What I Did On My Holidays

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘But your plan means that I’d have to spend another week in this flat!’

  ‘I’d stay with you.’

  ‘That is not an option. Anyway, I was going to pretend to fly back tomorrow.’

  ‘Then fly back tomorrow,’ said Clare, making quotation marks around the words ‘fly back’. ‘If you want to lessen the chances of really making an impact that gets you guys back together.’

  ‘You think that would happen?’

  Clare nodded.

  ‘Oh.’ I screwed up my fists in frustration. Clare probably had a point. If I could stay away for the whole fortnight, then Callum would really begin to worry that he needed to up his game.

  She composed the text for me.

  ‘You are welcome to do whatever you like on your holidays,’ she wrote on my behalf. ‘But please don’t come to Majorca to see me. I think what you said to me in London was right. We definitely needed some time apart. I have been enjoying having some thinking time and would like to have another week to myself.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like me,’ I complained. ‘It sounds too formal.’

  ‘There.’ Clare added a ‘kiss’ to the end of it. ‘That makes it a little more friendly. Can I send it now?’

  I let her send the text. She was right, I knew. I had to tell Callum not to come. It was the only way to preserve our holiday fantasy. Now was not the time to come clean about our week in Clapham. Especially, as Clare pointed out, once Callum knew the truth, it would be bound to get back to Evan too.

  ‘Evan would never forgive me.’

  ‘Do you think he’d break off the engagement?’

  ‘No,’ said Clare. ‘I actually don’t think he would. He would rather marry me so he can remind me how dishonest and shifty I am every day for the rest of my life.’

  That didn’t sound like much fun either. Though Clare smiled when she said it, in the light of our previous evening’s conversation, I couldn’t help being a little worried for her. But mostly right then I was worried for me. Had Clare’s formal text done the trick, or had I just frightened Callum into maintaining our split-up status quo? The next hour was Pilates time with added treacle. And then . . . Callum sent another text.

  ‘I understand how you’re feeling, but I don’t want to have to wait another week to see you. This is too important to me. I’m coming to see you whether you like it or not.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘He’s not giving up. What can I do about this?’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ said Clare. ‘We can still head him off. Does he know where you’re supposed to be staying?’

  Of course he did. While planning the Majorca trip, I had bombarded Callum with information about our increasingly complicated itinerary. I had sent him the details of our hotel in Puerto Bona by email. I had also printed them out so that he had a hard copy to bring with him on the plane in case our phones didn’t work and we couldn’t pick up emails when we got to Palma.

  A further text followed. Callum had booked his flight for the very next day. He would be arriving in Majorca at around seven in the evening. He’d make his own way to the airport, but would I make sure I was at the hotel to meet him? It was the Hotel Mirabossa, right? How long did I think it would take him to drive there?

  I imagined with horror the moment he got to the Hotel Mirabossa and discovered that I wasn’t there and never had been.

  ‘This is getting worse and worse! He’s going to get all the way to Majorca and find out I’m not out there. He’ll decide he was right to break up with me and tell Hannah and Alison and make me look a right prat.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Clare. ‘I have another plan.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I have another plan,’ were exactly the words I wanted to hear, but I couldn’t for the life of me imagine how my sister was going to get me out of this one.

  ‘How about this? Callum is on the afternoon flight, right? But that isn’t the first flight of the day. If you could get on the early morning flight from Gatwick, you could beat him to Palma, get to the hotel and be settled in like you’ve been there all week by the time he arrives. You’ve already got your suntan – we can top that up tonight – and thanks to the Internet, you know Puerto Bona pretty well. You’ve been at the Palacio Blanco every night this week, remember. If only in spirit.’

  ‘You’re so crazy.’

  ‘I prefer the term genius,’ said Clare. ‘I think it’s worth a try.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘Let’s see what we can do.’

  Ignoring my naysaying, Clare was soon back online, checking airline websites for a flight that would get us to Spain before an unsuspecting Callum even got to Gatwick.

  ‘There’s availability,’ Clare told me. ‘We could do it!’

