Summer Loving

by Nicola Yeager

  She looks out to sea and smiles to herself. ‘Tybalt has me on a short leash. It’s hard to get away and have fun. I managed it in Madrid when he was off at some golf thing and I managed it in Scotland last year with a chef. They were enough to keep me going, if you know what I mean. Something to think about on those long, lonely nights.’

  God, I wish she wouldn’t talk to me about this sort of stuff. It’s really depressing. She looks me straight in the eye.

  ‘Do you watch porn, Sassy?’

  I smile back at her. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve seen it, of course, but it’s not something I could describe as an all-consuming interest.’

  ‘I do. I watch it whenever I get the chance. On the computer. I’m addicted. I’m a porn junkie.’ She giggles and places a hand over mine. ‘It’s amazing what you can get on there now. Really wild stuff. I was watching it before I came down to dinner. Fantastic little short film about this woman with these four guys in a sauna.’

  I can imagine the blurb. ‘If things weren’t hot enough already…’ Luckily, the waiter comes and takes our plates and Estelle forgets what she was talking about. She squints at my plate as it’s removed.

  ‘Well, you’re not very hungry tonight, are you? I’d have thought all that activity would have given you an appetite!’

  ‘I had a coffee earlier and there were these little free biscuit things and I’m afraid I ate rather a lot of them. I may have spoiled my appetite.’

  I made that up, of course, but what else can I say? I’ve just found out that the love of my life took our split just as badly as I did, if not worse.

  ‘Oh, I saw those in that little coffee area that’s outside. The little chocolate things. So what were you and the blonde bombshell both crying about out there?’

  I suddenly get a big surge of adrenaline. I didn’t see Estelle out there, but she must have walked past or something. Both Janica and I were in such a state at one point that I probably wouldn’t have noticed Estelle if she was sitting on my lap, to be honest. I really don’t like this. It’s sneaky. If any normal person had noticed two girls having a big cry about something, it would have been the first thing they’d have mentioned when they next saw you. Or they wouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Maybe they’d try and commiserate with you. But Estelle saved it for later. It just seems like horrible, weird behaviour. I’m going have to think of something fast.

  Neither of us are having dessert this evening. The waiter places two coffees on the table. I spoon one sugar into mine and add a little cream.

  ‘Her name’s Janica. While I was down in sports reception trying to sort out a few surfing lessons, she suddenly burst into tears for no reason.’

  ‘What was the matter?’

  ‘I asked her. She was crying so much that she couldn’t speak. For a moment, I thought she was having a panic attack or something.’ I realise that I’m describing myself here. I’m using real-life experience to make it sound more convincing. It never fails. ‘It was all over some bastard of a guy.’ After what Kirstan told me, I know this wouldn’t be the case, but what the hell. ‘She’d been dating him for five months and she’d just found out he’d been cheating on her.’

  ‘Dear me. She doesn’t look like the sort of girl you’d cheat on.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. But that’s what happened. She had a date with him tonight. That’s why she was all dolled up. She was on her way out when she caught me on my way here. She just wanted some reassurance that she was doing the right thing by seeing him for dinner. She didn’t know whether she should just dump him. We sat down and she started talking about how much she loved him. That he was the love of her life. She was so in love with him. There had been a terrible misunderstanding and it had ruined her life.’

  ‘What? What misunderstanding?’

  Oh god. What am I saying? I’m letting my own bloody backstory leak into this piece of bullshit fiction.

  ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say. Anyway, it all got so emotional that soon she had me crying as well. We must have looked like a pair of idiots. I think we were actually frightening people away from that little coffee area!’

  At least that bit was true. I can see that Estelle is losing interest now. This is too mundane and romantic for her.

  She takes an appraising look at me. She does this quite a lot. At least I’ve got my clothes on during this appraisal, unlike the one in the changing room. And at least Estelle isn’t naked this time. I don’t think I could go through that again. I’ve had enough appraising looks during this holiday to last me a lifetime.

