by Guy Lilburne
After another half an hour and two cups of tea, Mandy got dressed and I drove her home. We didn’t speak much on that journey either. We never ever mentioned the abortion ever again. It was as if it never happened, but it did and even today I think about our baby. I think about her each August around the time her birthday would have been, and I think about her each Christmas and the first week in January. I wonder if Mandy ever does. I never told anybody about the abortion. What can you say! I’m sorry.
By February we were back to fucking every day, but things were not the same. I just didn’t feel the same about Mandy, my love for her was aborted along with the baby.
We went through the motions and carried on until the April. Mandy was still getting a lot of phone calls from the other man in Ireland. One night when she was drunk she admitted that they had been lovers after her husband had left her, but assured me that now they were only ‘good friends’. I knew that she was lying and in April she did a long haul flight to Mexico. I searched the house from top to bottom. I searched each and every room; every drawer and cupboard. Then I found what I was looking for; proof that Mandy was having an affair. The letter was taped to the underside of one of her drawers in the bedroom. It was from the man in Ireland. It was dated in February and he told her how much he liked sleeping with her again the previous week and couldn’t wait to see her again. I left the letter on the kitchen worktop and left a note next to it, which simply read ‘Goodbye Mandy’. Then I packed my things and left her.
Chapter Five: The Irish Princess.
(That was my ‘pet’ name for her. Sorry if it sounds like a cross channel Ferry!)
I had never been broken hearted. I have been sad, and I have been disappointed when a love affair ends, but never broken hearted. I think that your heart gets broken when an affair ends suddenly, or before you are ready for it to finish, or when you just don’t want it to finish but the other person ends it and cuts off all contact. Maybe the other person has already found someone new. Then I can understand that a heart would be broken. In my case the affairs always seemed to die slowly, withering on the vine before my very eyes. And so I always knew the end was in sight. When it happens like this you don’t get broken hearted. You are ready for the end and, in most cases, it’s a relief. I know in the past I have broken some girl’s hearts because I have ended it, cut off all contact and found someone new. But only because I saw the end coming.
Mandy had hurt me so many times. I had felt let down, disappointed, sad, lonely, angry, jealous. All these are very negative feelings. Each time Mandy did something to hurt me it chipped away at the very foundation of my love for her, until the cracks in that foundation were so big that the whole thing just crumbled away to nothing. I had known for a while that Mandy and I would not be a happily ever after thing. There was a time when I loved her completely, but that time had passed. You do get fed up with being unhappy.
Finding the letter from Mandy’s lover was the last straw. I would like to pretend that I found it by accident, but I didn’t. I had conducted a fingertip search of her whole house that any police forensic expert would have been proud of. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew I would find something and I found it taped to the underside of a drawer in the dresser in the bedroom.
The letter was from another ex-footballer who rang Mandy occasionally. I had asked Mandy if he was an ex-lover and she had said that they were just friends, but had become very close when her husband had started his affair with the Irish girl after he became player manager at the Irish football club. At least that’s what she said at first. After the calls continued, she told me that they had been lovers when she learnt of her husband’s affair, but she was very vulnerable at the time. She said that the affair hadn’t lasted long and now they were just friends.
The letter I was reading was dated only weeks ago and told her how much he had enjoyed fucking her in a Manchester hotel the night before and, if she let him know what her flight schedules were, they could arrange another meeting in Manchester, or he could travel to Birmingham. I wasn’t angry, and I wasn’t upset. It was what I needed. I could leave Mandy without any feelings of guilt.
Mandy was on a Mexico trip and was due to fly back into Manchester on Monday morning. Today was only Friday. It was April 1997. I had had enough and I was leaving her. I did what people always do in this situation. I rang my mum and asked if I could stay with her for a while. As always, she was as good as gold and said I was welcome to the spare room. I had very few possessions; just a few clothes, a set of weights, and my keyboard. I packed it in the car and wrote a note to Mandy saying “Goodbye!”
I left it in the kitchen next to the love letter that I had found. I drove to mum’s place. It was a bright day and I felt good. The stress and all the nastiness from the divorce proceedings was bad enough without the heartache of being involved with a beautiful woman who just didn’t know what she wanted and was in love with two men, possibly three!
