Sun, Sea and Sangria

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, taken aback by his sudden clamming up.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m not the one questioning life – I’m happy to talk through your problems but please don’t try and put them onto me and make out we’re in a similar position. With all due respect, we’re not and I’m fine.’

  ‘I … You’re right. I’m sorry,’ I stammer and I hate myself for it.

  ‘No …’ his tone is softer now, ‘… I’m sorry for sounding grumpy. I think moving so far south has given me a bad latitude.’

  I cast him a sideways glance and see he’s smirking. I shake my head.

  ‘That was terrible,’ I say, laughing softly and we fall into an amicable silence. He’s every right to keep his personal life private but I can’t help being drawn to his story, even though it’s obvious he doesn’t want to share it. When we reach the square outside our apartment block I sit on the wall of the fountain and to my surprise, he sits down next to me.

  ‘It’s normal you know.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Thinking about having a family and stuff. I’m the one who is probably a bit different.’

  ‘No, each to their own,’ I say. ‘I have been married before.’

  ‘Oh.’ He doesn’t pry but I find myself wanting to give a little more.

  ‘It didn’t work out and I’ve become a much stronger person on my own. I’m independent both financially and emotionally and I don’t want to jeopardise that. That’s why I’m scared to venture back into the world of dating.’

  He doesn’t reply; instead, he nods.

  ‘It sounds silly out loud but I have my reasons.’

  ‘You could always try it – one date wouldn’t mean settling down,’ he says. I know he’s right but it scares me so much.

  ‘It’s just all that stuff with Tommy dying that’s made me feel like this. I was fine before that. I guess it’s just shaken me up.’

  ‘Try it. Plenty of people use Tinder these days for casual dating. It doesn’t have to mean anything.’

  ‘I guess not,’ I say without conviction. ‘I just don’t think that sort of stuff is for me.’

  Jay furrows his brow, seemingly unconvinced. ‘How long have you been single?’

  I don’t need to run a mental calculation for that. ‘Almost nine years.’

  Jay whistles through his teeth. ‘Have you honestly not been on a date in all that time?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ve not felt the need to. I’ve always had the Heavenly Hunks to keep me busy.’

  ‘That’s fine if you’re happy. Forgive me for saying, but you can’t have been short of offers.’

  Heat creeps up the back of my neck. ‘It’s just not something I’d considered – I love having my independence and being in charge of my own destiny.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he says and I like that he respects my choice. ‘I meant what I said last night. I don’t mind listening if you want to talk about it?’

  I look him in the eyes to anchor myself to the spot. The conversation is awkward enough that I want to bolt, but maybe talking will be good. I haven’t sat down and talked about this with anyone before and I did feel a little bit better after chatting to Jay last night. I sit on the wall of the pretty fountain outside the hotel, allowing the gurgling patter of the water to momentarily fill the silence. Jay follows.

  ‘I just don’t know if I’m treading water and going through the same motions without really evaluating if being alone is still what I want, or what I might want in the future. I just worry that maybe one day I’ll wake up older, regretting not doing more of the “normal” stuff.’

  ‘So, I get it if you’re happy being single, but you’re obviously not as convinced as you thought you were. Why not go on a date and see how things pan out? If you don’t feel comfortable or whatever, no harm done.’

  I scrub the soles of my shoes on the crunchy gravel. It makes a satisfying noise. ‘I didn’t really have many friends at school.’

  I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t and I realise I’m relieved to be able to carry on.

  ‘I wasn’t pretty or cool, and most of the kids found it hilarious to call me names. It never really went much beyond that but still … Anyway, by the time I started uni, I’d discovered make-up, highlights, hair straighteners and the joys of buying my own clothes rather than the ones my mum picked up in the C&A sale. I started to get … offers.’ I repeat Jay’s word but almost choke on the awkwardness of it. I glance at Jay who is, to his credit, wearing his best poker face.

