by Judy Astley
In past years on barbecue night, she and Ned and whoever else fancied avoiding the rather holiday-camp compulsory-jollity atmosphere (Cyn and Bradley last time), had taken the opportunity to go out to an elegant seafood restaurant along the coast and stay there until all danger of being hauled up to make fools of themselves on stage had passed. This time, with Nick and Delilah’s entertainment to consider, they’d decided to give the barbecue a go as it was more likely to appeal to the younger ones. Perhaps, she thought, she and Ned should simply have gone out anyway and left them to it. She had run the idea of escape past the two of them but Delilah in particular had been really keen to stay, in spite of still giving Beth a hard time over the mosquito bites.
‘Why would I want to miss it? You’re such a snob Mum! It’ll be fun. We have barbies at home all summer and you don’t get sniffy about those.’
‘True enough,’ Beth conceded, not really minding either way. For one thing, if Lesley really was going to shimmy under a low bar, she’d quite like to be there to cheer her on.
‘Got room for us?’ Cynthia drifted over to the table, bringing with her a cloud of her perfume and a large rum punch.
‘Of course! I saved seats for you and Bradley – unless you want to sit with your in-laws?’ Len said, pulling out a chair for her and exuding bonhomie like a first-class host.
‘That witch Angela? No way! I’m not sure where Brad is, actually,’ Cynthia said as she sat down. ‘He was having a treatment – one of those seaweed wraps like you had earlier, Beth, and it was all running a bit late. I think he’s on his way. Never mind,’ she said, smiling brightly at Beth and Ned, ‘I can choose another man to sit beside, can’t I? Beth, you won’t mind if I borrow yours? Come on, darling,’ she called to Ned, patting the chair beside her. ‘Come and be with me tonight. Beth can have Brad when he gets here. If she wants him, that is.’
‘Swingers,’ Delilah muttered to Nick, covering the end of the word with a cough.
‘Don’t even joke!’ Nick said, looking round to see who else, as the terrace began to fill up, was likely to join them. Sadie and Mark were with Angela and Michael and a selection of the vast Americans, a couple of tables away. Michael waved to them, indicating a couple of vacant chairs.
‘Do you want to go and sit with them?’ Nick asked Delilah. ‘Because if you do, I could come too.’
Delilah grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from her parents’ hearing range. ‘Nick. Just leave her alone. I know what you’re doing, I’ve been watching you.’
‘Doing? What, me? What could I be doing? Truly Delilah,’ and he put his hand to his heart, ‘Angela so isn’t my type.’
Delilah tried to stay serious. ‘You know I don’t mean Angela, you idiot!’ she said, hitting him on his arm, ‘I’m talking about Sadie!’
Nick looked mystified, giving away his guilt by overdoing a bizarre grimace to indicate denial. ‘Sadie?’ he said. ‘I can’t do much about Sadie, can I? She’s getting married the day after tomorrow.’
‘Er, like I know that, Nick? Duh? I’m the bridesmaid?’
‘Mark asked me to be best man, actually.’
‘He didn’t! You never said!’
‘It’s OK, I turned him down. I thought, like tradition has it that the best man cops off with the senior bridesmaid and I thought, nah. You’re not bad for a sister but neither of us is that desperate. So he’s asked . . .’
‘Who?’ Delilah almost spat the word.
‘Eager, aren’t we? He’s asked . . . Sam. That good enough for you?’
Delilah shrugged and tried to look casual. ‘Yeah, I suppose. He’s all right.’
‘All right!’ Nick teased. ‘You were practically all over him the other night when we were out!’
‘Er, actually . . .’ She didn’t go on. It might not be such a good idea to point out that Sam had been all over her, not to her brother. You never knew with brothers – they could come over all unexpectedly boring about these things. Kelly’s brother than threatened serious violence to Micky Martin in year ten who’d put it about (untruthfully) that he’d scored a BJ off Kelly down behind the school footie pavilion around Easter time. Kelly hadn’t been thrilled about the brotherly concern because at the time she was working on turning the unfounded rumour into reality. The last thing Delilah needed was Nick pointing out that Sam was in his mid-twenties and she was only sixteen and that there could only be one thing he was after. Like she didn’t know? She wasn’t completely stupid. They’d all be going home in a few days anyway. She needed to have this maximum fun while she could, especially after being ill for so long. She deserved it. But instead he did something she’d never have expected from her brother.