As soon as I had made the decision I had felt a great wave of relief. On the drive to mum’s place I decided to go away on a holiday for a couple of weeks, so that Mandy couldn’t contact me at my mum’s or at work. I wanted a clean break and in a couple of weeks she would be over it. I rang my boss at work and booked two weeks leave. On the Saturday morning I booked a late cancellation holiday off the TV ‘Teledex’. Two weeks in Gran Canaria, flying out at 9.00 a.m. on Monday from, where else….. Manchester!
I couldn’t really afford it, but I just needed a break. I phoned the kids and told them where I was going and, other than my mum, nobody else knew where I would be. I paid for it on my gold card and went down town to get £200 worth of pesetas. (The Euro hadn’t kicked in yet!) That wasn’t a lot but I figured that I wouldn’t need very much. I just wanted to be in the sun, lying by a pool under a blue sky. I just wanted to chill out and see girls with their tits out round the swimming pool. I wanted to have a relaxing quiet time, get my head together, have a few beers, really just unwind and do nothing.
The excitement of going away really lifted my spirits. I went around the shops and bought myself some swimming shorts, sun tan oil, and an Andy McNab book. (Bravo Two Zero). I was all set.
My sister gave me a lift to the airport. I booked in and drank coffee in the Departure Lounge. I was excited, almost like a child. I had butterflies in my stomach. I was 36 years old, but this was the first time I had gone away completely alone and it felt fantastic. The sense of freedom was exhilarating. I had always been a bit of a loner and I was happy to be on my own. I could do whatever I wanted to. It was no bother to me. In fact I was delighted that I was doing something for myself, by myself.
I was obviously aware that Mandy would be arriving at Manchester airport more or less at the same time as I was leaving, but I thought that I would have to be pretty unlucky to bump into her. In any case, I was very alert to it and watched all the flight attendants that worked for the same airline as Mandy with great care. I didn’t see Mandy or any of her friends.
I enjoyed the flight out. I usually find them very boring, but this time I was relaxed and just happy to be going somewhere. I noticed myself smiling a lot at the air stewardesses. They were all very pretty, but then again, ‘once you’ve had one!’ as the saying goes. In fact it made me smile to myself. They could all have been Mandy; attractive, bleached blonde hair, fake tan, nice teeth, too much make-up, too much attitude, mobile phone, red BMW, boyfriends with loads of money, and prepared to shag the pilot in the hope that he’d marry them.
Dressed in jeans, white tee shirt and denim jacket, it was bloody hot arriving in Gran Canaria. It was Monday 19th April 1997. I was only 36, and would stay that way until June. Then I‘d be 37. For the first time I felt young, free and single. I was so happy to be there in Gran Canaria. God I needed this holiday! All my troubles and sadness just melted away. I knew a little Spanish and enjoyed trying it out. I got a taxi from the airport
and, half an hour later; I was booking in at the ‘Vista Dorado’ apartments, Maspalomas. It was just a short taxi ride from the busy centre of Playa De Ingles, a five minute walk from the beach and about another 10 minute walk to the nudist beach. It was early afternoon and the sun was beating down. I walked from the reception clutching my suitcase in one hand and the apartment key in the other. I walked past the huge swimming pool. It was fringed with sun beds, tables and palm trees. The sky was clear blue. The sound of laughter, clinking glasses, music, children splashing, all mingled into a back drop of holiday noise. People sunbathed or sat eating and drinking, reading or chatting. There were loads of girls with their tits out. I was going to be happy for the next two weeks at least. I couldn’t wait to find my apartment, drop my stuff off, get a beer and join them at the pool.
I found the apartment. It was one row back from the pool and overlooked the sea. It was basic, but clean and tidy. It had everything I would need; a big balcony tiled in marble that had the sun on it all day long.