  ‘We? What do you mean, “we”? You’re meant to be going back home tomorrow.’

  ‘I was thinking perhaps I should come with you.’

  ‘Are you nuts? What about Evan?’

  ‘Evan already thinks I’m in Majorca, doesn’t he?’

  ‘But you were only supposed to be with me for five days.’

  Clare picked up her phone to text him.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’m going to tell him I don’t think I should leave you on your own. I’ve told him that now it’s getting close to time for me to go home again, you’ve taken a turn for the worse.’

  ‘You’re mad. Don’t do it.’

  ‘I’ve already done it.’

  Evan’s reply was fairly predictable.

  ‘Why don’t you bring her home with you?’ he asked.

  Clare thought quickly.

  ‘Because she’s refusing to come out of the room,’ she texted. ‘I don’t think there’s any way I’m going to be able to get her on a plane. Just let me have a few more days to deal with it. And please don’t tell Mum about this relapse. I don’t want her to worry.’

  ‘Call me,’ Evan responded.

  ‘Very little battery,’ Clare responded. Then she switched her phone off so that Evan couldn’t call her if he wanted to. ‘He doesn’t really want me to call him,’ Clare explained. ‘He knows it costs far too much money to use your mobile overseas. Let’s book those flights.’

  In a week of crazy ideas, this was obviously the craziest idea so far. At such late notice, the flights were bound to be ruinously expensive. And did Clare really think that Evan would be mollified by a few texts? I also didn’t much like the idea that she had suggested that I was going mental over my break-up. Not when I thought I was doing particularly well.

  ‘What if Evan tells someone I’ve lost it? What if it gets back to Callum?’

  ‘Evan won’t tell anyone anything. He finds all kinds of emotion acutely embarrassing. He would sooner discuss Mum’s gynaecological problems than whether or not you’re getting over your break-up. Trust me, he will not be calling our mother to discuss how you’re feeling. He never calls anyone except me and that’s just to tell me what I’m doing wrong. Now pass me your credit card. I’m up to my limit.’

  I refused.

  ‘We’re not doing this. I think this is all about to get stupidly out of hand. I don’t care if Callum finds out that I’m not really in Majorca. I won’t be responsible for Evan dumping you if you don’t go back home tomorrow night.’

  ‘He won’t dump me. There’s no way he wants to put himself through the aggravation of having to find someone to replace me. Do you know how much it costs a guy to start dating a new girl? He’d rather put up with me than have to waste a whole load of money on romantic dinners.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Not really. But now that I think about it . . . Sophie, Evan will be fine. He’s probably already making plans to watch reruns of Top Gear.’

  When she wanted to be, my sister could be very persuasive and she soon bulldozed through all my reservations.

  ‘Besides, this extra week apart could be just what I need to renew my love for him.’

  That sounded more hopeful.
How could I argue with that?

  ‘Plus, you do want to get Callum back, don’t you?’

  Of course I did. Now that I knew there was a real chance that he might change his mind, I wanted to do whatever I could to make that happen.

  ‘Then this is the only way to do it. He has already booked his flights to Majorca. It’s too late to stop him turning up at the hotel. You have a choice between telling him you didn’t go, thus revealing yourself to be a liar and a flake and exactly the kind of girl who deserves to get dumped, or you follow my instructions and meet him at the hotel tomorrow evening like you’ve been there all week. Nobody need be any the wiser. What’s not to like about that plan? You keep our secret intact and get to have a proper holiday after all. And it’s your best chance of making things work with Callum. We’ll pull it off, I promise. We can do this,’ said Clare, as she clicked ‘buy’ on our flights. And providing there were no flight delays and the hotel had some space, it seemed she was right. We could do this.

  ‘You’re not planning on taking all those bags, are you?’ I asked when the reality that we were going to Majorca after all finally sank in.

  Clare smiled.

  ‘I won’t take my knitting,’ she said. ‘How about that?’

