Summer Loving

by Nicola Yeager

  ‘You’re not looking forward to it, are you?’

  ‘Would you?’

  He covers my hand with his. ‘No. I wouldn’t. I went through almost this exact thing with Kate Moss.’

  I make a face at him. ‘So are you going to tell me what the old woman said?’

  ‘Well, as I said, Portuguese is different from Spanish. Similarities, but it can be confusing sometimes. I couldn’t really do an accurate translation.’

  ‘Yet you understood enough to be able to reply to her.’

  ‘Yeah, well, sort of, yeah. It was a sort of reply. Close to a reply. It was reply-esque. Don’t know if she understood or not.’

  ‘She laughed, though.’

  I’ve got him squirming now.

  ‘She might have been laughing at my bad Portuguese.’

  ‘What did she say, Kirstan?’

  ‘Oh, alright. She was talking about you. She said that you were a real beauty and that I should marry you.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told her I’d think about it.’

  I punch him hard on the arm. ‘That’s possibly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that. You’re so bloody predictable, Sask.’

  Thirteen

  We walk hand in hand back to the hotel. In a rather cowardly way, our hands separate when we get within sight of it, as if we’re thirteen and have just spotted our parents. I get a stab of anxiety in my stomach again, as I remember that Franklin will be back some time in the next few hours. I try to convince myself that it’ll be a trouble-free transition, but I’m not convinced. I try to convince myself a little harder, but it still doesn’t work.

  ‘Well, Sask. You were my penultimate one-to-one surf lesson here. I’ve got some Brazilian kid of about nine this afternoon and that’s it. His parents are convinced that he’s so good at everything and he’ll be carving fifty footers after one half hour lesson. You can tell he’s afraid of them. I feel sorry for him.’

  I turn around so that I’m facing him. ‘I want to go tonight, Kirstan. As soon as we can.’ I know I’m looking at him with an expression that could be interpreted as pleading. Inexplicably, I feel rather sad. Or maybe depressed. I don’t know. I’m just sick of existing in a semi-permanent state of uncertainty and anxiety. He smiles at me and flicks a strand of hair away from my face.

  ‘It’s going to be a bastard of a journey. I’m driving, you realise that, don’t you?’

  I didn’t, but I can’t really say that it bothers me.

  ‘I planned to just go from place to place as the mood and the map took me. We could maybe get up to the northern part of Spain by tonight if we left late afternoon. I’m not sure where, exactly. I thought of vaguely heading up towards Tarragona or Barcelona. We might not get that far, though. I’ve got a tent that’s big enough to sleep three, but if there’s nowhere to set up, I’m sure we can stay in some little bar or hotel somewhere. Or even in the van. There’s a mattress in the back.’

  ‘I’ll bet there is! I don’t mind. I don’t mind where we stay.’

  ‘Then I was going to go up into France, maybe stay there for one night, possibly two, then down into Italy. I don’t really know how I’m going to get across to Sardinia, though. Haven’t looked into it yet. We can see when we get there. You can probably get across from Naples. Not one hundred per cent sure how I’m going to get across to Italy from France, either. I don’t want to – I wanted you to know up front that it’s not going to be comfortable or luxurious. You might not like it. Plus the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I’m going to be driving through Spain, France and Italy with a handsome surfer hunk who I’m in love with, staying at romantic little hotels or camping on the beach and you’re wondering whether I’ll like it or not?’

  ‘I’ve got an iPod now. You probably won’t like most of it.’

  ‘Oh, well I’m definitely coming, then.’

  ‘I finish around four, unless the kid gets swept out to sea. I’ll go back and say goodbye to Janica. I think the new girl’s arriving this afternoon some time. Janica’ll show her the ropes, but I’ll have a chat with her anyway. There’re always a few little things that I can tell her that Janica may forget. Then I’ll go back and clear my stuff out of the chalet. It won’t take long. That’s where I’ll be. Wanna come down there at four, five or so, if you can? We’ll have a chat about what we’re going to do and then start on our fantastic journey.’