Ten minutes later I was back at the pool, sunglasses, shorts, towel, suntan oil, Andy McNab book, cigarettes and a beer. I felt great. I read a bit. I watched people a bit. I swam. I sunbathed. I drank a few beers. I stayed there all afternoon watching the people arriving, wearing jeans and denim jackets and carrying their cases in one hand and clutching their apartment keys in the other, beaming smiles as they looked out over the pool area.
I thought about Mandy only once. I knew she would have been home by now and found my note and the love letter. I imagined various responses and decided that the most likely one would be for her to contact her husband. I thought that he would probably be round her house by now and they would be shagging. I really wasn’t bothered. I thought that they deserved each other, and I deserved better.
I stayed around the pool until about 5.30 p.m. and then went back to the apartment via the shop. I bought some food, vodka and beers, and enough cigarettes to last the fortnight. I made myself something to eat and had another beer on the balcony. I set the alarm and then slept for a few hours. What a great holiday I was having!
I awoke at 10.00 pm. I showered and shaved and decided that I would have a quiet night at the Vista Dorado bar. Just a few beers, maybe a meal in the restaurant, or maybe just sit at the bar and watch the stage show. In any event it would be an early night, and I would explore a bit of the island tomorrow.
Well that was my plan anyway, but it didn’t work out that way.
There were another four men who were sat along the bar. Over the next couple of hours we all got talking and just sort of made friends really. Gary and Vince were a gay couple from Newcastle upon Tyne. Gary had a brother who was some kind of gangster up there. His brother owned a nightclub, but was currently in prison serving a sentence for murder. Gary was now running the club for his brother and was himself on bail for another shooting incident. He was muscular and looked as rough as fuck. He was not the sort of person you would want to fall out with. He also had a very gentle side and an elegant manner about him. He spoke in a strong Geordie accent and smiled a lot. He was very much in love with his partner Vince.
Vince was as camp as Christmas. He couldn’t have been more girlie. He was fantastically funny and always had a bitchy sarcastic comment for everyone. He made me laugh out loud lots of times. He flirted outrageously and openly admitted to cruising the gay bars and having sex with strangers. I felt sorry for Gary and I could see how hurt he looked on being reminded of his partner’s unfaithfulness. Gary just shrugged his shoulders.
“He can’t help himself” he said.
“But you know it’s you I really love sweetie” laughed Vince and they hugged and kissed. I liked Gary and Vince and we became good friends over the next week.
I wasn’t homophobic at all, which Gary and Vince thought was really funny for a single straight man. As long as they didn’t try to kiss me, or touch me, or try to look at any of my bits, then I was just fine with them.
Mick was a Cockney who was about 60 years old, seriously overweight and sweated a lot. He took himself very seriously and came out with the most ridiculous statements which always ended in “….swear on my life!” Every day he went into the restaurant and stole food, milk, tea and coffee from the buffet table and took them back to his room.
The first day he had round the pool he announced to us all “I’ve never put suntan cream on in my entire life. I don’t need to, my skin’s immune. I’ve been to the hottest countries in the world and never used it once, swear on my life!” By the end of the day he was burnt red like a lobster and couldn’t move. I liked Mick. I thought he was really funny. All week his personal details kept changing, depending on who he was talking to, and he didn’t even try to remember what he had previously said. His age ranged from 40 years to 69 years. His occupation changed from Managing Director to stage hypnotist, antiques dealer, computer expert, strip club owner, rare book restorer and even a retired priest. He had also lived in nearly every country you could think of for at least five years. (which made him over 500 years old with just the countries that I could think of!) I could go on and on with his list of changes, but what made it funny was that he didn’t bat an eyelid when he came out with all this stuff. In fact, I think he believed it at the time he said it. He was a super character and each night he came out dressed up like James Bond; white tuxedo, black bow tie, frilly shirt, black shiny shoes. He kept his cigarettes in a gold coloured cigarette case.
“…it cost me £3,000 ten years ago, swear on my life!” he told me when I first saw it.