  It seemed that luck was on our side. We had our flights. They were expensive but not ridiculously so. I’d be able to pay mine off in just a couple of months, I thought. When I called up the Hotel Mirabossa in Puerto Bona, they told me they had not filled the room Callum and I should have stayed in and we could take it over at once. The exact room. Complete with the sea view I had dreamed of and that Clare had recreated for Mum and Evan with that photo lifted from the website.

  We booked transfers from the airport to the coast on the hotel bus. That was easy enough. I already had the currency we needed. I’d ordered that from the post office months ago (before the exchange rate changed in the pound’s favour, worse luck). I had all the suntan lotion I could possibly need, having stocked up the moment the new season’s supply hit the shops. Not to mention the five bottles Clare had brought. I had the perfect bikini. There was just one question that had yet to be answered.

  ‘What will you do when Callum arrives?’ I said. ‘I mean, where will you stay all week?’

  ‘Eh? You mean, where will Callum stay all week?’

  ‘With me.’ That seemed like the obvious answer.

  ‘He’s put you through hell, Soph. Don’t tell me that you were intending to let him get straight back into your knickers?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  The truth was, I had been intending exactly that. I’d missed him desperately. It had been more than a month since we’d last made love. I had pictured him sweeping me into his arms and taking me straight upstairs. I was planning to make our reunion the best night of our relationship so far. I was going to pack my fanciest knickers. Clare, however, had other ideas.

  ‘Callum has to work for your love this time, and part of working for your love will involve fending for himself hotel-wise. You and I will be sharing that room you’ve just booked. Callum will be allowed to visit during daylight hours only.’

  I made to protest, but Clare stopped me with a wag of her finger.

  ‘Oh, no, there are no buts. It’s only for a week. He has to make it up to you, Soph. He can’t just turn up and expect everything to be as it was. He told you that you were too clingy,’ she reminded me. ‘He said that you were always following him around. See how he likes a bit more independence, starting with separate rooms. It won’t hurt him. And it won’t hurt your relationship either. If you two are destined to get back together, then being tough with Callum now will only make your relationship stronger. If he gets fed up at not being in your room and catches the next flight home, then that will only prove he isn’t as serious as he should be.’

  I grudgingly agreed.

  Later that day, Hannah emailed to tell me that she’d heard from Candace that Callum was going to Majorca after all. Alison was incredulous, she said. Probably furious, to boot, I thought.

  ‘What a result. Don’t you dare let him winkle his way back into your affections without a fight,’ said Hannah. ‘You’ve got to show him you mean business, Sophie. It’s the only way you’ll ever make him respect you enough to give you a proper commitment of the kind you deserve.’

  ‘See,’ said Clare. ‘Hannah knows what she’s talking about.’

  I couldn’t imagine many other circumstances under which my sister and my colleague would have agreed with each other.

  ‘I will have my fingers crossed for you,’ Hannah added.

  ‘I’ve got everything crossed for me,’ I assured her in return.

  So that night we packed our cases for real. Clare took for ever to put her stuff back into her two enormous cases. Though we hadn’t left the flat for the past five days – we certainly hadn’t been near any shops – the contents of Clare’s luggage seemed to have multiplied exponentially so that when she tried to repack it, it was like trying to fit an airbag back into the dashboard panel. No matter how carefully she folded her T-shirts and stuffed bikinis inside shoes, it could not be done.

  Eventually, I agreed that she could put some of the lighter items in my bag. I had simply referred to my original packing diagram and packed like a pro, with my shoes (two pairs) in bags and tissue paper around every garment. Two of Clare’s evening dresses and a pair of wedge espadrilles fitted easily into the space I had reserved for gifts bought on my travels.

  After that, we managed to get Clare’s remaining clothes and toiletries into her cases by sitting on the case lids together while we each dragged one end of the two-ended zip towards the middle. The case still looked dangerously full, so I lent Clare one of my luggage straps to make sure it didn’t explode in transit.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Clare. ‘I think you’ve forgotten something.’

