Summer Loving

by Nicola Yeager

  ‘It’ll be just the way you like it,’ smiles Estelle. She swallows the remainder of her drink and wiggles out of the bar. Tybalt watches her bottom as she leaves.

  ‘Fine looking woman,’ he says to me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A bottom made for slapping.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘You never have to ask her to do anything twice. I like that in my women. I think that’s a quality that all too few women have nowadays.’

  ‘I, um…’ I don’t think there’s a polite reply to a statement like that.

  ‘I expect you two are quite good friends now, Saskia.’

  ‘We had a couple of meals together. I wouldn’t say we were friends, exactly.’

  ‘That’s good. That’s very good. Because I have a little business proposition for you, Saskia.’

  I allow a slight laugh to escape from my mouth. ‘A business proposition? What sort of business proposition?’

  He suddenly looks serious. ‘We haven’t got much time, my dear, so I’m going to give this to you as plainly as I can. Estelle told me about you and the surfing instructor.’

  ‘I…’

  Tybalt raises a hand to stop me talking. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t care what they are. You’re obviously a very sexual young woman and you need to let off steam from time to time. Estelle said you spent the whole night with this person. She said you were limping from your exertions when you arrived at breakfast the next morning.’

  I can feel myself blush, but it’s with anger. I decide I’m not going to take this lying down, so to speak.

  ‘You listen to me, Tybalt. This has nothing to do with you. Estelle is…’

  ‘Let me finish. And don’t start sentences with you listen to me. It’s so unfeminine. Now as I’m sure you’re aware, I could tell Franklin about your little indiscretion and I think you know what the consequences would be. Who knows? It may have happened before. I’m sure I could hint at that and be believed, and looking at you I can imagine it has. Plenty of times, I’ll wager. I’ve known him for a long, long time and he trusts me. You’d undoubtedly be thrown to the wolves. Alone in Europe without a penny to your name. Things could get very awkward for you.’

  ‘You’re such a slime ball, Tybalt. What planet are you from?’

  ‘Sticks and stones, my dear. Sticks and stones. But there is a way out for you. Two ways out, in fact. I might decide not to tell Franklin. I own a number of fairly luxurious vacant properties in London. The one I’m thinking of is in Wigmore Street. Very handy for shopping in the West End.’

  I simply do not believe what I am hearing.

  ‘This would be the arrangement. You would stay with Franklin and reap all the benefits of that relationship. You would also have a secret pied-à-terre, owned by me. I would contact you from time to time and we would arrange a rendezvous. Perhaps an afternoon, sometimes overnight. It would depend on the sort of mood I was in and what Franklin was doing. Franklin is a very busy man. I know that sometimes he can be away on business for weeks. I’m fairly sure that he would not suspect anything. We’re both businessmen. It could be seen as a Partial Takeover, but a secret one; a confidential one.’

  I’m sure that Tybalt’s smooth style is not designed or intended to make women feel as if they’re going to throw up and keep throwing up, but unfortunately that’s the effect it’s having on me.

  ‘You said there was another way out.’ I say coldly.

  ‘Ah yes. That would be, shall we say, a Hostile Takeover. Estelle is not getting any younger, as I’m sure you’re aware. She’s forty six now. I am no spring chicken, as you can tell, but neither is Estelle. The lifestyle she has led with me has taken its toll on her. She has aged far more dramatically than I would have liked. I prefer my women to be young, or at least to look young. Estelle is, alas, no longer in either of those categories. You, however, are in both of them. Plus, you are very beautiful. You must realise that I am aching to get my hands on you, and I am a younger man than Franklin.’

  Throughout this, the creepiness quotient is raised by Tybalt’s frequent glances at my bust. What’s worse is that, despite the air conditioning in the bar, he’s sweating quite profusely. If his tongue starts hanging out and his eyes start rolling up into his head, I’m leaving.

  ‘So you’re suggesting that I leave Franklin for you and you will then dump Estelle?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘In return for you not spreading Estelle’s gossip about me to Franklin.’

