Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter One

I don't really believe it's possible to go on any sort of vacation without making at least one enemy.

I mean, think about it - we acquire enemies pretty much everywhere we go in life, right? That neighbour who can't park their monster truck of a car without taking up all the available spaces outside your house? The colleague who constantly tries to undermine you? The shop assistant who always asks you for I.D. in your local Sainsburys despite the fact they were two years below you in school and know you're 31, but also somehow sense that you don't have any proof of age on you?

So it tracks that there will always be someone who will annoy you abroad too!

For example: the person at the pool who sticks a towel on the best sunlounger at 6am and then proceeds not to use it until a small window between approximately 2 and 3pm . . .  before abandoning it because "it's far too sunny here!".

I can actually go one better than that - and this is a true story! - by telling you about the absolute sociopath who actually watched what sunlounger I chose every day and would make sure she got out earlier than me the next day so she could bag that exact one. Seriously. I'd choose a new lounger each day as a result . . . And the following day, she'd be in that one. Deliberately avoiding my eyes, but smiling smugly to show she was doing it on purpose.

What is wrong with some people?

Or how about the person in the apartment next door who has loud phone conversations on their balcony in the middle of the night with the speaker on? This means you are woken up by both sides of a conversation about someone's haemorrhoids, interrupting your lovely dream about a nonexistent holiday romance. (Yes, this also happened to me.)

And if you're thinking right now, "this is the exact reason I always book a private villa - to avoid people like this" . . . Don't forget, you still have the plane journey to endure. Because you can make enemies there too. The arsehole who tries to steal the window seat you paid extra for. The folk in the aisle seat who push their way onto the plane to be first, then sigh dramatically when they need to get up again to let you sit down. The nervous flyer who spots a colonial woman on the wing - oh, wait, no, that was "Bridemaids". We'll let that one slide.

Anyway.

Right now, I am in a plane somewhere over mainland Europe, en route to the beautiful Greek island of Crete . . . and my current holiday enemy is in the aisle seat across from me. Somehow we have got the entire row to ourselves so I moved to the window seat as soon as the seat belt sign went off and I was permitted to do so, keen to put as much distance between us as possible. I was hoping they would do the same - a buffer of four seats as well as the aisle . . . But they've stubbornly chosen to remain in their original seat.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" The flight attendant asks me now, a bright smile painted on her face. "On the house, of course!"

Now, the free stuff I can certainly get on board (no pun intended) with. Everyone knows that aeroplane food and drink are ridiculously overpriced. The same applies to the airport. It's a lawless land where you can drink booze at any hour of the day without judgement . . . But possibly have to remortgage your house to pay for that privilege. So I'm going to take full advantage of this little bonus!

I quickly scan the menu. "Can I have two small bottles of Chenin Blanc and a cheese toastie, please?" I was too keyed up to eat anything in the airport lounge (despite it also being free), and my stomach is growling viciously at me now.

"And you, sir?" She turns to my holiday enemy. "Anything for you?"

Even though I'm stubbornly refusing to look at him, I can tell he's turned his charm up to one of the highest levels possible. The rays are so strong that they are invading my space, breaching my protective shield. It makes me really quite cross because no one else seems to realise how annoying this dude is. I'm the only one who sees through to his rotten core.

"May I have a toastie, too?" He requests, in a far politer tone than I'm used to hearing from him. "And a beer, please?"

"Of course!" The attendant simpers, while I simmer. She dishes out our drinks, then heads to the front of the plane to retrieve our hot food.

My chair shifts slightly, and my blood starts to boil as I realise he's moved across the aisle, settling himself in my original seat. "What the fuck are you doing?" I hiss at him. "Didn't we agree to keep our distance? Can't you just stick to your side of the plane?"

Jesus. It's like dealing with a wayward toddler! Being stuck with this idiot is going to be unbearable - best case scenario I return home with a full head of gray hair; worst case I probably throw myself off a cliff. After pushing him off it first, of course.

He merely chuckles, which angers me even more. "Come on, we need to at least pretend that we're the happy couple they assume we are. Can't you at least try, Rubik's Cube?"

"Don't call me that," I warn him, violently twisting the lid off one of my wine bottles while wishing desperately it was his neck. "You know I hate it!"

"And you know that's precisely why I do it, sweetheart." His voice is calm, but devious amusement hides in plain sight underneath. He's enjoying this. But then, he's always loved baiting me; he's never made a secret of that. I wouldn't be surprised if it topped the list of extra-curricular activities on his C.V.

I force myself to take a deep breath and turn in my seat to face him, meeting those knowing dark eyes full on. "I told you already . . . Bare minimum. That's the most effort I'm putting into this 'relationship'. And you agreed to that, too."

I guess this is the point where I should clarify that this guy isn't just my holiday enemy . . . He's actually been a nemesis of mine for a good few years already.

And yet somehow, I've ended up on a couples holiday with him for the next ten days . . .