Will and Joe are already in the breakfast room when we arrive, so Cate, Emily and I end up on a table with three people from Marion’s old Manchester salsa class. They’ve been on several of her trips abroad and their advice can be summed up by a girl called Keeley with cropped dark hair and a nose ring almost identical to Cate’s. ‘They’re fab, as long as you don’t let her bully you,’ she grins, at the exact moment that Marion appears brandishing a class timetable.
It is clear that our esteemed teacher is taking this trip very seriously: there is not a scheduled moment of respite from the dancing, apart from an hour for lunch. ‘When do we get to sunbathe, Marion?’ Cate asks.
Marion looks as though she pities her. ‘You can sunbathe anywhere. Why on earth would you want to do that, when you can dance?’
‘I can’t sunbathe anywhere, Marion,’ Cate replies. ‘I live in the Lake District, which isn’t exactly known for its sub-tropical climate.’
In the event, the morning class is fantastic. It’s also hilarious. I do realise that hilarity isn’t supposed to be its key attribute, but it works for most of us. We start off by attempting some fairly advanced moves, including a loopover lock with a barrel turn – which, yes, is as hard as it sounds and way beyond my ability. But, once we’re over the fact that our collective failure to master this series of moves constitutes ‘entertainment’ for the Dutch and German clientele relaxing by the pool, there’s no going back. Particularly when said clientele leap up and Marion nearly has a nervous breakdown while several men attempt to join in.
My mind drifts predictably to Edwin all morning. I can’t help thinking he’d love this. I’ve never been anywhere dancing with him, but you just instinctively know with some men that they’d be a natural, and he’s one of them, at least I think so. Yes, I admit it’s not immediately obvious, but Edwin’s got so many hidden depths I know – I categorically know – that, once he loosened his tie and grabbed me by the hand, he’d be unstoppable on a dance floor.
Lunch is big, long and mildly boozy, resulting in precisely zero takers for the afternoon class. All anybody wants to do is soak up some rays – apart from Cate that is, who wants to spend some ‘quality time’ with Will. Read into that euphemism whatever you like.
Emily and I grab a couple of loungers by the pool and lie back in the sun. Sleep-deprived as I am, I close my eyes and push my dilemma about Singapore from my head, and very soon, the red blur behind my eyelids disappears to nothing . . .
When I wake, God knows how much later, it is in the style of Basil Fawlty leaping out of bed, arms and legs akimbo, eyes wide, head spinning as I try to register my whereabouts. Emily smirks and puts her hand on my bare shoulder.
‘How’s it going, Lauren?’
‘Eurgh, I feel a bit groggy. How long have I been asleep?’
‘An hour, maybe an hour and a half,’ she replies, as I register that she’s fully dressed.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ I ask.
‘I was going to suggest a walk along the prom if you fancy coming?’
I look down at myself and feel, frankly, wretched. ‘I think I need a shower before tonight’s activities to be honest, Em,’ I reply.
She smiles. ‘No problem. We’ve only got one key, though. Cate’s got the other.’
‘If you come up with me first and let me in, you can keep hold of the key. Then I’ll just meet you here in an hour and a half or so. I presume Cate will have emerged from Will’s lovenest by then.’
After a shower and rudimentary tart-up, I am feeling significantly more human so head back downstairs to wait for Emily and Cate over a coffee. I settle at a table by the pool and take out my notepad and pen, resolving to do my decision-making the Cosmo way: by making a list of pros and cons of going to Singapore. It ends up like this:
Pros
1. Guaranteed opportunity to spend immediate future with Edwin by:
a. Holding a series of ‘planning’ sessions in romantic pubs.
b. Sitting next to him on a plane.
c. Once there, sharing accommodation, thus offering potential for Ross and Rachel-style romance in which two people clearly made for each other finally realise it. And, without getting too optimistic, potentially have sex of the non-self-administered kind.