Alan was a Jewish lad from London. He was about 27 years old and very dark skinned. He was by far the funniest character of all. He was full of a nervous energy, and never did anything on anything other than full pelt. He had the most ridiculous chat up lines. He used them on every girl he saw, and was constantly rejected. He was very thick skinned and the rejections never bothered him at all. He expected nothing else. He was a natural comedian. He reckoned that he was a member of the SAS. He told some amazing stories, but I noticed that he was stealing direct quotes from the Andy McNab book that I was currently reading; word for word. After a few days I just couldn’t help myself. I told him that he was ‘talking bollocks’ and he was no more a member of the SAS than I was. He asked me how I knew he wasn’t. I said that because, if he was in the SAS, I would have been lying flat on my back by now, either dead or at the very least unconscious, for insulting him. He backed down and admitted that he wasn’t in the SAS, but went on to say that he failed selection because, in spite of finishing a cross country route march with a broken leg, he didn’t complete it in the allotted time (probably due to the broken leg). After a further cross examination by myself he admitted that he had never gone for selection, and then went on to admit he hadn’t even been in the Army. I was forced to accept that he did walk past an Army recruiting office once and thought about popping in to ask about joining. Alan only hung around with us for the first part of the week because he decided that he was going to stay in Gran Canaria. He told us all that he had been offered a job as a night club manager in Playa, but he had to work the first few nights on the street getting people to go in the bar. His night club manager’s career came to an end the following Monday, when he flew back to the UK with the others. I liked Alan. He was funny.
Anyway, we all got on like a house on fire and, although I thought we were quite an odd group, we had a great time and laughed a lot. That first night in the bar we ended up getting a taxi into Playa De Ingles and going around the Kasbah and drinking tequilas. We set a pattern for the following week.
Gary and Vince were fantastic dancers and got lots of attention from the girls in every bar we went into, once they got on the dance floor. Of course they weren’t interested, but were happy to dance with the ladies until around after midnight, when they would then go to the Jumbo centre and do the gay bars.
Mick, Alan and I always e
nded up in the Irish centre and, in particular, the ‘Hawaiian Tasca Bar’, which was the place to be. Mick and Alan spent each and every night on the pull, but never ended up actually pulling anything. It was really quite sad, but very entertaining to watch. None of us every got back to bed before 8.00 a.m. and I usually didn’t see the others until around about 4.00 p.m. I was always around the pool by 10.30 a.m. and I slept on and off throughout the day. I loved getting a tan and, if I say so myself, I tan well. After a few days I look very Latino.
On that first night out I just stood at the bar when the others danced. I was having a great time, better than I expected, but I wasn’t interested in pulling and I didn’t want to dance. I was happy to stand at the bar and people watch, drink and just soak up the atmosphere in each bar we went into. I was happy to be away on holiday.
The first time we walked into the Hawaiian Tasca Bar I knew it was going to be a great place. It was buzzing, and there seemed to be a lot more women than men. That was always a good start. The dance floor was full. The DJ was on his raised platform, playing some great tunes and the place was full of attractive women.
Even with all this going on, the first thing I noticed were three girls sitting at the bar. The girl sitting in the middle was beautiful. Not just beautiful but ‘stop you dead in your tracks and have another look’, stunningly spectacular. I can honestly say the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Holy fuck! She was gorgeous. Her mates weren’t bad, but she was something else. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulder. Her brown eyes flashed and sparkled as she spoke. Her smile smouldered and burnt its way deep into your memory and would stay forever. Her cheek bones were exquisite and sculptured. Her little black dress hugged her body just like I wanted to. I took up position on the other side of the island bar to watch her. Every single bloke, of all ages, noticed her as they came into the bar. I was still taking in her extreme beauty, some people might call it staring, when her eyes flashed up from over her drink and she looked at me. She held my gaze for barely a moment, and looked away again before I could even muster a smile. That’s it then. She didn’t fancy me! Why would she? She was drop dead gorgeous and about ten years younger than me. She really could have any bloke she wanted. How great it must be to have such power! I couldn’t help myself from watching her, hoping that she might look at me again. In between looking at the people on the dance floor and the people sitting around the bar, I was constantly checking her out. I took in everything about her; the shape of her mouth, her smile, her eyes, her hair, her whole body. The elegant way she held herself. Even the way she smoked her cigarette and teased the top of her glass with her fingers.