‘Del, seriously,’ he began, taking her arm and leading her away from the table towards the far side of the tamarind tree on the beach, out of range of the string of lamps hung from tree to tree. ‘I want a word.’
‘Why? Now what have I done?’
‘Nothing. At least I hope you haven’t, not without being safe.’ He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small folded square of foil. For a second she thought he was giving her his spliff supply.
‘Not without using one of these,’ he went on, handing it to her and then gazing at the sand. If she didn’t know him better she’d have sworn he was actually embarrassed. ‘What’s . . . ? Oh!’ She hadn’t actually seen condoms before, not in their packaged form. Oliver Willis had done the mortifying thing of fumbling about with the crinkly wrapping that time they’d done it at his house (taking so long about it she was surprised he was still in a suitable state to apply it), and at school when they’d had the lesson about putting the condom on the Perspex willy, she’d managed not to have to do hands-on. Probably a mistake, that.
‘Just in case you do do something daft. Don’t feel you have to, but if you do, then do it safe.’
‘Safe-ly,’ she corrected him automatically, glancing back at the table where all the grown-ups were getting on the outside of yet more drinks. Were there no responsible adults? No, she decided, seeing Cynthia’s hand sliding up her dad’s leg and him trying to flick it off again, definitely not.
‘God I felt such a first-class tit!’ Bradley was telling them as they all tucked into the barbecued jerk chicken, steaks, swordfish and spiced pork. His hands covered his face in mock shame. ‘But how was I supposed to know? Dolores comes into the treatment room and tells me to get undressed and says, “Take all your clothes off and put this on” and hands me this papery thing.’
‘Oh the paper pants?’ Beth cut in. ‘Horrible aren’t they? They disintegrate.’
‘Pants. Well I know now that they’re pants,’ Bradley said. ‘But the other time, back on Thursday, when I was in for a facial, she’d put a paper hat over my head, to keep the stuff off my hair, so you know, like, I thought. . . .’ He groaned and took a long sip of his wine. ‘Anyway this afternoon, after a few minutes Dolores came back in and I’m lying there face up in all my naked glory and she does this great long shriek and runs out laughing, yelling to the world I’ve put paper knickers on my head.’ Another groan, another slurp of wine. ‘I’ll never live it down. I’ll be hearing all those Haven harpies howling with laughter in my sleep for years to come!’
‘Sympathies, mate.’ Len patted his shoulder and then winked at the others. ‘Mind you, you’ve got to ask yourself what she found so funny, know what I mean? Couldn’t you even have managed to get a semi on just to be polite?’
‘Len!’ Lesley prodded him hard, and glanced across at Delilah. ‘There are young folks present!’
‘Oi! It was cold in that room! My blood wasn’t up.’
‘Not the only thing that wasn’t!’ Len hooted.
Beside her, Beth heard Delilah murmur ‘gross’, but the girl was smiling. A good thing; she wouldn’t expect to have produced a daughter who couldn’t enjoy a bit of bawdy fun.
‘It’s funny here, all these men getting beauty treatments,’ Delilah said to Bradley. ‘I mean, Dad never does when we�
��re at home. Do you?’
‘Me?’ Bradley immediately looked, Beth thought, as if he’d rather saw off his own leg than undergo trial-by-beautician ever again. ‘No, never. It wouldn’t occur to me, apart from the odd sports massage down at the gym, and even then only if I’d tweaked a muscle. I suppose we do it here because it comes with the package, but I’m not likely to start hanging out down at the salon in the high street. Did you see that American guy, by the way?’
‘What, Fred Flintstone? Do you mean his nails?’ Delilah said. ‘He’s very proud of them! He’s had them all done in different colours.’
‘That’s OK for here,’ Ned commented. ‘But how much do you bet that he doesn’t have the nerve to travel home with them all like that?’