2. Singapore looks lovely.
3. New life/adventure etc, with lots of brand new people – exciting!
4. Financially more viable than initial plan to bum round Oz.
5. Poss wedding at the Raffles Hotel? (Ultimately, obvs: but I’m all for deferred gratification.)
Cons
1. Real possibility of spending a week with Edwin before he finds new girlfriend, leaving me heartbroken and homeless.
2. I’d never even thought of Singapore until a month ago.
3. New life could = lonely, homesick existence with no cousin Steph for company, no friends and no enjoyment.
4. No Australia.
‘Good day?’ I look up and see Joe standing above me. I sit up in alarm and hastily stuff the note upside down under my saucer. ‘Excellent day, thank you,’ I reply.
I feel weird around Joe, I can’t deny it. Now I know he’s not turning the Moonlight Hotel into a Travel Haven I no longer hate his guts. And there have even been moments since he showed me those plans yesterday when I’ve thought that perhaps what he’s doing to the hotel might not be such a bad thing. But they’ve been fleeting: I know in my gut that I’m not going to like it.
‘What have you been up to?’ I ask, as he doesn’t seem inclined to walk away.
‘I went for a run around the town. I’m not really the sunbathing type, and I think a whole morning of Marion is enough for anyone,’ he smiles. ‘Plus, Will and I are sharing a room, so I thought I’d give him and Cate a bit of space. You know, just in case they weren’t up there playing Scrabble. Would you like a drink?’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ but as a waitress appears, he orders a Coke for himself and takes a seat.
‘So,’ he says firmly, as if he’s about to broach an inordinately serious subject. ‘Guy at two o’clock in the red shorts. What do you think he does for a living?’
I glance at Joe and wonder what the hell he’s on about. ‘I’ve got absolutely no idea – what does he do for a living?’
‘Well, I’ve got no idea either. But I am fairly certain I can tell just by looking at him: he’s a retired nuclear engineer.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Only he gave it up to run a shop that specialises in crocheting jumpers made from the hair of people’s pets. His name is Ludwig.’
I burst out laughing. ‘OK. What about her . . . lady in the blue swimsuit.’ I nod over at a middle-aged lady with a jolly, jowly smile who is tanned to the colour of a conker.
‘Dolphin-trainer,’ he answers, without missing a beat. ‘But she’s recently moved on to squid. Wants to challenge herself.’
‘Him,’ I say, pointing to someone else.
‘Trapeze artiste. Strong legs.’
‘Her.’
‘Goat-herder.’
‘Couple by the tiki bar,’ I challenge him.
‘He’s a golf-ball diver.’
‘What’s a golf-ball diver?’
‘The guy who dives into the ponds on golf courses and retrieves all the golf balls. And she’s . . .’ he frowns, pretending to scrutinise her ‘. . . a sex-toy tester.’
I am actually laughing now, as I go to take a sip of my coffee. The cup is almost at my mouth, when a gust of wind whips past – and takes my pros and cons list with it.
Panic grips me as all I can think about is that reference to the fact that the only intimate encounter I’ve had in the last three years was battery-powered. Into the split second that follows, I cram a multitude of neurotic possibilities, which come down to my public exposure as a sad, sex-starved spinster who, twenty years after my first boxset, still wants to be Rachel from Friends.
I leap out of my seat and start frantically chasing the note across the
terrace as Joe looks on, bewildered. As I repeatedly lunge for it – and fail to catch it – my inner hysteria intensifies, as Joe, clearly believing this to be of life-or-death importance, jumps up to try and help.
Just when I am almost weeping with desperation, the wind dies down and my note floats nonchalantly through the air towards the edge of the swimming pool. I hold my breath, praying that it stays still long enough for me to get it in my grasp. And it almost does.
The exact chain of events that follows is a frantic blur. All I know is that one minute, I’ve almost got the list in my hand . . . the next, it’s rising into the air again and I’m stretching out to reach it.
But instead of clasping the note and tucking it firmly into a pocket, I feel the edge of it tickle my fingertips, and then my ankle twists and, as if I’ve been shot in the torso by a sniper, I find myself crashing side-on into the swimming pool.
The last time I ended up fully clothed in a stretch of chlorinated water was aged twelve on a junior lifeguard course. And while the event gave me a basic grasp of life-saving, face-saving is another matter.