  ‘What?’ It wasn’t possible that I’d forgotten anything. I had been following my packing diagram. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your Choos,’ said Clare. ‘Your Jimmy Choos.’

  ‘I don’t think—’ I began.

  ‘You don’t think you should take them on holiday? Why not? What are you saving them for? Don’t tell me a special occasion, because what could possibly be more special than your thirtieth-birthday holiday?’

  I wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Maybe you want to wait until your fortieth birthday, by which time your bunions will be seriously impressive.’

  ‘I don’t have bunions,’ I said.

  ‘Yet,’ my sister replied, ‘it’s in our genes, you know.’

  She was right. Mum had tweeted about her research into bunion ops just that week.

  ‘Take your shoes. And wear them. You can carry them to and from the club and wear flip-flops on the way, but you have to get your money’s worth! There’s no point keeping anything for best. Remember what happened to Auntie Jan.’

  Auntie Jan, my mother’s aunt, had died in her eighties. When her children came to empty out her house, they had discovered boxes and boxes of unworn clothes and pristine shoes. The local vintage store was delighted, but my sister and I found the story profoundly sad. The thought of all those dancing shoes that never made it onto the dance floor could still bring tears to my eyes. It was doing so right then.

  ‘Maybe hoarding is the family trait that you’ve inherited instead of bunions,’ Clare mused. That was the last straw.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll take them.’

  ‘Attagirl.’

  I decanted the precious Choos into their fluffy lilac dust bag and laid them reverently on top of the neatly folded clothes in my case. Then I took them out again and stuffed them into my hand luggage next to my perfect bikini. I wasn’t going to take any chances. Those shoes had cost almost as much as the holiday. They were coming in the aircraft cabin with me.

  Things were turning out far better than I could have hoped. I was going to have my birthday holiday abroad after all. I gave Clare a hug.

  �
�I’m so glad you’re such a bad influence,’ I said.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I didn’t get much sleep. I was too excited now it seemed inevitable that Callum and I were going to get back together. Why else would he have decided to come to Majorca and not just book himself a flight somewhere else? He could have gone to Ibiza or Greece. He could have saved his holiday and tagged along with his mates later in the year. Instead, he was coming to Majorca for me. To be with me. My heart was almost as light as it had been when Callum and I started going out. I felt wanted. I felt pretty. When I looked into the mirror, even at five o’clock in the morning, unable to sleep with excitement, I was pleased by what I saw. The thought that Callum was coming back to me was a more effective beauty treatment than a week of sleep, a fortnight in the sun or any number of oxygen facials. I radiated happiness again.

  I ordered a cab to the airport for six o’clock in the morning. The driver the cab company sent to pick us up was the same guy I had sent away the previous week. He obviously remembered the fare that never was and looked at me curiously.

  ‘Are you really sure you want to go to somewhere this time?’

  I assured him that nothing could stop me and that I would be grateful if he put his foot down all the way.

  The cabbie got us to Gatwick in plenty of time. Check-in was unusually easy (though Clare had to decant even more of the contents of her bags into mine to beat the weight restrictions), and security was a breeze. With an hour to go before the flight, we were in a Costa Coffee concession drinking skinny lattes and I was genuinely starting to look forward to the week ahead.

  ‘How do my new glasses look?’ asked Clare. She’d gone a little nuts in the Sunglass Hut.

  ‘You look a bit like Audrey Hepburn,’ I lied. Unfortunately, she looked more like Bono’s little sister, but she was not to be persuaded to buy a smaller pair. I did, however, manage to stop her buying a yellow sarong that would not have looked good on anybody and had a destiny as a very expensive duster.

  Our luck held for the rest of the journey. Our flight was on time. We crossed France and Spain smoothly and without incident. There was no turbulence. No crying babies. No toddlers kicking the back of the seat. No stag parties in the back of the cabin getting an early start on their drinking. The landing in Palma was gentle, and our luggage was among the first to trundle along the conveyor belt in baggage reclaim. Clare’s enormous wheelie case was still held in one piece by the straining luggage strap. So far so good.