  ‘Quite.’ He smiles with the confidence of someone who’s one hundred per cent sure that his plan will work.

  ‘Those are the two most pathetic suggestions I’ve ever heard in my life. And you are pathetic, Tybalt. You’re not a man, you’re a worm.’

  ‘But what are you, my dear? Mm? I should think about this carefully. You may not get such an opportunity again.’

  ‘I don’t have to think about it. You just don’t get it, Tybalt. You just don’t get what’s going on here. Here’s my answer to your kind offers.’

  I throw my spritzer in his face, turn around and storm out of the bar. I have no idea where I’m going. Tybalt’s in the bar wiping spritzer out of his face, Estelle’s running a bath just how Tybalt likes it, Franklin’s in the massage room, Kirstan’s in the sea with the Brazilian kid. I could go and get a drink somewhere, but the best option is to go to my room. I need to sit and think. And drink.

  Poor old Estelle. She really shot herself in the foot with that piece of mischief. And Tybalt! Talk about deluded. I can just imagine what Kirstan would say - ‘What a wanker!’

  I get into the room, find a Tia Maria in the minibar and pour it into a glass with some ice. I’m so angry. I switch on the television and stare dumbly at some Italian programme which I can’t understand. Two fabulous looking, heavily made-up women in designer clothing are pointing at something I can’t see in a magazine which is laid out flat on a small table in front of them. Riveting!

  I spend about twenty minutes flicking from channel to channel. The more incomprehensible it is, the more relaxing I find it. On one channel, I come across an episode of The Powerpuff Girls, but it’s dubbed into Portuguese (I think). I hear the door open and Franklin comes in the room. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. This is it. Either he’s already been got at by Tybalt, or I’m going to have to do my ‘I’m leaving you’ speech. I stand up as he enters the room. I don’t know why.

  ‘You should have seen this place, my dear. Clear, deep blue skies like here, blue sea in the distance, and green as far as the eye could see. A superb course. They do week long packages. I may look into it.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ I’m looking at his face for some sort of clue. It’s no good. I can’t read him at all.

  ‘I feel a lot better after that massage. The chap said I should go again. I don’t know if I will or not. You never know if they’ve got your interests at heart, or whether they’re just saying it to get you to go back again.’

  ‘So apart from the course, what were the games like?’

  ‘Tybalt’s a bit of a bother, to be frank. He’s always looking for an advantage, always trying to improve his score by any means possible. He doesn’t actually cheat, but it’s borderline cheating. I don’t like that. I have no patience with cheats of any type. I just cut them out of my life.’

  He pours himself a drink, strolls over to the window and looks out at the sea.

  ‘I must say. That beach looks very inviting. I think it’s the golfing, you know? All that fresh air. Gives you a taste for it. Shall we go for a stroll? You don’t need to get changed, do you? Don’t worry about the key swipe thing. I’ve got mine.’

  Franklin? Wanting to go for a stroll on the beach? This is out of character. Tybalt must have told him. His little cheating speech made that quite clear. I don’t know what to do. Shall I just go along with it? I get a pair of light blue espadrilles out of the wardrobe. They don’t really go with my dress, but what the
hell. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’ll have to go along with it. In the unlikely event that Tybalt kept his mouth shut, a walk along the beach would be as good a place as any to tell Franklin that it’s over.

  I would so love to be elsewhere.

  We amble along by the shore, though not so close that the waves get our feet wet. I feel nervous. I can feel the sweat on the palm of my hands. I put them in my pocket and I can feel the smoothness of the shell that Kirstan gave me. I must remember that my bag and some of my clothes are still in one of the lockers in the basement. Franklin seems relaxed, and there’s a quiet smile on his face, though his eyes are dead.

  ‘You must think I’m stupid, you silly little tart.’

  I can’t see anyone else in the immediate vicinity, so I have to assume he’s talking to me.

  ‘So Tybalt told you?’

  ‘Of course he bloody did, you stupid bitch.’

  I can feel the warmth of the wind on my face. I can’t think of anything to say. I feel awful. I know. I’ll apologise.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, Franklin. I was going to tell you. I was going to break it off with you. I think that whatever we’ve got, or had, has come to a natural end.’