I splutter to the surface, my cheeks burning as I doggy-paddle to the edge and hoist myself up as Joe insists on reaching out for my hand and pulling me up with remarkably little effort.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks as the woman who makes a living as a sex-toy tester re-opens her copy of Reader’s Digest and pretends not to have seen a thing.
Chapter 15
Cate and Will have finally emerged from the room he shares with Joe. Beyond that I have absolutely no idea where either of them is, because she’s switched off her phone. Which means that, instead of going back to my room, drying off and curling up in my squeaky bunk to hide my mortification, I’m left with no alternative but to accept Joe’s offer to do the drying-off bit in his room.
This is not a prospect with which I feel even a tiny bit comfortable, particularly given that the only dry clothes available are Joe’s shorts and clean T-shirt, which hangs ludicrously off my shoulders. He smiles when I emerge from his en-suite.
‘I’m glad I’m the source of such amusement,’ I say.
‘They kind of suit you actually,’ he grins.
His room is slightly smaller than ours, but fancier, if you count the shower cap, actual bona fide vista (ours is a ‘Garden View’ which means it overlooks the car park) and remote control for the TV. He leans on the bureau and crosses his arms.
‘So what was on the paper? All the passwords for MI6’s security settings?’
‘Far more important,’ I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Or more embarrassing.’
He laughs. ‘I see.’
‘Oh, not that embarrassing,’ I insist hastily. ‘I mean, it wasn’t my list of top ten favourite Bros songs or anything, or membership of UKIP.’
‘I should hope not.’
‘It was . . . well, it was just a list of pros and cons. About whether I should move to Singapore.’
‘What’s in Singapore?’
I sigh. ‘Not what – who.’
‘Go on.’
I squirm. ‘It’s just this guy at work, my friend. We’re quite close, in some ways. I’ve had feelings for him for quite a while, only they haven’t been reciprocated, because he had a girlfriend – until recently.’
‘Now he’s single?’
I nod. ‘He dumped her and is moving to Singapore. Only, he’s asked me to go with him.’
Joe raises his eyebrows. ‘So you’re an item?’
‘Well, no. That’s just it.’
He looks at me in a way that makes it impossible not to continue. I sit on the edge of his bed and words tumble out of my mouth about my history with Edwin – my feelings for Edwin – in a way that’s so cathartic I ought to be paying Joe by the hour.
When I stop talking, a rush of embarrassment fills my chest.
‘Would you like some male insight into this situation?’ he offers.
‘Yes, please.’
‘This guy is interested, all my instincts are telling me so,’ he says. ‘There’s no way I’d invite a girl to fly all the way over to Singapore with me if I didn’t think she was seriously special.’
‘So why hasn’t he done anything about it?’
‘He’s definitely not gay?’ he says, and I realise he’s being mischievous.
‘He had a girlfriend for three years.’
‘Could he be shy?’ he ventures.
‘That could be it. He’s a little old-fashioned,’ I agree. ‘There’s always the obvious though: he doesn’t fancy me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he laughs. ‘I’m going with your first guess. Which is fine – we all get shy sometimes. I used to be terrible when I was younger.’ I find this difficult to believe somehow. ‘But faint heart never won fair maiden, as the saying goes. He needs to man up.’
‘He is all man,’ I leap in defensively. ‘Well, kind of.’
‘Why don’t you just ask him out?’ he shrugs. I freeze in alarm and he looks surprised. ‘Is that so controversial? I had you down as a feminist.’
‘I am. But I’ve also read The Rules. I’m not going to fall into that trap.’
‘Forget self-help books. I am a man – I know these things. Just ask him out, then you’ll know categorically if he’s interested. Mystery solved.’
Chapter 16
The salsa dancing comes into its own that night. Marion’s lesson is fantastic. She shows us how to put together several of the basic steps we’ve learned in our Tuesday classes, and for the first time ever, the resulting dance looks vaguely as it should do. But it’s the social when the whole thing really ramps up a gear: our small group joins the other salsa classes and everyone is up and dancing at one point – Frank and me, Jilly and Esteban, Will and Cate, Joe and Emily, along with throngs of other Brits from three other classes. As I take a seat, it’s Joe and Emily I can’t take my eyes off, the warmth of the day still hazy on my shoulders as she gazes into his eyes, clearly smitten.
