An Almost Perfect Holiday

by Lucy Diamond

  They’d all stared at the good-looking guy striding confidently along Clarence Street in dark jeans with a cool purple shirt. Okay, so he was middle-aged, she realized in the next moment, nearer her dad’s age in fact, but he was undeniably handsome, tall and with this sexy sort of walk. Yeah, he’d do.

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Miko approvingly, and Izzie’s tension eased a fraction. ‘That’s definitely a man, not a boy.’

  ‘You dirty girl,’ Ruby said, one eyebrow raised, but she was smiling and it was obvious she was mucking about.

  That might have been the end of it – the moment slipping into the tidal pull of conversation and forgotten, as a new topic surfaced – if it hadn’t been for the fact that, just then, as they were all looking at the man, a woman approached him. Izzie gulped in a stunned breath and watched with disbelief as the smiling woman touched a hand to the man’s arm. In the next moment the two of them were locked in a passionate kiss. Izzie’s mind pounded. Her mouth dried to chalk. What the hell . . . ?

  ‘No way,’ Tej had whooped. ‘Is that your mum?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Lily squawked. ‘Wait – so is that your dad?’

  ‘No!’ Izzie cried, her face scorching again. ‘I don’t fancy my dad. Jesus!’ She had blinked and stared, unable to believe what she was seeing, as her mum and this man – this handsome purple-shirted man! – eventually disentangled from their kiss and went into a nearby café together. Her heart was going nuts. Mum was dating? Since when?

  ‘Oh my God,’ Miko was laughing. ‘You fancy your mum’s new boyfriend. Awkward!’

  ‘No wonder she didn’t want to talk about him,’ Ruby spluttered.

  ‘This is like EastEnders,’ Tej added gleefully. ‘So are you two, like, rivals? So juicy!’

  However hard Izzie protested, the teasing went on mercilessly, the subject apparently of the greatest hilarity to her friends. And of course ever since then, there had been sly digs and questions, raised eyebrows and smirks. Especially when Lily found out they were all going on holiday together. How’s the dad-bod looking in trunks??? Get in there!! she had put on the group chat just that morning, to Izzie’s mortification.

  Yeah, we want pictures of the budgie smugglers!! Ruby added.

  Go on, we’ll give you five points if you can get a flirty selfie with him, Tej wrote, with crying-laughing emojis.

  Ten points if you’re both wearing swimming gear and actually touching each other’s bodies, Miko added. Dare you!!!!

  Obviously they were only mucking about, but it was starting to get a bit annoying. Because Izzie totally didn’t fancy George, all right? She didn’t! He was old and kind of wrinkly around the eyes, and he told really bad dad-jokes all the time, and liked Formula One, which was surely the most boring thing on earth. This was what she kept telling her friends anyway. What she wasn’t telling them, and what she could hardly even bear to admit to herself, was that yes, okay, there was something about George’s laugh that made her feel peculiarly liquid inside. And how when he teased you, or really paid attention to you, it was like basking in the warmth of the sun; a sun that was almost too bright, too dazzling to remain comfortable under, after a while.

  She liked how he whistled around their house whenever he stayed over, really loudly and cheerfully, and made scrambled egg for breakfast – tons of it, with piles of toast, as if he was used to feeding an army. He was generous too, thinking nothing of leaving a large tip for the waiting staff if they went out, or slipping her and Jack a tenner each if they wanted to see something at the cinema. If he was a colour, he’d be something classy and cool, she thought. A charcoal grey, maybe, or a dark red, like wine. You could trust someone who was that colour. You could feel enchanted by them too.

  Oh, it was torture, trying to keep a lid on her feelings! He had picked her up from babysitting the other week because Mum hated driving in the dark, and she’d even found herself appreciating the way he drove, confident and decisive; noting favourably to herself how nice his car smelled compared to Mum’s. She had leaned back in the seat as the dark world outside rushed past them, the street lights blurring into streaky lines, and she’d imagined for a crazy, heady moment that George was her lover. Wondered what he would do if she pulled her shirt off over her head and offered her bare breasts to him. Here I am. How do you like me now? Was this how it felt to be in love?