  I smile at him. ‘This is right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it is. Don’t know about you, but I feel like a weight’s been lifted.’

  ‘I know what you mean. It’s like the missing piece of the jigsaw has been found.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a metaphor. D’you mind if I use that and claim it as my own?’

  ‘I’m going to kill you.’

  He leans forwards and his lips brush mine.

  I get back to my hotel room and get in the shower. My hair feels thick and uncomfortable from having been in the sea for so long and I work twice the amount of shampoo and conditioner into it that I normally would, and leave it in for much longer, too.

  I look at myself into the mirror as I’m rubbing moisturiser into my face. I’m surprised to see that I’m smiling. My usual mirror expression is glum and critical. I’m always looking for little adjustments that have to be made to my appearance. Appearance is so important with Franklin. He feels it reflects badly on him if people look at me and I’m not in perfect condition. It’s a bit like I’m one of his cars.

  I notice that my skin has absorbed the moisturiser completely and it looks dry again. Has to be the sea water. I squirt a little more into my hand and work it in, then, for luck, add some more. I look at the container. It’s Chantecaille Nano Gold Energising Cream. Probably over two hundred quid for around two week’s supply. I don’t even know where it came from. Maybe it was a gift, maybe it wasn’t.

  I stare into the wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. I know I’m looking for something that would be suitable for afternoon wear, but I’m finding it really hard to focus on what that would be. I finally decide on one of my favourites, a sleeveless Etro dress with a wrap at the waist and a crazy splash of multi-colour all over it.

  I slip my feet into a pair of red espadrilles and get the lift down to the fifth floor.

  I was going to kill some time in the gym, but I feel too stiff, so decide to have a coffee and some sort of snack in one of the coffee areas that overlook one of the indoor swimming pools.

  The sugar nausea from the cake I had in the village has gone and I’m feeling hungry again, so I order a prego, which is a steak sandwich marinated in wine, oregano and olive oil and served in a big crusty roll with salad.

  I sit down with a coffee, waiting for my sandwich, and watch the swimmers. One woman, who looks about fifty, maybe older, is really going at it in one of the lanes. She’s bombing along like a professional, switching from crawl to butterfly to breaststroke, as if it’s her last swim on earth. I wish I could swim like that; flat out and never getting tired!

  A very pretty Chinese waitress puts my prego on the table, and just as I pick it up to take a bite, I can feel that I’m being watched. I hear someone clear their throat and there’s Estelle, arms folded, tapping one of her feet on the floor. She looks annoyed, which makes a change.

  ‘I thought we’d arranged to have lunch together today!’

  I chew rapidly so I can speak. I hate doing that. ‘Did we? I don’t remember saying anything.’

  In fact, I’m sure we didn’t arrange anything of the sort. She’s just being a pain for the sake of it; because she can.

  ‘I’m sure we did. I thought you were going to give me the lowdown on what happened last night. Don’t you remember?’

  I’m getting pissed with her now.

  ‘I remember that you asked me to have some girly time with you and tell you every little detail, but I don’t remember that I agreed to it.�
��

  She doesn’t like that, I can tell. She sits down opposite me. She means business. I can tell by her face. She waves over a waiter and points at my sandwich. ‘What’s that?’

  The waiter patiently explains. She orders one as well, but without the salad. She also orders a mineral water.

  ‘So, we’re having steak are we? Dear me, we must be hungry today. All your exertions last night, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ve just spent over an hour in the water surfing. That sort of thing can make you quite hungry.’

  ‘And how is he today, your instructor friend? I hope he wasn’t too tired to take your lesson.’

  ‘He was fine.’

  ‘He must have plenty of stamina, doing a job like that. Is that the impression you got? That he had a lot of stamina?’

  A waiter places her prego in front of her. She ignores him and doesn’t bother to say thank you. She’s picking up Tybalt’s mean-spirited habits, I see. She takes a bite and her eyes roll up into her head. ‘Mmmm. Delicious. I can see why you wanted to get your mouth around one of these. Talking of which…’

  ‘Look, Estelle. I’m not really in the mood to talk about…things this morning.’