He takes her hand and she makes several perfect turns; it’s as if somebody from high above has come along and sprinkled fairy dust over the two of them. They’re alive; they’re electric. They really are made for each other.
‘Why are you mooching over here by yourself?’ Cate asks, thrusting another drink into my hand as she sits down next to me.
‘Just taking a breather,’ I reply.
‘You’re here on a salsa holiday, you should be salsa-ing,’ Will says, appearing from nowhere.
Then he grabs me by the hand. And before I know it, I’m on the dance floor, stepping, spinning, sashaying my hips, and feeling as if I almost know what I’m doing. I dance with Esteban. I dance with Will. And I dance with Joe.
‘Right – loop-over locks with a turn. You ready?’
‘I can’t do that!’ I protest.
‘Neither can I, but I thought we could at least give it a go,’ he says.
I step back. ‘Go on then. You’re the man. You lead.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ he laughs, before twirling me into a series of moves that we both agree afterwards looked about as slick as two knock-kneed goats.
‘Think we might need a bit of practice first,’ I gasp, as I get my breath back.
‘And I think you might be right, but perseverance is the key.’
The rest of the evening is a blur. All I know is, we drink a lot, we dance a lot, we laugh a lot.
By the end of the night, Will makes a rash decision – and goes to reception to book a separate room for himself and Cate that evening. The two of them disappear off, giggling, leaving Joe and a very drunk Emily to stumble back to his room.
So I lie alone in the bedroom, while my two friends get laid elsewhere, feeling strangely horny, strangely unsettled but strangely happy. Because Joe’s right. When I get home, I am going to make sure Edwin Blaire is under no illusions about what I feel for him.
I’m going to ask him out on a date.
Chapter 17
When I arrive
at work for the first day of the new term, I feel mildly delirious. The cause of this could be anything, from lingering alcohol in my bloodstream to the far too late journey home (I didn’t put my key in the lock until 11.45 p.m.). It could also be due to the fact that, despite my efforts to sit with anyone other than Esteban on the flight back, I ended up next to him again in yet another headlock, this time with him chanting a Mindfulness mantra down my ear canal as we took off.
Yet, when I woke this morning it was with a strong sense of destiny, and an even stronger sense of positivity. I have a task to do and I WILL do it. If Edwin says no to a date, I know exactly where I stand. If he says yes, then all is clear too – and amazing! Today, for better or worse, will give me clarity about whether the life I’m planning will be in Australia with Steph or Singapore with Edwin.
I park my car and gaze across the sunlight cast on the fells. It’s one of those days when heaven has taken up temporary home in Lakeland, when everything glitters, from the still water on the lakes to the dew on the grassy mountainsides.
‘Miss Scott, I’ve got sausages for my packed lunch.’ I spin round and see Tom Goodwin grinning at me through a gap-toothed smile.
‘Ooh, lucky you,’ I reply.
‘It’s not just sausages.’ Tom’s dad says, suppressing a smile. ‘There are some healthy things in there too, I promise you.’
‘Yes, there’s a Fruit Shoot,’ Tom tells me earnestly.
‘I wasn’t talking about the Fruit Shoot,’ his dad laughs, ruffling his hair. ‘There’s an apple too.’
‘I hate apples.’
‘Oh good,’ he sighs and I grin. I’ve never met Mr Goodwin before today – it’s usually Tom’s mum Jenny who does the school run. But I can completely see them together: they’re both attractive in a bookish kind of way. He’s big and muscular, with intelligent eyes and dark hair that shows the first signs of thinning.
‘Daddy, this is my teacher, Miss Scott.’
Mr Goodwin looks taken aback by this, a reaction that’s usually down to the kids having told their parents that I’m really, really old. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Nick Goodwin,’ he says, reaching out his hand. ‘I’ve heard an awful lot about you.’
Summer Nights at the Moonlight Hotel Page 10
