The taxi pulls up to our hotel and for a minute I think there’s been some mistake. A doorman opens our door, and I sit there frozen in shock and Will has to nudge me along.
I reluctantly step out, not believing that this is where we’re supposed to be. The heat hits me immediately, like it did when I stepped off the plane, our bodies still in shock that we no longer need the winter coats and hoodies that we took to the airport.
The taxi driver unpacks our cases on to the gold-framed luggage trolley, before it’s whisked inside by a porter.
‘Right, then,’ says Will, ‘Shall we go and check in.’
I stand there motionless, trying to take it in. It’s nothing like our usual holiday accommodation, which is usually a small shoebox-style apartment, picked for price rather than comfort. This resort’s ridiculously fancy. When I’d checked it out on their website I’d just assumed that they’d used a very good photographer, but even those glossy images didn’t do this place justice.
We move from white-walled covered walkway, which is lined with palm trees and plants with bright pink flowers, into the lobby. I get my first glimpse of the pool beyond, which is glistening in the sunlight. My whole body is tingling in anticipation.
‘Can I help?’ asks the receptionist with a wide smile.
‘Um, yes. I’ve got a reservation. The name is Talbot,’ says Will.
The woman looks down at her computer screen and the longer she takes the more I keep thinking that she’s going to tell us there’s been some mistake, that we don’t have a room here. It’s all been some cruel trick and in fact our hotel bears the same name but is down the road.
‘Ah,’ she says nodding. ‘Mr Talbot. Here we are. Let’s get you all sorted.’
I practically shriek with joy when she confirms that we’re going to be staying here.
As Will hands over his passport and fills out forms, I walk over to one of the comfy sofas in the corner and perch on a seat, helping myself to the complimentary mints in the centre of the table.
I try and stop myself from scooping up extra ones to put in my pocket for later. I’m sure that’s not how one should behave in such an opulent resort. Instead, I peruse the book exchange in the corner, and try and pretend that I belong somewhere like this.
I see a man come to Will and shake his hand as if he’s a long-lost friend.
‘Mr Talbot, so great to welcome you to the hotel,’ says the man in the suit.
‘Thanks,’ says Will, scanning the room to see me. ‘This is my girlfriend, Lexi.’
He points over to me, and I get off the seat and walk over to join them.
‘Ah,’ nods the man. ‘Lexi, nice to meet you too. You are very welcome to stay at the Tropical Beach Hotel.’
I smile. These five-star places are so welcoming. You don’t get this type of introduction in your budget apartment – well, not unless it’s from a rep who’s trying to sell you an overpriced excursion.
‘Now, I’m Joe, the concierge,’ he says to me, ignoring Will. ‘If there’s anything you need during your stay, you let me know.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, beaming. The smiles here are infectious.
He pats Will on the back, and goes off to a desk in the corner.
‘Shall we go and find our bungalow?’ says Will, holding up the key.
‘Absolutely.’
I’m trying so hard to keep a lid on my excitement as we walk past the sprawling pool in front of us. Jealous of those already soaking up the rays and sporting their spectacular tans. And wondering how long it will take me to find my bikini in my suitcase so that I can join them.
We head past the pool into the gardens, which are landscaped with a mixture of different types of palm tree and plants full of lush-smelling brightly coloured flowers.
‘Look,’ I say pointing in wonder at a little neon-green lizard that runs across our path.
‘It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?’ says Will, as if he can’t believe it himself.
I know Will said he got a good deal, but I’m amazed he picked somewhere like this. It’s the kind of hotel you’d expect the cricket team to be staying in, rather than the supporters.
I stop dead.
‘Will, the English cricket team aren’t staying here, are they?’
‘Not that I know of. I’m sure they’d probably be staying at a Hilton or something.’
I relax and start walking again.
‘Here we are,’ says Will. ‘103.’
I look up at the bungalow. In my head I’d imagined more of a small chalet like you get in self-catering resorts in France, but this is a little whitewashed brick building that looks like a mini-villa. It’s got a terrace at the front with a wooden table and chairs, and sliding French doors leading inside.
Will unlocks the doors and we walk into the lounge area, which has a large L-shaped white sofa with oversized fuchsia cushions. There’s a small kitchen area to the far side, edged with a breakfast bar with high stools, and to our right a glass-topped dining room table and chairs.
‘Wow, this place is great,’ I say, dumping my handbag on the sofa and going through the door at the back of the lounge. I gasp as I see the four-poster bed, complete with white curtains tied up at the sides. I spot the little door to the bathroom in the corner and yelp as I see the wet room, decorated with camel-coloured marble tiles.
I’m suddenly torn between whether to test out the shower or the pool first.
I head back into the bedroom, and Will is tipping the porter who’s deposited our cases in our room. Once we’re alone, he gives me a big grin before diving on to the bed.
‘Ah, man, this is comfy,’ he says, groaning.
I can’t help but jump on it too, and I land in a heap, bashing into him.
‘You’re like some fairy elephant.’
‘Oi, watch it,’ I say, grabbing a pillow and hitting him playfully.