  Of course she hadn’t done any of those things – as if! She cringed every time she thought about it now, but at the time her heart had galloped so loud at the images she’d conjured up that she’d half-expected him to notice. How she would die if he noticed!

  The sobering fact, however, was that he was Mum’s boyfriend. Also he made Mum super-happy, like singing-in-the-shower happy, which she hadn’t been for years. So for Izzie to be having these tumultuous, crazed thoughts left her feeling confused and disloyal, as if the ground was tilting beneath her feet. Her friends might think it was all a big joke, but she was starting to feel weird about being in the same room with George. And yet it was so hard to stay away from him.

  That morning over breakfast he had started asking her about her plans for sixth form and when Izzie said she wanted to do Art as an A-level, he’d said ‘Oh!’ in a really pleased-sounding way, before telling her he’d done that as an A-level too and always wished he’d gone on to art college, rather than heading into business. They had bonded, you know? George had got out his iPad and shown her some Caravaggio paintings that he’d seen in Rome, and she’d been able to say some reasonably intelligent-sounding things in response – in between Seren’s attempts to sabotage the conversation, that was – and they’d ended up having a really good chat. She had felt noticed, properly listened to, especially when Mum, overhearing, had said, ‘Oi, you, I’ve been trying to persuade her to do something vaguely useful like Economics instead of Art’ and George had pulled a face at Izzie and replied, ‘Sorry, Em, but I’m on your daughter’s side for this one.’ A thrill had gone starbursting through her at his conspiratorial grin. Did that mean she fancied him or was it something else?

  Jack shouted just then and Izzie snapped out of her reverie to find herself back on her bike and passing a small cove, with a row of painted beach huts on their right. The sea was spread out before them, its dark-blue ripples winking and twinkling under the morning sun, with a couple of people out on the water in kayaks.

  Down on the shingly sand there were kids building sandcastles and dads using big rocks to hammer in the poles of windbreaks, and one family starting a game of beach cricket. For a moment Izzie had a lump in her throat, remembering holidays when her parents had still been together; how they’d all been obsessed with beach cricket themselves one summer, ridiculously competitive, playing for the prize of chicken and chips from their favourite takeaway. And then she was tumbling all the way back down memory lane, thinking about how her dad would always insist on walking miles down the sand on any given beach until he found the perfect spot, and how Mum would roll her eyes affectionately in his wake. How she and Jack would spend ages building forts near the shoreline and carving out a moat and channels, so that when the tide started coming in, they would fill with frothing sea water . . .

  Sometimes she wished you didn’t have to grow up. She’d have liked to be a small girl on holiday forever, collecting shells in a plastic bucket and sprinkling a paper packet of salt on her chips before being tucked into bed at night, safe and sound, all responsibilities taken away from her. It would be a lot easier than trying to compete with her daring friends in their Summer of Yes, that was for sure.

  ‘Is this it?’ Jack had stopped in a small car-park area and now gestured at the beach, looking confused.

  Izzie braked beside him. ‘No! Of course not,’ she scoffed, getting her phone out to check the map. ‘There’s the whole town further ahead.’ She showed Jack the screen with the route marked out. ‘See? We have to keep going, past this lagoon thing.’ She said the last bit hurriedly because she wasn’t sure if ‘lagoon’ was the right word for the
large pool over on their left. Geography had never been her strong point, as would no doubt be proven when her exam results came in later that summer.

  ‘What are we going to do when we get there anyway?’ This was Amelia, the girl from the neighbouring cottage, who had the most badly pencilled eyebrows Izzie had ever seen, along with some seriously terrible orange foundation. She was from Reading, apparently, although Izzie had heard her saying to Jack that it was ‘near London’. Even Izzie, geography failure of the year, knew that this description was stretching the truth way past the point of elasticity.

  Jack hesitated, then looked at Izzie.

  ‘Don’t ask me!’ she retorted snottily. ‘I didn’t even want to go in the first place.’

  Jack glanced back to the beach. ‘Skinny-dipping?’ he suggested, raising an eyebrow at Amelia.

  Izzie guffawed, not wanting the other girl to feel under pressure. Her brother was all mouth and no trousers. ‘Go on then, you first,’ she told him. ‘Me and Amelia will watch and give you marks out of ten for execution.’