  ‘You have a very sensual, beautiful face. As soon as I saw your eyes, I thought you looked like the young Sophia Loren. You have full, sensual lips. When I saw you in the changing room, I was surprised at how curvy the rest of your body was. I’ll be frank. Your face and the rest of your body are just begging you to go up another cup size. You’d be an absolute knockout.’

  ‘I hadn’t planned on having anything else done, actually.’

  ‘There’s going to be a time when Franklin will demand it. Best to get it done before that time comes, if you ask me. You’ll get much more out of him, too. In terms of money and gifts, I mean. Since I did, I’ve been getting a lot more attention from men. Strangers, I mean. People who pass me by on the street. Other guests in the hotels we stay in. Other golfers. It drives Tybalt mad and he absolutely showers me with gifts because of it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I tell him about it when it happens. If I want something, I’ll just mention that one of the waiters brushed past me and ‘accidentally’ touched one of my breasts. Last time I did that I got a beautiful emerald bracelet the very next day. You mustn’t do it too much. Just enough to get what you want.’

  I must say I’m rather surprised at this. Tybalt didn’t strike me as someone who could be manipulated so easily. Still, you never can tell. This is really insane, isn’t it. Women having surgery to get bloody trinkets out of their men. Is this what feminism has come to? You could die during one of these procedures.

  ‘If we’re not doing this to get nice things, what are we doing it for? Would you give Franklin the time of day if he was a bloody heating engineer or something? I don’t think so. If Tybalt was a road sweeper, I wouldn’t even look at him.’ She finishes the last of her wine and giggles, sounding a little stoned. ‘He’s an ugly little, pot-bellied shit and he’s as boring as fuck.’

  Waving a waiter over, Estelle orders a bottle of Champagne and a little plate of petit fours. I notice that I’m light-headed as soon as I finish half of the first glass and remember what I’ve already drunk today. I take a nibble of one of the petit fours. It’s far too rich and sugary for me and I instantly feel a little nauseous. I’ve run out of things to talk to Estelle about. I really can’t think of a single thing I want to say to her. Luckily, she’s always got more topics up her sleeve.

  ‘Do you ever think about what you’ll do when Franklin is dead? He’s still got a while left, though, hasn’t he. Tybalt, too. They both might live for another fifteen or twenty years. What a depressing thought!’

  She laughs and glugs down a whole glass of Champagne in one.

  ‘You might only be in your early forties when Franklin is dead, but I’m already forty-two.’

  Funny. She was forty-four this morning. What was that I was saying about remembering your lies?

  ‘By the time Tybalt dies, I might be in my bloody mid-sixties! I want to be able to enjoy the money he’ll leave me. I sometimes have fantasies about him dying. I’m sitting down in some luxury hotel somewhere and the phone rings and it’s the police. They tell me that they’re awfully sorry, but Tybalt has perished in a horrific golfing accident. Not really very likely, though, is it. Oh yes. One of the policemen is very young, handsome and muscular. He can see I need consoling, so he takes me in the bathroom and rogers me senseless over the sink, while I hold onto the taps.’

  I have to laugh. Fatal golfing accidents must be very few and far between and I’m not s
ure that police policy allows for that sort of consolation.

  Estelle fills her glass with more Champagne. Her eyes look unfocused. I think she’s probably been drinking for most of the day. Unlike me, of course! I’m as pure as the driven snow.

  ‘Of course, it’ll be alright for you,’ she says, ‘You’ll still be attractive when you’re in your forties. You’ll have big boobs. You’ll have plenty of money. You’ll have plenty of young men after you and if you can’t get young men the usual way, you can pay for them. That’s what I would do. It’s what I’d do now, if I could get away with it. Tybalt’s bloody useless in bed. He thinks he’s god’s gift to women but he really has no idea at all about what a woman wants. Big, rich, powerful men. They’re all the same. Bloody useless in the sack.’

  The only area where all of Estelle’s speculations fall down, of course, is that there is no guarantee whatsoever that either Tybalt or Franklin have any intention of leaving their fortunes to people like us when they die. I would be extremely surprised to discover that I was in Franklin’s will, if he has one, which I assume he must. It’s about as likely as Tybalt dying in a horrific golfing accident and Estelle’s subsequent tap-gripping bathroom rogering by a representative of the local constabulary.