‘Oh, is that how it is? Don’t make me tickle you.’
I go to squirm off the bed. I cannot stand being tickled by Will. He knows just the spot behind my ear that makes me go crazy.
He grabs my arm before I can make my mistake and pulls me towards him.
He runs his hand dangerously close to my ear before he strokes my face instead and kisses me.
‘What do you want to do first? Go and check out the pool? Get something to eat?’
He goes to get off the bed and I pull him back down.
‘How about we stay right here for a bit,’ I say, snuggling into the crook of his arm and realising that I’m actually knackered from the flight. ‘We’ve got all week to explore. Right now I don’t want to move.’
‘That’s fine by me.’
He kisses me on the top of the head and gives me a squeeze and I wish we could stay in this magical moment for the whole holiday. No cricket. No revenge. Just me and Will.
*
It seems that I wasn’t the only one that was tired after travelling. I woke up in Will’s embrace three hours later, with a dead arm. The room was darker, and it took a while for me to work out where I was. I’d woken Will up as I wriggled out from under him.
After a not so quick shower – that wet room was every bit as fantastic as it looks – we’ve made it out for dinner and our first proper Barbados experience.
‘Now, apparently there are some really nice restaurants across the road on the beach. Shall we go there?’ asks Will, as he leads me through the resort gardens. The sun is starting to set, and the sky’s gone a dusky red colour. The little lanterns along the path have lit up and are flickering like candles.
‘Sounds perfect.’
I grab Will’s hand and can’t help swinging it as we walk along. We walk past the pool that’s now empty and looking serenely still. There are a few people sitting at the wicker tables of the pool bar and the faint sounds of UB40 are drifting out.
‘That looks nice and chilled.’
‘Yeah, perhaps we can go for a drink there after.’
I nod and we walk though reception. Joe gives us an enthusiastic wave.
‘Have a lovely evening,’ he calls.
‘Everyone’s so nice and friendly,’ I say.
‘Uh-huh, it’s their job though, isn’t it?’ he says, obviously not as impressed as I am. ‘I can’t wait to eat; I’m starving.’
‘Me too. I didn’t eat much of that chicken on the plane.’
‘Me neither.’
We stroll hand in hand across the quiet road, and within a few steps down an alleyway we’re on the beach.
‘Wow, this is beautiful.’
There’s a small sandy beach in front of us, with big waves crashing noisily in the surf. It’s pretty much deserted, aside from another couple walking further down. There are a few small hotels lining the edge and a couple of restaurants with tables and chairs butting up against the promenade. It’s as close to paradise as I think we’ll ever get.
That is until I spot the first restaurant. My heart sinks as I see the giant TV screens hanging inside. The outside of it might look beautiful. It has a shabby-chic whitewashed wood exteri-or, no glass in the windows, and what looks to be fishing gear pinned on the walls and wine bottles on the tables with candles in. But if I’m not mistaken, and judging by the all-male clientele, this is very much a sports bar, and not what I had in mind.
I brace myself for Will to lead me in, but instead we walk straight past. He barely looks at it, and doesn’t even remark on the fact that they’re showing cricket. Instead, we go to the restaurant next door, which is beautiful in a completely different way. There’s a large outdoor terrace that has white muslin drapes, like our bedposts, giving diners a sense of privacy, and the tables are surrounded by a mixture of blue and turquoise chairs that mirror the adjacent sea.
It’s still fairly early, and with the restaurant being so empty the waiter seats us on a table overlooking the beach.
‘I can’t believe we’re actually here,’ I say, trying not to pinch myself as I sit down.
‘I know.’
‘Just think, we could have been at home stripping that awful wallpaper right now.’
‘God, could you imagine.’
‘It was your idea. Taking a week off to do the DIY,’ I say, laughing.
‘Well, we’re going to have to do it at some point. I’m sure that alien wallpaper makes me have weird dreams.’
‘Perhaps. I can do a bit over Christmas.’
‘Yeah, right, as if you’d take time off from watching The Wizard of Oz and eating Quality Street.’
‘Oh, that’s a point,’ I say, thinking how well he knows me. ‘Can’t mess with tradition.’
‘I could always do it one weekend.’
‘Ha, and miss the football?’
That’s even more unlikely than me dragging my expanded post-Christmas belly off the sofa.
‘I think there’s a weekend in a couple of weeks’ time where there’s none on as they’re playing midweek internationals.’
‘Ah, well that’s a date then.’
‘Not the kind of stripping on a date I’d usually have in mind, but I guess needs must.’
I laugh. I like holiday us. The relaxed banter that flows easily and isn’t interrupted by an argument over whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher or who used the last loo roll and didn’t replace it. It’s nice to sit and chat without being in a hurry to do something or go somewhere. Or, in Will’s case, a game to watch.
We order our food and it isn’t long before the waiter comes back over with our bottle of wine.
‘Here’s to a great holiday,’ says Will, lifting his glass up.
I chink my glass with his and hold his gaze as I do, trying to work out what’s happened to Will. He seems to have morphed into the perfect boyfriend, no revenge needed.