  Amelia snorted. ‘Bonus marks if you make any small children cry,’ she said.

  Unperturbed, Jack slouched over his handlebars with a shrug. ‘You suggest something then,’ he said.

  Amelia looked pleased to be asked. ‘Well,’ she said, delving a hand into her bag and pulling out a bottle with golden liquid inside. It glittered under the sun like something magical as she turned the bottle so that they could read the label. ‘José Cuervo Especial,’ it said, followed by the words ‘Tequila Reposado’. ‘I did bring this.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Jack was easily impressed. ‘Good one!’

  Izzie did her best to look nonchalant, like it was no big deal. Amelia was fourteen, two years younger than Izzie, and she couldn’t allow herself to be bested. ‘Okaaaaay,’ she said, in her coolest drawl. ‘That’s going to make the day more interesting. Let me just get out my amyls and we’ll have a party.’

  ‘You don’t have any—’ Jack began saying, but she glared at him.

  ‘I’m joking, dickhead. Obviously,’ she said. She eyed Amelia, trying to channel Lily, her most worldly-wise friend. Head tilted. You don’t impress me. ‘So are you opening that, or what? Or is it just for show?’

  Amelia gave a lazy smile. ‘Let’s go into town first. It’s boring here,’ she said, stuffing the bottle back in her bag. Then she tossed her long dark hair over one shoulder and pedalled away.

  Jack and Izzie looked at each other, then followed.

  A short while later they’d found their way into Falmouth and wheeled their bikes through the busy shopping area and out towards the docks. ‘This’ll do,’ said Amelia, gesturing at a bench and flopping down without waiting for any kind of consensus.

  Jack, who appeared to be her new devotee, sat down beside her at once and Izzie stifled a prickle of annoyance. All of a sudden Amelia was the one calling the shots, as if the tequila bottle had gifted her the power of authority. When Izzie, as the eldest, should rightfully be the one in charge. With an audible sniff, she tried to convey her pique by sitting down at the far end of the bench, facing slightly away from the others.

  ‘So who wants to play Truth or Dare?’ Amelia asked, waggling an eyebrow at Jack.

  Izzie, already feeling like a gooseberry, stood up again. ‘I think I’ll leave you two to it,’ she said, as Amelia uncapped the tequila. ‘I’m going for a wander.’

  ‘She’s scared,’ said Jack, the traitor, and made a chicken noise.

  ‘I am not!’ Izzie retaliated.

  Amelia tilted back her head and took a swallow of the tequila, and Izzie found herself staring at the girl’s soft exposed throat as she gulped it down. Then Amelia held out the bottle towards Izzie: a challenge.

  Izzie hesitated, knowing that if she refused, the other two would cackle and call her a coward. Yet if she went ahead and drank, she’d have to stay and get drawn into whatever game Amelia was playing. Who knew where that could lead? Then she imagined herself reporting back to the group chat later: Got smashed on tequila down by the docks. Party time! – and the prospect of finally scoring a few points was enough to make her snatch the bottle from Amelia’s hand.

  She put it to her lips before she could change her mind. The tequila smelled absolutely disgusting, like nail-varnish remover, but the others were both goggling at her, so she raised the bottle and drank. ‘Oh my God,’ she blurted out afterwards, passing it on to Jack. Her eyes watered as the alcohol slammed into her bloodstream and her head swam. The taste, meanwhile . . . How did anyone drink that stuff for pleasure? ‘Not bad,’ she managed to say, wiping her mouth.

  ‘Jesus,’ croaked Jack as he too took a glug – a big one, no doubt trying to impress Amelia. ‘My head’s on fire.’

  Amelia laughed. ‘You two are a right pair of lightweights,’ she said, swigging out of the bottle again. Then she gave Izzie a long, cool stare. ‘So. Izzie – Truth or Dare?’

  Chapter Six

  Several miles inland, Em was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, drinking black coffee from a cardboard cup and waving intermittently at Seren and George as they became visible in one of the corners of the vast soft-play area before vanishing again. The air was thick with the sound of shrieks and the smell of wet nappies, her coffee had come from a vending machine and was atrociously bad, and the couple at the next table to hers were having a massive hissy row. Everything was brightly coloured and seemed unpleasantly dazzling to the eye, not least because of the scant amount of sleep she’d had the night before. Her head throbbed. Maybe this was the catch to the relationship, after all. Terms and conditions apply.