  She leans forwards and places a hand over mine again. ‘Oh god, Sassy. I love sex. The kinkier the better. I miss it so much.’

  Her head suddenly drops forward and she almost squashes the petit fours. ‘Oh my! I think it’s time for me to have an early night!’

  She’s slurring her speech, but it doesn’t sound like normal drunkenness. I’d thought earlier that she might have been on pills of some sort, maybe uppers. Perhaps they don’t go well with alcohol.

  She stands up, staggers over to where I’m sitting and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, sweet. See you in the breakfast room tomorrow? Eight thirty? Yes? Good.’

  She finishes the last of her Champagne and floats off to her room. One of the waiters, who she bumps in to, smiles at me and raises his eyebrows.

  A few minutes later, I’m sitting alone with a coffee. I feel a little sick. Hardly surprising. Since lunch, I’ve had two whiskies, a half bottle of Champagne, a small bottle of white wine, two coffees, most of the North Atlantic Ocean, more white wine, octopus, more Champagne and some sick-making petit fours. I decide to take a walk on the beach to clear my head.

  I take my high-heeled sandals off and let them dangle from my fingers. It’s already getting dark, and I can just make out a couple of the hotel’s security guards wandering around. One of them is looking up at the stars, which are just becoming visible in the dark blue sky. The sand is warm beneath my feet and there’s a cool breeze coming off the sea. The waves aren’t as big as they were this afternoon and I can hear their hissing as they break on the sand.

  It’s so lovely here, so why am I feeling so miserable? Apart from everything else, it was that dinner with Estelle. She’s been at this much longer than I have and she’s a pilled-up, insecure, porn-watching, lonely dipso, who’s only interested in where the next gift is coming from and what surgery she’ll have to undergo to get it.

  Her days are mostly spent alone, pounding the treadmill, doing endless sit-ups, frying herself on the sunbeds, getting endless hair and beauty treatments and contemplating her next boob job. I feel like she’s in this hellish, luxury dungeon and she’s trying to drag me down with her so that she has some company.

  I’d like to be liberal about it and say that I actually like her a bit and feel sorry for her, but that would be a lie. I don’t feel anything for her at all. Very mild distaste, maybe. I don’t like her company and I don’t like being around her.

  A third security guard walks by and nods at me. Fancy that. Having a walk on the beach and you’re outnumbered three to one by security guards.

  So why don’t I like being around her? I’m an affable sort of girl. I get on with most people. Well, the answer’s as plain as day. I’m already on the road to being like her. Looking at her is like looking into my own future. I’ve already had the breast surgery and the blonde hair, I’ve got the nice clothes and the trinkets, I’m so used to drinking Champagne that I’m bored with it, I pretend to find Franklin’s jokes funny when they’re not…

  And like Estelle, I’m already starting to worry about what will happen in the future. I know it makes Franklin feel like Mr Big having me around when I’m still young and pretty, but I’m fully aware that I’m dispensable and that all of this, everything I’ve got, all my nice things, could just be taken from me without any notice, because they’re not really my things at all, they’re his. And I’m his property as much as my emerald earrings or my Piaget watch are.

  I keep walking and close my eyes. If I concentrate, and just listen to the waves and feel the sand beneath my feet, I can just about imagine that I’m nineteen again, walking along the beach at Polzeath.

  I’m slim and well-proportioned. I’d laugh at the idea of enhancement surgery. My hair is still brown. The wind off the sea is blowing it around my face.

  I’m not alone, either. Kirstan is walking next to me, his arm around my waist. Occasionally, he’ll spin me around to face him and kiss me. His kisses are soft, sensual and last for a very long time. They make me feel dizzy, intoxicated and slightly faint. I can feel my heart fluttering.

  My eyes are stinging, so I open them to blink the tears away. The light is going, so for a second I’m not sure it’s him. But it is. This isn’t part of my reverie or a waking dream. Subconsciously or otherwise, I’ve walked over to his chalet. He’s standing outside his orange door.