  ‘I met Iain.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  I nod. ‘He was good-looking, a bit of a Jack-the-lad with plenty of charm, but a good laugh. Everyone knew him, and if there was a big night out or a party, the first thing people wanted to know was: would Iain be there? Then at a party one night, he asked me if I fancied going outside so we could chat properly – “21 Seconds” or something was probably rattling out of some tinny portable CD player – and I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed me.’

  ‘It sounds like you didn’t give yourself enough credit,’ Jay says.

  ‘Well, I was a young woman, swept up in the affections of one of the hottest guys on campus. We dated on and off. He’d always dump me and then turn up in the middle of the night, crying because he’d made a mistake. After uni, we ended up together properly. He was a bit jealous and possessive then, but at the time I was flattered. I thought it just meant he really cared.’ I wriggle uncomfortably – the discomfort has less to do with the stone fountain wall threatening to bestow haemorrhoids upon me, and more to do with the words falling out of my mouth.

  ‘I made a mistake. I love you, Kat.’ Part of me is annoyed for opening the door but the other half of me is so glad to see him. When he dumped me, it was like a bear had clawed a hole in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Now that he’s here with tear-stained cheeks and big puppy eyes, telling me he’s sorry, I know I’ll forgive him.

  ‘Please listen to me, Kat! You know you won’t find anyone better. Most guys like skinny girls with blonde hair. I’m different, Kat, I love you for who you are.’ He takes my hands and pulls me closer. ‘Not everyone can see past looks and really see the good in someone.’

  I swallow hard. He’s right. When I go out, I see those skinny girls he’s talking about and when I look in the mirror, I see exactly what he means.

  ‘Kat, forgive me. I love you.’ He presses his wet, salty lips to mine and I find myself responding. We can put all of this behind us now. It’s our new chapter.

  I shake the memory away.

  ‘He proposed. I was thrilled and we got married. Long story short, I didn’t do the dating thing, ever, so you can see how looking to start now is a little bit scary for me.’

  The corner of Jay’s mouth twists. ‘I can, but you can’t let that hold you back forever. Not when you have doubts about whether you’ve chosen the right path.’

  ‘No. In fact, I’m going to look at my options,’ I say decisively.

  ‘So, you’re going to try a date?’

  Saying it like that makes me freeze. I’m about to protest, but I pause. What do I have to lose? A few hours of my life?

  ‘Yes,’ I say, taking out my phone. ‘I’m going to try one of those dating app things.’

  I can’t believe how easy it is. Download the app, sign in with Facebook and voila, in no time at all I’m flicking through pictures of guys like they’re in an Argos catalogue.

  ‘You don’t mess about.’ Jay laughs as I’m swiping left through several pictures.

  I shrug, then pause with my finger hovering over a photograph of a guy who looks all right.

  ‘Who is it?’ Jay asks, leaning over.

  ‘A guy who works in a bar near here.’

  ‘Sounds like he has all the right credentials,’ Jay teases.

  ‘I’m going to do it. I’m swiping right,’ I say.

  ‘Good for you,’ Jay says. ‘Listen, I’ll leave you to it.’


  ‘Night, Jay … and thanks for listening.’

  ‘No problem. Night, Kat.’

  When Jay leaves, my phone pings. ‘Oh my God,’ I mutter. He’s got in touch already. He’s called Mike, he’s thirty-nine and he’s asking if I want to go out tomorrow.

  ‘Mike,’ I say aloud, allowing my lips chance to get used to the word. Then I type:

  Okay, when and where?

  The reply is instant.

  Lunch, tomorrow at the La Grande Grill in the Tropicana Resort Hotel.

  I nod. Lunch seems quite informal. I can cope with that.

  Okay, let’s do it.

  Dating aside, it was nice talking to Jay. He’s a good listener but doesn’t take life too seriously. I hope our friendship continues to grow.

  ***

  The next day I am much less calm.

  The yellow sundress I’ve always felt half-decent in looks sackish and seems to wash me out. The red one that I thought would bring out the blue in my eyes is too tight, and the beige one makes me look naked from afar, and not in a hot Instagram way but more of an erotic potato sort of way. This leaves the cornflower-blue skater-style dress. The lines are quite flattering but it is a little shorter than I’m comfortable with. I check my watch. I need to leave in ten minutes; I just need to pick something. It’s either the yellow or the blue. I change back into the yellow. No, it adds ten pounds and only a belt could save it. I slip back into the blue. No way. It sends the wrong message. I now have five minutes left so throw the yellow one back on and scramble for a belt. It will have to do.