Ned shifted in his seat, feeling crowded. Cynthia might have sounded as if she was joking when she’d claimed him to sit beside her, but right now she was being touchy-feely under the tablecloth and making him edgy. How could she think he’d want this? And what if any minute Len, who was only a chair away, saw what she was up to? No way would he keep quiet – he’d make a big daft joke of it, shouting the odds about Cyn mauling the goods that someone else had bought. She was such a cool one – which he should have remembered from all those sessions in the back of the Audi down at Oxshott, especially the times she insisted on parking too close to the dog-walkers’ route. ‘Give them something to talk about back home,’ she’d joked. Except it probably wasn’t a joke. At the same time as managing to carrying on idly chatting to Lesley and Beth, Cyn was kneading Ned’s leg like a dough mix and letting her hand drift much too far north for comfort. He tried to move away a little. If she could just for a second loosen her grip, he’d be able to cross his legs and deny her access. Time it wrong and he’d have her hand trapped, smack up against his balls.
‘I might just go to the bar and get . . .’ he began.
‘Oh you don’t need to.’ Cyn got in fast, looking into his face, all steely-eyed and calculating. ‘Jim’s on his way over.’
Defeat. Or possibly not. He slid his hand down to cover hers, twisted her big diamond ring round and squeezed it tight. Very tight. There was a sharp squeak of pain from Cynthia and he let go. She withdrew her hand and rubbed her fingers. Mission, he prayed, accomplished.
Gina was a late arrival. She drifted over to their table carrying a large, ornate cocktail and wearing a floaty white combination of floppy trousers with a top that looked like several silk squares randomly sewn together for maximum drifting effect in the breeze.
‘Dolly is ailing,’ she announced, sliding into the seat next to Beth. ‘She says to tell you all goodbye.’
There was a shocked hush for a moment, penetrated only by the insistent chirruping of tree frogs.
‘Oh Gina, I’m so sorry,’ Beth said, taking her hand and feeling her eyes beginning to fill.
‘Hey, don’t be! She’s fine, truly. She’s just angry with me because I won’t let her call down to room service and demand a Cocksucking Cowboy.’
‘A what?’ Cynthia spluttered. ‘I didn’t see that in the brochure!’
‘It’s a cocktail, apparently,’ Gina explained. ‘But I won’t have her talking dirty like that to the bar staff. If she wants to drown herself in booze, I told her, it’s gotta be done ladylike. So I’ve disconnected the phone and come down myself to get her a Sea Breeze.’
‘Don’t you want to stay and have some food while you’re out?’ Beth asked her. ‘It’s really good, especially the chicken.’
‘Honey that’s sweet of you, but I can’t possibly eat barbie food while I’m wearing white! I’ll grab something maybe later. Gotta get the drinks in – see you guys in a while!’ She got up, flashed a smile round the table and walked over to the bar.
‘Beth, you’re so nice and so mumsy,’ Cynthia said. ‘There’s her old mother dying alone up in her room and here’s you, all concerned that Gina’s missing a meal.’
Beth frowned, unsure how to take this. ‘I was only inviting her to join us. And only after she’d told us Dolly was OK. What’s so mumsy about that? Gina must get lonely, always by herself.’
‘Gina! Lonely! Never knowingly short of company, I’d say.’ Cynthia gave a hollow laugh.
Beth watched as Ned shifted uncomfortably. Sitting beside Cyn, he looked as if he was perched on broken glass; his left leg – closest to Cynthia – was crossed awkwardly away from her over his right. Body language, Beth wondered, how much can you tell from it? If she was the interpreting sort, she’d guess he was reacting negatively to what Cyn had just said. Very supportive of him, if so, very reassuring. It showed he was on her side – whether he was actively conscious of it or not. Nick, on the other hand, was leaning back in his seat with his hands clasped behind his head and gazing across at the bar, where Gina was sharing a joke with Jim the bartender. Beth watched as Nick’s eyes narrowed, then, and she could sense the moment he made his decision, he got up from his seat and said casually, ‘If it’s OK with you, I think I’ll just give Gina a hand. She’s got a lot to carry.’
‘That’s true, most of it at the front,’ Cynthia murmured nastily. Beth looked at her, watching her flick her fuchsia-pink nail up and down on the table. It was sad to see her so tetchy and dissatisfied. Something was bugging her – something to do with that lack of ‘fireworks’ in her life that she’d talked about before, perhaps. Whatever it was, it had to be a bigger problem than being married to a very sweet man who mistakenly put paper pants on his head.
