The Honeymooners

One. Cake pops and trampolines

I throw the Thomas Cook brochure down on the car mats, stamping on it a few times just so my husband knows how mad I am about him cancelling our fourteen-night stay in Barbados. Some honeymoon this is going to be. I can smell the wet ground and farmyards already.

The gear stick cranks when Enzo changes speed, throwing us forward in our seats. "I still can't get used to this car."

No surprise there, the thing is ancient. "I can't even get my window down to let in some air. Why did you let my mum convince you that bringing the Beetle would be a good idea?"

Enzo slides his eyes to mine and tips his lips to the side. "It's romantic, don't you think?"

No. I didn't think anything about this trip other than disappointment.

Enzo reaches over for my hand. "I'm so chuffed you agreed to holiday in England. We'll have a ball. I promise you."

I could never stay mad at those eyes, as they soften into two chocolate pools of deliciousness. "I trust you. You've never let me down yet."

Enzo winks at me, turning to view the road. "Why don't you get those sandwiches out that your mum packed for us. I'm starving."

I loosen my seatbelt from around my body and rummage around in the backseat, finding the garishly bright cooler bag sat near my new pair of designer heels. It was a wedding present from Enzo which he surprised me with before telling me about Barbados.

I move to sit properly in my seat, slapping away Enzo's hands when he massages my bottom. Honestly, he got enough attention from me last night when we settled into our honeymoon suite. Oh yes, he did. But, I'll spare you the details.

I see the tiny sandwich triangles and smile into my hand, missing my mother already. There's a fruit salad in here as well as sealed packs of cookies. It's a real feast.

"We have chicken or ham," I say to Enzo, fighting with the cling film that keeps sticking to my hands.

Enzo drums his fingers on the steering wheel, looking totally relaxed. "Ham, please."

I give him a sandwich triangle and then get myself a chicken one. "Am I allowed to know where we are going or is it a surprise?"

Enzo shoves the whole piece of bread into his mouth and covers his mouth with his hand. "It's a surprise."

I look out the car window and see nothing but grass verges and trees. "I don't like surprises."

Well, not this kind of surprise anyway.

Enzo chuckles away to himself for a good two minutes, making me want to ask him what he's finding so funny. "You don't like surprises?"

My cheeks heat. "No."

"Ambrosia Queen of the 'You Better Be Throwing Me A Surprise Birthday Party, Or I'll Throw You A Fit' is admitting she doesn't like surprises. Wow."

I chew extra hard on a piece of apple wondering how I'm going to answer him back. Enzo is always so witty. "I only like good surprises."

"I see," he stifles a laugh with his hand and then reaches into the cooler bag for another sandwich. "And what would you call a good surprise, sweetheart?"

A spa day. Cooking lessons with Nigella Lawson. A VIP pass to a Beyoncé concert. I mean, does he even have to ask?  "A honeymoon in a hot country. Preferably Barbados."

Enzo keeps his eyes on the road. "And miss out on the chance to sleep under the stars and ride on a hay bale? No way."

I glance down at my tight denim jeans and silk blouse and cringe at the weeks to come. I don't like the outdoors unless it involves a festival. You can get dressed up for those in cute flowy tops and flower headdresses while you listen to your favourite bands. Maybe, Enzo has Glastonbury tickets, and that's why he wants to take us out into the country?