  I spot my chicken fillets on the side and shove them in my bra for some added oomph. The fabric of the dress pulls much tighter than my stage dress does and when I glance in the mirror, I have a certain Dolly Parton vibe. I’m not sure I like it. From nowhere, Jay’s words hit me: ‘You don’t need them. You have a great figure.’ Perhaps I’m sending out the wrong message here. This Mike guy has to meet the real me, not the ‘on-stage’ me. I pull them out and smooth the dress back down. It’s only a first date, after all.

  I’m quite close to the hotel entrance when I realise I’m running. I slow down and adjust my dress, which has ruched up and gathered above my belt. When I tug it back down, I realise I was probably flashing my knickers to innocent bystanders at some point, and I’m glad to be of an age where only a full-bottom brief will do. I smooth down my hair and enter through the revolving door. It’s a nice hotel, the kind that smells of something fresh and Jo Malone-y when you walk in, and it has an amazing calmative effect on me.

  I ask the concierge where the Grill is and, following his instructions, make my way down some steps and outside onto a terracotta-tiled terrace. The pool is bustling in the heat of the day and the sunlight charges each ripple of water with a bright, sparkling burst. It’s the kind of place Iain would have brought us to in our early days, just so he could take a load of pictures and show them off to all his faux-friends on his MySpace account, or whatever it was back then.

  The restaurant is starting to fill up, and a few people mill around the entrance waiting to be seated. My stomach twists. I’d felt okay-ish up until this point, but now the group ahead have gone in and it’s my turn, I’m terrified. I could turn to go, but that would be cruel, leaving someone sitting there alone like a lemon. I couldn’t do that to a person, and besides that, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. I can talk to another human over lunch.

  ‘Madam, do you have a reservation?’ the waiter asks.

  ‘I, er, yes. I’m meeting someone. Mike?’

  The waiter flips the booking sheet over, dramatically scanning as though he doesn’t quite believe that: a) I have a booking or b) I have a date.

  His eyebrows lift with relief. ‘This way, madam.’

  I follow him apprehensively, purposely leaving a gap between us. I want to see Mike before he sees me. I’m not sure why – perhaps if I’m not overly enamoured, I’ll have time to arrange my face into something that less resembles disappointment.

  ‘Damn,’ I mutter under my breath. All I can see is his short, well-groomed blond hair – his back is to me. There’s nothing wrong with his back, but now I’ve lost my advantage. If I’m disappointed it will show on my face and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have that well-known affliction, resting bitch-face. If I’m not forcing a smile, I look miserable, even when I’m not miserable, and any thought that presents itself in my head etches into my expression. Realising I’m starting to panic, I take a breath and move around to face him.

  ‘Hi.’ I hold out my hand formally. ‘I’m Kat. You must be Mike.’

  When I see his face, I’m taken aback. He’s not bad. His bright blue eyes twinkle affably under the soft lighting of the restaurant, and his teeth are white against his suntanned skin. A wave of relief rinses through me.

  He’s chewing on some bread and wipes his mouth on his napkin before standing up to hug me.

  ‘That’s me. Nice to meet you, Kat,’ he says, pulling away. I detect a soft Welsh accent.

  We take our seats and he pours two glasses of white wine from a carafe in the centre of the table.

  ‘So, what is it you do? Sorry, it’s a cliché to ask but it was the first thing that popped into my head.’

  I smile. ‘That’s okay. I manage a dance act – the Heavenly Hunks – you’ve probably seen our posters dotted about if you work in a bar.’

  ‘Oh yeah, the sexy dance group?’ His tone is layered with titillation.

  I feel my cheeks flush, which irks me because I’m not at all embarrassed about my work; in fact, I’m proud of it. I’m just not comfortable with the lewd way in which Mike said it.