  ‘Oh, come on, poppet. I live for this sort of chat. Tell you what, I’ll tell you about Arturo. He was the wine waiter at the L’Antico Convitto. It was quick. Very quick. Emotionless, too. Rear entry. No kissing. No talking. And in a storage cupboard that smelt of Ajax. But during that ninety seconds or so, I felt like a Sabine woman.’

  ‘You don’t have to, really…’

  She takes a bite of her prego and glowers at me. For a moment, I think she’s going to stamp her foot, but that might damage one of her Christian Louboutin heels.

  ‘You’re such a drag, Sassy, aren’t you?’ She says through a mouthful of meat and bread. ‘I thought you were going to be fun and that we were going to be friends.’

  ‘But I only met you about a day and a half ago. We’ve spent three, maybe four hours together, if that. I need to know someone much longer than…’

  She waves a hand in the air as her Blackberry makes a noise in her handbag. She pulls it out, presses something and reads whatever it is with great concentration, a bit like someone who only learnt to read yesterday. She grins evilly and looks up.

  ‘It’s from Tybalt. The boys are less than an hour away. I wonder if that means they’ve had lunch? I suppose it does.’

  My heart sinks. It doesn’t feel like Franklin has been away for around thirty hours, it feels as if he’s been away for years. A mischievous little smile passes across Estelle’s face and she starts typing what I assume to be a reply. If someone sent me a message like that, I’d probably just type ‘k’ in reply. Whatever Estelle is typing is taking much longer than that. As she types, she looks up at me and we make eye contact briefly. She quickly breaks it, smiles to herself and continues typing.

  I get a cold feeling inside, because I know exactly what’s in the text that Tybalt is about to receive. I could be making a major error regarding a person’s character here, but I can’t help but feel that Estelle is a massive, shit-stirring bitch. Why? I mean, why would you do that to someone? Is she so bored and burnt out that things like this are her entertainment? Is part of her ‘job’ to keep Tybalt amused all the time with things like this? Maybe he’s looking for advantage over Franklin in some business-related way that I can’t fathom. Maybe they’re all just bastards and this is how bastards behave.

  This can go three ways. Tybalt can ignore whatever Estelle has texted (she’s still typing, by the way) and just treat it as silly women’s stuff. He can tell Franklin about it and make what I have to do far more awkward and excruciating. He could not tell Franklin and store it way for his own use, in some way that I can’t imagine at present.

  I suddenly think that I could just get away from here right now. I could just walk out of the hotel in what I’m wearing, leave a note for Kirsten with Janica and say that I’ll meet him in the town at such and such a time. Maybe outside that place that we had the coffee and rich cakes this morning.

  Estelle is so silly. She had no idea that Kirstan and I already knew each other. She has no idea that our split eventually led to both of us being here at the same time. She has no idea that I’m going to exit her frothy, vacuous, self-centred world as soon as I possibly can. She’s an idiot. Or maybe I’m the idiot. I feel sick.

  Estelle’s Blackberry makes that noise again and Estelle inspects the screen. She smiles when she sees the message and I’m wondering what it is. I know she wants me to ask, but I’m not going to. I finish my prego and drink what’s left of my coffee, which is now cold. What a stressful, unpleasant meal this has been.

  ‘Franklin says could you book him a massage for as soon as he gets back. Full body if possible, but shoulders and neck will do.’

  I roll my eyes and get up, but I’m glad of an excuse to get away from Estelle. ‘I better go and do that now.’

  ‘Yeah’ says Estelle, ‘You go and do that now, poppet.’

  As I leave, I can feel her smirking behind me, so powerful are her negative vibrations. Maybe all the stress is making me psychic or something. Can you imagine knowing someone like this when you were in school? ‘If you’re not going to be my best friend, I’ll make your life a misery!’

  ***

  Orders are orders. Estelle and I have to stand outside the main entrance of the hotel to greet our men as they arrive, like triumphant golf warriors from some leisure activities conflagration. Since we were in the coffee bar, Tybalt has texted Estelle about a dozen times with various petty instructions. It would obviously be too much for his ego if he got back and wasn’t greeted by large-breasted, designer-clad blonde women as soon as he got out of his car.