  He laughs, cruelly. ‘Break it off with me? No one breaks it off with me, I break it off with them! That’s the way it has to be. That’s the way it’s always been. I got Tybalt to ask Estelle to keep an eye on you. She found it to be more difficult than she thought, but she caught you out in the end. What’s the problem? Were you in season or something?’

  He barks out a laugh at his unamusing observation. I knew it! I knew Estelle was watching me. All that fake ‘friends’ stuff. I should have known. He starts to shout.

  ‘I can’t even leave you alone for a bloody day before you’re dropping your knickers for some penniless beach bum! After all that I’ve done for you. All the clothes and jewellery for a start. Well, I’ll tell you one thing: you won’t be seeing any of those again! It’s the reason we’re down here. I wanted you out of the room without some bloody hysterical female fuss, because you won’t be going back in there. I’m just leaving you here in what you’re standing up in. If I could, I’d take the clothes off your body and leave you stark naked on the beach, like the slut you are. Those clothes are mine. I don’t know what you’re going to do and I don’t care. I’ll be cancelling your credit cards. You’ve blown it, missy. Who the bloody hell do you think you are? ’

  I don’t like him shouting at me and start to feel a little tearful. Yet this isn’t hitting me as hard as I think he thinks it is. It’s not very nice, and I can think of other things I’d rather be doing right now (I could murder an ice cream, for example), but apart from that…

  ‘What did you think, Franklin? Did you think this was going to last forever? Until you were dead? Am I not allowed to leave you? Is that what it is?’

  ‘That’s exactly what it is. You leave when I tell you to. When I’m bored with you, which wasn’t far off, if you must know. Those are the rules. Nobody makes a fool of me. Nobody. I don’t care about you and I don’t care what happens to you. It’s being made to look foolish in front of Tybalt and his tart that I’m more concerned about. I think I’ll send you a bill. A bill showing exactly how much you’ve cost me. You’re nothing but a little loser, Saskia.’

  ‘I’m the loser? You’re the one who has to buy female company, Franklin. To even think of something like sending me a bill shows what a loser you really are. You’re the one with all the money that you think is so impressive and important to everyone else. But it isn’t. No one gives a toss. The only people it’s important to are people like you and your ghastly friends like Tybalt and his thing. It’s boring, Franklin. You’re boring, your business is boring, your money is boring and your friends are boring. All your opinions and attitudes are rotten to the core. You’re a humourless right-wing little shit. You’re a sad, boring old man who nobody likes and when you’re dead in a few years, no one will care. And worst of all, you play bloody golf!’

  I hadn’t rehearsed that, but I think it was OK. Lots of repetition, though. I just wanted to let him know that it wasn’t just me who was a sell-out that people looked down on. Or something.

  He grabs my arm tightly and angrily pushes me from side to side. I stagger and almost lose my balance. I know he wants to hit me. I’m suddenly frightened. Isn’t anybody seeing this? ‘I bought you,’ he hisses. ‘You’re as much a possession of mine as one of my cars, except without the value and without the style. Women like you are two a penny. I can get a replacement any time I like.’ He pokes me hard in the chest. It hurts. ‘Did you think you were special or something? Hah!’

  He doesn’t make eye contact when he’s saying all of this. I’d like to think that he doesn’t mean it, that he’s upset, but I don’t think that’s the case. I could upset him back, if I wanted to. I could tell him about the deals that Tybalt put to me, but it might not have the desired effect. He might even be flattered! Besides, I’m not that sort of person.

  I deserve this, in a way. I’ll just let him spew his hate all over me. I am, however, slightly annoyed that all those things I’d rehearsed in my head can’t be used now. Some of them were quite good and sincere sounding. Oh well.

  He’s working himself up into a fury now and I’m slightly afraid that he’s going to get even more violent, despite the fact we’re on a fairly crowded beach with loads of holidaymakers sunning themselves and generally mucking around. He’s starting to lose it, so he probably doesn’t care. I’d zoned out all the noise, but now I can hear waves crashing, people laughing and kids screaming. Normal life, as I believe it’s called. I wonder what would happen if I shouted for help. He’s almost snarling like an animal now. It’s an ugly sight.