  Admittedly the lack of sleep had been mostly due to the combination of unfamiliar bed and very handsome boyfriend, and she certainly wasn’t complaining about that, but then Seren had come in at three o’clock in the morning, saying plaintively that she’d had a bad dream, and Em had spent the rest of the night in a half-awake hinterland, alert to every last creak and groan of the cottage’s timbers, unable to drift into slumber once more. (George, meanwhile, had fallen instantly back asleep, thereby proving that it wasn’t only Dom, Em’s ex, who possessed this enviable skill.)

  The bad night had had its coffin nails hammered fully in when Seren returned shortly after seven, to say that she was hungry and wanted breakfast. Any normal person might have grunted and let the child’s actual parent take over this duty, but idiotic Em had insisted on getting up and playing the part of hostess, hurriedly dabbing on some tinted moisturizer and a lick of mascara and then getting stuck in. Hot drinks for her and George, warm milk for Seren, and then she’d whipped up a batch of fluffy American pancakes, which she served with streaky bacon and maple syrup. ‘Wow,’ laughed George as she presented him with a plate heaped high. ‘I’m coming to this restaurant again.’ Even Seren stopped looking quite so surly for a few minutes as she drowned the pancakes with syrup and dug in.

  ‘This looks like a fun place to go!’ Em had cried later that morning, holding up the leaflet for the petting zoo she’d found amidst the cottage’s information pack. Jack had already informed her that he was going out with a girl he’d met from the next cottage; and Izzie, facing the prospect of being the sole teen stuck with the adults and Seren, had grudgingly opted for her brother’s company instead. No problem, Em had thought, trying to maintain her holiday sparkle. In that case, Seren could be the centre of attention.

  ‘There are loads of animals, a little train ride, a playground . . . all sorts of stuff,’ she went on. ‘What do you think, Seren?’

  Seren, arranging some Sylvanian Families dogs into a circle on the kitchen floor, completely ignored her – rude little madam – and so George had stepped in, repeating the same offer to her, pretty much in the exact same words, to which Seren had given him a willing smile and lisped, ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Great,’ said Em through gritted teeth. ‘That’s a plan then.’

  Her own two had always loved such places when they were of a similar age, clamouring t
o go on tractor rides and enjoying being able to stroke and feed assorted animals. This one was a mere five miles from where they were staying, the forecast was good, and she was sure they would all have a lovely time. Day one of the holiday and she was already winning.

  Unfortunately, the reality was not working out quite as idyllically as she’d envisaged so far.

  First stop: the petting zoo, where Seren had been scared of the pygmy goats. No, she didn’t want to hold a baby rabbit. She definitely didn’t want to feed the ponies. She didn’t even want to go down the big astro-slides.

  ‘Come on! It’ll be really fun,’ Em said encouragingly. ‘Look, I’ll go first to show you it’s not scary, okay?’

  How to feel like a complete weirdo, shoving your feet into a sack, gaily crying ‘Wheeee!’ and praying that your bottom wouldn’t become wedged in the rather too-narrow sides as you slid down, she found herself thinking moments later. Other kids were staring at her – possibly in alarm, rather than awe – but Seren didn’t even give her that courtesy, which made her feel even more of a chump. (George at least had been gallant enough to put a thumb up and wink. ‘Incredibly athletic performance there, Em,’ he’d said, as Seren tugged at his hand to go elsewhere.)

  ‘How about soft-play, then?’ Em suggested weakly in the end when they entered its deafening arena. ‘Me and your dad will sit here and have a coffee while we watch you, Seren. Doesn’t it look cool?’

  Izzie and Jack had never needed the slightest bit of encouragement when it came to these primary-coloured monstrosities, flinging off their shoes and racing in without a backward glance, leaping joyfully into the ball-pit and crawling through tunnels with abandon. Seren, though, was less keen. ‘Daddy, you come with me,’ she’d said, clutching at his hand and towing him towards the entrance.

  ‘Oh, but I think it’s really for children,’ he had said, eyeing up the café counter. ‘I’m not sure daddies are allowed to—’