  We stand and look at each other for a moment. He smiles.

  ‘I thought you were sleepwalking.’

  ‘I have been. For eight years.’

  ‘Well,’ he says.

  ‘Well,’ I say, those bloody tears brimming again.

  We walk towards each other until we’re about a foot apart. He looks a little sad, like he’s not sure what to say. He takes a deep breath and sighs.

  ‘I missed you, Sask.’

  ‘I missed you, too.’

  It’s no bloody good. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t burst into tears again, but I can’t help it. He reaches out and gently holds my arm, just above the wrist, giving it a slight squeeze. I can feel the goose pimples starting.

  ‘Sorry. I feel so stupid.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  And then we’re kissing, and all the pain is gone.

  Ten

  Afterwards, we lie in bed, staring into each other’s eyes for about half an hour. Neither of us says a thing. I can hear the waves outside, quietly lapping against the shore.

  The chalet is much bigger inside than I thought it would be (I keep thinking about the TARDIS), and it’s quiet and cool. It’s a lovely evening and a faint breeze comes through an open window, making the curtains gently twist and turn.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what to think or what to do.’

  He looks serious for a moment. ‘You’ve got to do the right thing. You’ve got to go back and be with your guy. Forget this ever happened.’

  ‘What?!’

  He grins. ‘Only kidding.’

  I punch him hard on the shoulder. ‘Don’t joke about it. This is serious stuff. This is like something out of a novel or a film. This is major, serious, life-changing stuff, Kirstan. This is drama. It’s mythological.’

  He laughs and rubs his shoulder.

  ‘That really hurt. OK. Shall I give you the unadulterated version of what’s going on in my head right now? No punches pulled? No editing? Damn the consequences and all the rest of it?’

  I nod. I can hear seagulls. They must be up late.

  ‘I am never – never going to let you go again. I don’t care what happens, or who you’re with.’ He grins. ‘I’ll bleedin’ kidnap you if I have to. It’s my last day here tomorrow. I’d planned to go to Italy. I was going to go to Sardinia. After that, I had that thing set up with Ja
nica’s brother in Oz. But as I’m telling you that now, I realise that all these things were part of me running away and I’ve no idea when it was going to stop. Maybe it can stop now. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it. Wherever you want to go, we’ll go there.’

  I run a hand across his chest. ‘I’ve never been to Sardinia. I’ve heard it’s meant to be very nice.’

  ‘Depends who you go with.’

  ‘I want to go with you.’

  ‘We could do it, couldn’t we, Sask? We could actually just go there tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night even.’

  ‘I’ve got a few things to extract myself from first. I told you, if I just disappear I’ll be just as bad as someone who’s, er, bad.’

  ‘That’s a good simile. I’ll remember that one.’ He runs a hand through my hair and kisses me again. ‘This is right, isn’t it? It’s not just some mad thing that has no future. I haven’t got anything, you know. I don’t own a property or have an impressive investment portfolio.’

  I pull away from him suddenly. ‘You didn’t tell me that! You mean you have no SERPS?’

  ‘Sadly, no.’

  ‘Good.’

  I lean over and kiss him on the mouth. It’s on the point in developing into something else, but I pull back just in time. I really don’t think I’m ready for another session like the last one quite yet. I’m still sore.

  ‘I had a chat with Janica this afternoon. She told me everything you’d told her. About us, I mean.’

  He looks embarrassed. ‘She told you everything? Shit. Yeah, well, we had a lot of long chats, you know? I think I told you, she had this long-term thing with this girl that looked like it was for life, then the girl went all funny on her and it collapsed. That’s why she came here, to sort of forget everything. I was just being friendly and said that I was here for much the same reason, so I told her about you. The girl’s name was Sapphire. Great name, eh?’

  ‘She said you went off the rails for a year. What happened?’

  ‘Well, that’s a bit too dramatic, really. Sounds like I was living in a cardboard box around the back of a Chinese takeaway in Manchester. I just, um, well, it didn’t hit me at first, you know It was just like you’d gone to see your folks in Bristol for the weekend and you’d soon be back. But then, um, well…’