they were getting lost in the beds.’
‘That’s perfect for us, we love to cuddle,’ says Luke and I try not to outwardly cringe.
‘Perfect. I knew you guys were going to love it. Now, I’ve got a whole list of activities for you to try tomorrow, but tonight we can offer you a table in the restaurant or perhaps you’d like room service instead?’
He’s hinting at every turn that all we’re going to do is have sex in this room. It’s making me want to escape.
‘Restaurant,’ I say and Luke nods.
‘Great choice. I’ll leave you to freshen up. I’ll book you a table, for what, 8 p.m.?’
‘That would be great,’ says Luke.
‘I’ll leave you the details of what you can do tomorrow and we’ll chat again in the morning and you can tell me your picks,’ he says, clapping his hands. ‘The photographer will be on site from eleven.’
He hands me the printout and I look down at it: clay-pigeon shooting, falconry, yoga, spa, horse riding. Looks like we won’t have to be trapped alone in our room trying not to watch each other go to the toilet. Hurrah.
Grant closes the door and Luke’s about to jump on the bed, but I manage to stop him.
‘We’ve got to take a photo of the rose petals on the bed first,’ I say, holding his arm back and pulling out my phone. There’s a red heart made of petals on the crisp white sheets.
‘How many roses do you reckon it took to make those – one, two? That’s pretty cheap but effective.’
I don’t even bother to roll my eyes anymore; I’ve become immune to him mining every romantic trope for exploitative purposes.
My stomach pinches again and I rub my belly.
‘You OK?’ asks Luke. ‘You’re wincing.’
‘My tummy feels a little bit weird.’
I’m hit again by a pain that’s sharp and sudden. I look over to the toilet. Oh no. Do not do this. Not yet. I was hoping that I could hold off going to the loo until I went down to dinner, but my stomach growls angrily and I doubt I could even make it down to the lobby.
I run into the toilet and panic washes over me. I hastily grab a towel and hold it up with one hand whilst pulling my pants down with the other, in a mad scramble to get on the toilet. What happens next isn’t pretty and I look behind my towel to see Luke lying on the bed. Oh God. He must have heard every little noise. I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that we’re not a real couple. I’m guessing this particular scenario would be a pretty embarrassing moment in any couple’s relationship, perhaps I should be grateful I already feel slightly ashamed when I look at him.
My arms holding the towel start to shake and I feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. My stomach lurches again only this time it’s different – I’m going to be sick. With no time to think about it, I wrap the towel round my waist, flush the toilet and immediately vomit.
When the wave of vomiting finishes, my head starts to throb and I shuffle backwards so that I’m leaning back against the cold hard wall tiles.
There’s a knock on the glass. I look up expecting it to be Luke checking on me but I spot his green face and I know what he needs to do. I flush the loo again and pick up the bin before crawling towards the door.
‘Holy shit,’ he says.
‘Uh-huh,’ I say as I shut him in. Luckily he’s got the TV on and it’s up loud so I don’t hear anything. Instead I sit huddled on the floor hugging the bin, trying to ignore my stomach pains.
When eventually it becomes unbearable I crawl towards the bathroom.
I shield my eyes with my hand before knocking on the glass.
‘Hang on,’ shouts Luke and I hear the flush going. ‘Can you wait?’
‘Nope,’ I say, reaching up for the door handle.
‘OK, come in,’ he shouts.
He barely makes it out of the bathroom when I reach the toilet.
It’s a long time before I get back up again and I put the towel round my waist and splash water on my face at the sink, before I sink down onto the floor. It feels safer to stay within reach.
Luke taps on the glass and comes in and washes water on his face too.
‘Bloody hell, those spring rolls,’ I say, my stomach churning. ‘I’m guessing eating prawn spring rolls that have sat out of the fridge in Tupperware all day wasn’t the best idea.’
My body goes into spasm as my stomach cramps.
Luke hands me a cold, wet flannel and I pop it on my clammy forehead.
‘What are we going to tell Grant? We can’t tell them we’ve got the shits.’
‘He did drop enough hints about us being curled up in our love den. I’ll ring down and tell them we’ll order room service for dinner. We can take photos of it and he’ll never know we didn’t eat it.’
‘But what about the photos on Insta stories?’
‘We’ll fake them. It’s not like we don’t anyway. We’ll run the baths and put loads of bubbles in, and we could have another photo of us in robes and face masks,’ I say. I feel too rough to worry about all the deceit.
‘Did you bring face masks?’
‘No, but we can put that moisturiser on our face,’ I say pointing at the decanter on the side. ‘Oh hang on. Get out, get out, get out.’
Luke moves like lightning. I no longer seem to care that I’m flashing my bits through the glass as I scramble back onto the loo.
When I eventually make it out, Luke’s on the phone.
‘Uh-huh, yeah, room service. No, it’s OK, I don’t think the chef needs to do that,’ he says going greener, presumably at the mention of food. ‘OK, if you insist. And could we also get some fizzy water? Uh-huh, of course Prosecco,’ he says, wincing. ‘Great. Thanks.’
He puts the phone down and rolls over on the bed.
‘Oh bloody hell, here I go again,’ he says, dashing to the bathroom.
I close my eyes and wonder if this is karma for what we’re doing.