  ‘In fact, I’ll probably get myself a nice little whore this evening. One is much the same as another.’ He turns and grabs my arm once again. His grip is strong and it hurts. ‘Because that’s all you are, Saskia, you’re a worthless, bloody little…’

  He raises his hand to slap me. I think, for dramatic effect. He’d planned to synchronise the word ‘whore’ with a slap across my face. I’m sure that would have been immensely satisfying to him.

  The slap doesn’t happen, however. Kirstan, who has appeared from somewhere, catches his wrist and holds it in mid-air. A little boy of about nine is standing by his side, holding a yellow surfboard. Franklin, red-faced, teeth bared, turns around to see who it is that has spoiled his macho moment.

  ‘Who the hell are you? Get your hand off me! Let me go!’

  ‘I think you need calming down, sir. I’m going to put you in the water now. Please don’t struggle. You prick.’

  ‘What did you just call me? Do you know who I am?’

  Still gripping Franklin’s wrist, he walks him into the sea, lets him go and simultaneously pushes him hard in the chest so he falls backwards into a large-ish wave that’s just breaking behind him. He disappears for a second, and then reappears, sitting down, soaked to the skin, coughing and spluttering, speechless, red-faced and incandescent with rage. Kirstan turns to look at me.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  He glances at Franklin as another wave batters him and stops him from getting up.

  ‘You don’t think that was too cruel, do you? Considering his advanced years and money, I mean.’

  ‘Borderline cruel, but I think I can live with it.’

  The boy looks at Kirstan, his eyes wide with amazement. ‘Hey, man!’ he says, in a strong South American accent, observing yet another wave knock Franklin onto his knees just as he was attempting to stand, ‘You kicked that bastard’s ass!’

  It’s awful, I know, but this makes all of us laugh. We can’t stop. A Japanese woman and her daughter walk by and they point and laugh at Franklin, their hands over their mouths like a pair of naughty schoolgirls. The Brazilian kid is laughing so much that I’m afraid he’s going to pee inside his wetsuit. But that’s OK. Peeing inside wetsuits
is allowed. It’s a rite of passage for surfers all over the world. Not that I’ve ever done it, of course, but I’ve heard of people who have.

  Fourteen

  Kirstan looks impatient as he straps one of the surfboards to the roof of his van. Knots were never his strong point. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the van. It’s the same one he had all those years ago, a restored 1974 Ford E-Series that he bought from some American surfer he once met. It has different wheels and tyres, though, and the interior looks different. Unfortunately, it’s still the same ghastly pale turquoise colour. For a moment, I think it’s a newer one that just looks the same as the old one, but he soon puts me right.

  ‘Nope. Same one. Just get it tarted up a bit every now and then when I can afford it. I kept it the same colour, because it’s a cool colour. There’s a small fridge in the back now. It works off the battery.’

  I’m holding my bag in one hand (luckily, my passport was in it) and a carrier bag containing my white blouse and my red skirt that I left in the changing room. It seems a hundred years ago that that I was wearing them, but it was only yesterday. Kirstan looks at my only possessions and smiles.

  ‘And that’s it, is it? That’s all you’ve got?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cool.’

  I have to point out that Kirstan says ‘cool’ ironically.

  The van is parked in some sort of staff parking area around the back of the chalets. As Kirstan is stuffing more of his things into the back, Janica appears, looking as striking and lovely as ever, in a sawn-off yellow print top (she just has to show that flat midriff off) and a pair of olive ¾ length cargo shorts.

  I’m so pleased to see her again (even though I only saw her this morning) that I can feel the tears welling up. Did I say that I didn’t have friends anymore?

  ‘So, it’s really bloody happened. You’re both driving off into the sunset. I’ve got to say, guys, this is the most fantastic thing. I’ll be telling people about this for years!’ She beams that smile at me. ‘So! Nice stressful day, Sask?’