  ‘They’re an all-male exotic dance troupe,’ I correct him.

  He raises his eyebrows in a way that suggests he doesn’t see the difference. I glug my wine and pretend not to notice.

  ‘And you’re a barman?’

  ‘That I am. Been here for the best part of six years now.’

  I nod along and sip my wine, hoping that in the few seconds it takes to swallow it I’ll come up with something riveting to say.

  ‘Will you stay here much longer?’ That wasn’t riveting at all.

  ‘Probably. We’ll have to see how it goes.’ He takes a drink, and I swear I see him wink at me but convince myself I’m mistaken, for the sake of the afternoon and the fact I’m starving and we’ve not even ordered yet.

  ‘The seafood platter looks good,’ I say, as one of the waitresses carries one by.

  A waiter approaches us to take our order and Mike jumps in first. ‘We’d love the seafood sharing platter please.’ He looks at me for confirmation and I nod, not quite sure if it was sweet that he ordered on my behalf or a little bit controlling.

  As we wait for our food, the small talk dries up, and in turn, so does our carafe. We order another, and half of that has gone by the time the platter arrives.

  When I look at the prawns, I realise I’m a little woozy. This is not good; I need to keep my composure. I look at Mike, happily holding a prawn by its tail whilst chewing the body. I force my eyes into focus. He is good-looking but there is something off about him and the vibe is all wrong. Perhaps I’m too used to being on my own and I’m being too picky. I can’t expect to meet the perfect guy on my first date. I decide to ignore the twinge of disappointment and give him a chance. Besides that, we’re not kids anymore, so perhaps that spark just doesn’t happen for older people. Perhaps a nice meal and a bit of benign conversation are all I have to hope for.

  ‘You’re really beautiful,’ he says, all of a sudden.

  The back of my neck tingles and I smooth down the hair that covers it.

  ‘Thanks. You … er, you are quite blessed in the looks department yourself.’

  Quite blessed? I’m going to need the rest of the carafe if I’m going to feel less cringe-tastic about saying that!

  I steer the conversation to our favourite ‘day off’ activities on the island and how often we visit the UK and such, an
d before I know it, the platter is finished.

  I did it. I went on a date, and aside from a few initial bumps at the beginning, it was actually okay. I allow myself to feel a little smug.

  ‘So,’ Mike pipes up, ‘you must be quite a saucy little thing putting together your whole exotic stripper shebang thingy?’ He winks. I’m certain this time.

  I gawk. There’s no other word for it. Just as it was all going so well.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, come on. I won’t judge, but you’ve got to admit you must be a little bit naughty?’ He skims his tongue across his lips.

  A thousand ants crawl across my skin. I almost don’t really blame him. I blame Hugh bloody Hefner and his reputation – he’s tarred us all. Like you can’t work with attractive, semi-clad people and not have them all in your bed.

  I’ve gone off Mike. A lot.

  ‘Mike, thank you for a … mostly pleasant afternoon. Here’s my half of the bill, but I must be going now.’ I toss forty-five euros down on the table, which I reckon is about right, including a tip.

  His practically salivating jaw slackens. As if he really did think I was going to start telling him how saucy I am. Midday dirty talk over some discarded prawn tails and clamshells with a guy I’ve only just met? No thanks.

  ‘Sorry, did I misread the signs? I thought we were having a good time getting to know one another.’

  No apology then?

  ‘I just don’t see a second date on the cards for us.’

  ‘What about finishing this date properly?’

  I have no idea what he means by properly – okay, I do but I’m blanking it out. ‘I’ve got a long day of doing all the accounts tomorrow; I have to keep a clear head. Sorry.’ I bite my tongue before I can automatically say ‘Maybe another time’.

  Before he has time to speak, I say, ‘Bye,’ and leave, making a conscious effort not to run.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, as I open my curtains, I see Jay sunbathing by the pool. I lather on some sunscreen and throw on a bikini with a kaftan over the top and march down as meaningfully as my Havaianas will allow.

  ‘I need a word,’ I say, kicking the leg of Jay’s sun lounger to rouse him.