  I managed to book Franklin a full body Swedish massage. It was cutting it fine, but luckily he’s back a little earlier than he and Tybalt had estimated, so he’ll be able to get to it on time. I hate messing people like masseurs around in a place like this. They’re always very polite to you, but I’m sure they call you all sorts of things behind your back when you’re half an hour late for appointments and so on. On the other hand, in a place like this, they’re probably used to it.

  As the car arrives, I can see Franklin and Tybalt laughing at something. As soon as they get out, Estelle is all over Tybalt, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her boobs against his chest. He’s laughing and has caught the sun a little. I don’t think I’m capable of acting out such an effusive welcome for Franklin, but luckily he doesn’t go in for such ostentatious displays.

  ‘So how did it go?’ I try to put enthusiasm into my voice. I think it works. Franklin kisses me on both cheeks and smiles indulgently at me.

  ‘My dear, I could give you a blow by blow account of our games, but I doubt whether you’d understand a word of what I was saying!’

  This gets a laugh from Tybalt, whose eyes have plainly been missing the sight of my boobs.

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely fantastic! What a course. I could stay there for a month. I could live there, truth be told. What would you think of that, Estelle, my dear? Would you like to live on a golf course? In a tent? You should have seen the hotel, too. Marvellous. Food was exemplary.’

  We all walk into the foyer like normal couples, laughing and joking. I catch Estelle giving Tybalt a very quick knowing look. He raises his eyebrows in return. Neither of the men asks us what we’ve been doing, or whether we followed up any of their suggestions, or whether we had fun, because when it comes down to it, neither of them really give a toss.

  Franklin turns to me suddenly, giving me a stern look. My heart leaps. Does he know? Did Tybalt say anything? To be honest, I don’t really know for sure what it was that Estelle texted him about. I’m just assuming a worst-case scenario. ‘So, my dear,’ he says, ‘What news on the massage front?’

  Phew.

  I look at my watch. ‘You have a full body Swedish massage in exactly five minutes.’

  ‘Excellent. Well
done.’

  I feel like I’m his secretary. Tybalt leads the way into one of the bars. At this time of day, it’s totally empty, but a waiter from one of the nearby restaurants sees us and asks us what we’d like. Tybalt orders drinks for all of us. I get some sort of white wine spritzer. It’s the sort of thing he assumes someone like me would drink. Franklin has a straight Scotch. ‘Better knock this down in one,’ he says, ‘Don’t want to be late for my Swedish pummelling. Is it a masseur or a masseuse?’

  He empties his glass, slaps Tybalt on the back and leaves the bar without saying a word to me. I think it’s a dead cert that he’s forgotten that today it my birthday, but I’m past caring. Even if he remembered and got me a present of some sort, it wouldn’t be as good as the one I got this morning.

  I’m talking about the seashell, in case you were wondering. No – don’t try and deny it. I know what you were thinking.

  Tybalt looks me up and down appreciatively. ‘That’s a nice dress, Saskia! I don’t think I’ve seen that one before. Shows off your assets wonderfully. What do you think, Estelle? Do you think that Saskia has nice assets?’

  Estelle laughs along with Tybalt, though I’m sure, deep down, remarks like this are incredibly hurtful to her. ‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ she says, ‘I think I saw someone wearing one exactly like it in Milan last year or the year before and I thought it was beautiful then.’

  Miaou!

  Tybalt stretches and moves his head from side to side, as if he’s got neck ache.

  ‘I must say, I could do with a bloody massage, actually. All the golf and all the driving - I’m feeling pretty stiff. Not that I mind feeling stiff, if the circumstances are appropriate!’

  He laughs, looks at me and then looks at Estelle, who’s grinning like an idiot.

  ‘Estelle. Would you be an absolute darling and run me a bath? I think I need to have a long, long soak. Loosen the old neck and back muscles a tad. I’ll just finish my drink and then I’ll be up. Not too hot, mind!’