Break-Up Club: A smart, funny novel about love and friendship. Lorelei Mathias

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       4. Habana

      ‘Ride horseback through the world heritage site of the Vinales Valley. Salsa through the streets of Trinidad, Cuba’s museum city….’

      Holly looked up from the ‘Havanatur’ leaflet and watched the travel agent, Cheryl, tapping away at her screen. Holly read on, beginning to swoon at the very idea of getting away. ‘Lose yourself in frenetic La Habana Vieja. Enjoy home-cooked cuisine in a cosy “Casa Particulare”. There’s more to Cuba than Communism and Cohibas…’

      ‘OK,’ interrupted Cheryl. ‘The cheapest thing I’ve got for you guys is with Iberia, change Madrid, for seven nine six including taxes and fuel surcharges. How about it?’

      Holly gulped. ‘Wow. It’s four months from now, and it’s that much already?’

      ‘Or can do you a nice package deal to Varadero, if you like, for let’s see – eight nine?’

      Holly turned to Lawrence. They both had the same policy on package holidays: a resounding ‘Hell, no.’ Holiday Reps were ‘for wimps from Wilmslow’ was Lawrence’s saying and he was sticking to it.

      ‘No, that’s OK, we’ll take the flight and play it by ear when we get there.’ Holly smiled at Lawrence, a scene playing in her mind of the two of them on a motorcycle, cruising up a highway lined with palm trees, whizzing past wild horses and tobacco plantations, her hair blowing in the wind, her arms clasped around him as he rounded corners at break-neck speed. Obviously, for the purposes of this daydream, Lawrence looked a lot more like Gael García Bernal than he did in reality.

      ‘OK, if you’re sure,’ said Cheryl. ‘Actually, you get in quite late from this flight, would you like me to book your first night’s accommodation?’

      ‘Makes sense – thanks,’ Holly said, looking at Lawrence, who was nodding.

      ‘Well, here’s one hotel we recommend. The Saratoga. A lot of our customers have loved it there.’

      Cheryl rotated her monitor to show a maroon webpage displaying a dreamlike wonderland straight out of a catalogue for Paradise. It was all gilded interiors, high ceilings and colonial architecture. There was even a lavish rooftop pool overlooking the whole of Havana. Basically, gulp.

      ‘Wow,’ Holly said, ‘that’s Havana heaven.’

      Lawrence squeezed her hand. ‘Imagine getting into that pool after a nine and a half hour flight. That’s not Havana, that’s Navana.’

      ‘Ick, Lawrence!’ shouted Holly. ‘Did you just pun?’

      ‘Yes. You’re right I did. I’m sorry, it was a proper stinker too; I just couldn’t hold it in.’

      Lawrence pretended to ‘fan’ the air around him, as if to rid the air of the stench, while Cheryl looked on, bemused.

      ‘Sorry. How much is it per night?’ Holly asked.

      ‘200 convertible pesos. I’m not sure what that is in sterling at the moment.’

      ‘Let’s take it!’ Lawrence said. ‘It’s a poor country, isn’t it? Pesos probably aren’t worth much, are they?’

      Holly knew how ridiculous Lawrence sounded, but she just couldn’t take her eyes off the rooftop pool. ‘If you say so… It’s only one night anyway; we can rough it the rest of the time to make up for it.’

      ‘Smashing. So with the hotel included, the grand total comes to one seven nine fifty. Now, I will be needing the whole amount now on either a credit or debit card,’ she said, looking to Lawrence.

      ‘Wow. Flights to Paris for only £59.99!’ he said, staring at a poster on the wall. ‘That’s so much cheaper than Eurostar!’

      Holly shifted about in her seat. ‘One thing at a time, dear,’ she said in that way they sometimes did when they pretended they were an old married couple. Tentatively, she reached for her purse and dug out her credit card. ‘Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be more than that – see how it says “FROM” £59.99… that’s the trap to lure you in. Chances are, it’ll actually cost more like £159.99.’

      ‘Actually, the price is what it says it is,’ Cheryl added helpfully. ‘Sorry. I’ll just go and get the card machine.’ She smiled and then headed out into the back room.

      ‘So,’ Lawrence went on, ‘I’m just thinking, it might be good to book our tickets to Paris while we’re here. And maybe they can do us a special deal, since we’re spending so much already?’

      Holly felt a tiny knot form in her stomach.

      ‘Um, Lawrence, I already said, I’m not sure I want to go to the film festival. I thought you understood. Also, have you SEEN how much we’re about to spend? Sorry – I’m about to spend, since you can’t pay me back til next month? When for all I know I’ll be out of a job by the time we go?’

      ‘I know, Folly. And don’t think I’m not hugely, massively grateful, ’cause I really SO am! Don’t worry about the job stuff – I’ll help you come up with some ideas for shows. But I also just think it’s really important to spend money on something that might potentially help both our careers?’

      ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t think it will. Surely we’ve both got more chance of improving our careers if we actually use the time to make a film, rather than schmoozing about drinking champagne and watching other people’s work?’ The knot was growing in size. Now she was wondering if this whole thing wasn’t a huge mistake.

      Lawrence opened his mouth to protest, but Cheryl came back to the counter. She tapped some buttons and stared at the screen. ‘Oh. Computer’s frozen. I was just about to confirm your seats. Hang on, let me just reboot.’

      Holly could feel the Gobi desert relocating to her throat. Was it unfeasibly hot in here suddenly? Was this I.T. fail some kind of sign not to book the tickets? No… signs were nonsense. They’d been dreaming about this holiday since forever! Well, since their first date at a bar in Waterloo called Cubana, where they had danced salsa and smoked cigars until 3 a.m. As first dates went, it was up there with the best of them. It had started out with them watching a play at the Old Vic. Afterwards, they’d strolled along the Thames looking for somewhere to drink, completed the obligatory circuit as every bar was closing up, before heading back to the Cubana Bar with its reassuringly late license. They’d been the last to leave, but not before promising the Cuban musicians they’d all go and stay with their relatives in Havana one day. Which is how they came to be sat here now, in Tooting Bec Discount Travel Centre.

      ‘Holly,’ Lawrence interrupted her reverie.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Did you hear any of what I just said?’