It was all going off on the stage. The drums were pounding away, building up an atmosphere of anticipation. The lights were dimmed, leaving only a red spotlight, flickering in time to the throbbing beat. Delilah threaded her way through the candlelit tables on her way back from the loo and waited behind a pillar to get a good view of the team of limbo dancers. There were six of them – five girls and one man – dressed in green and scarlet glittery costumes, barely more than strips of fabric edged with feathers and beads. The bare-chested man had a tall headdress of feathers trimmed with horn, and he wore a kind of raggy loincloth made of bead-trimmed chamois leather, reminding Delilah of the window-cleaner back home who always sneaked silently as a cat up his ladder early in the morning in the hope of catching her getting dressed. Not a picture you wanted with you when you’re anticipating the sight of an exotic dance act, she decided, not fat Bill heavy-breathing at the top of his ladder, all sweaty and grinning through the glass, leering as he splattered sickeningly symbolic soapy water all over her windows.
‘You think you’d be any good at that? You should try it.’ the voice of Sam was so close she could feel his soft breath on her neck and the swish of his beaded hair against her.
‘I couldn’t do that. I don’t have the muscles for it!’ Delilah laughed, watching the taut-thighed lead dancer flexing herself gracefully beneath the bar. Behind her, Sam edged his hand hard up the length of her leg. ‘You feel fine to me, girl,’ he said. ‘Niiiiice and tight.’
Delilah caught her breath. Suppose her parents saw? Her mum would go mental. Right on lousy cue, her mosquito bites started to itch, exactly where Sam’s hand had been. It was a sign – he’d definitely warmed her blood.
On the stage the drumbeat speeded up to frenzy level and the male dancer emerged from behind a screen, holding flaming torches. The limbo bar was now only inches from the floor, and, touched by the flames, had become a line of fire.
‘Is he mad?’ she murmured to Sam. ‘It’s too low!’
‘No – he does it every day. Don’t you worry about him. Do you want to stay and watch?’
Or what? That was the question. Or go and have sex on the beach? Had to be. And did she want to? Yes and no, well yes and maybe.
‘I’ll stay for a few minutes. ’Til this bit’s over.’ Delilah wondered what she was hesitating about. She touched the little foil square that was sharp-edged in her pocket. Maybe it was something to do with not wanting to look like a slag, like she was gagging for it. Boys, Kelly said, didn’t like that reall
y – they wanted to think you might not be quite in the mood, but that when you were (like twenty seconds into them snogging you, you were supposed to be gasping and squealing), it was all down to their stunning powers of sexual persuasion. ‘Makes them work at it’ she’d said. Like she’d know.
‘Honey, I can wait. But not too long.’ Sam stroked the bare flesh beneath the edge of her top and she felt her skin tingle. ‘See you later? I’ll be waiting for you – just along the beach?’
And he’d gone. Off to do his job, mingling with the punters and jollying them along. He was good at it – every time he stopped to chat to someone he had them smiling, had the women give small touches to a piece of his sheeny skin, making each of them feel special, like if he could choose any of them it would be her.
The dancer made it safely under the bar – of course he did. From the crazed applause, as Delilah made her way back towards the lamp-lit terrace and her parents’ table, anyone would imagine he was a complete beginner and had never done it before. Ridiculous.
The music slowed and the feathered dancer invited volunteers to try their own luck with the limbo bar. Delilah stopped and watched as Lesley, cheered on by the others, leapt to her feet and started pushing her way between the tables towards the stage.
‘What about you, Delilah? Come on girl, give it a go with me!’ Lesley called as she approached, reaching out to grab her hand. Other people around made encouraging noises. There was a danger of being kidnapped and hustled onto the stage, however much she protested. Absolutely not.
‘Um no – can’t, sorry,’ she said, wriggling out of Lesley’s grasp. ‘I have to be somewhere. Meeting Nick,’ she mumbled, turning and fleeing into the night.
‘Lesley? Are you all right?’ Beth found Lesley halfway along the beach. Lesley was lying in the dark, flat out on a lounger to which she’d fled from the stage. Her hands were hiding her face and someone’s abandoned beach towel was round her shoulders.
