She had been looking forward to this holiday for such a long time. Ever since the brochures had come out in January and four of them at work decided to take off together. They invited Brenda and she invited her cousin Pamela. The excitement was mighty as they made their plans.
Three of them had been away on holidays before, but for Brenda and two of the others it was a totally new experience. She could hear Joan snoring behind her. Joan had never been abroad before either and was even less used to drinking than Brenda was. She was pissed out of her skull.
‘Look at the sleeping beauty,’ giggled Tara across the aisle. Tara had been away several times and was a seasoned traveller and could hold her drink. Tara was one of the most self-confident people Brenda had ever met. Even Bugs Bunny held no fears for Tara, who could put the pernickety supervisor down with ease.
‘As long as she doesn’t puke all over the place,’ grimaced Julia, who was sitting beside the comatose Joan.
Pamela nudged Brenda in the ribs. ‘That pair don’t get on the best, do they?’ she whispered.
‘Don’t mind them, they’re always arguing. At least we won’t have to put up with them. We’ve got our own studio apartment,’ she murmured. Because there were six of them on the holiday, they had to split up. The other four were sharing a four-bed apartment, and Brenda and Pamela were to have an adjoining studio. Brenda was a bit disappointed that they weren’t all together.
She and Pamela were given a tiny studio at the rear of the apartment block. The others were given an apartment in a completely separate complex because of overbooking. They were all furious. Joan even roused herself from her stupor to mumble that if they weren’t put together she was going to sue. Then she sat on her suitcase and fell asleep again.
‘Look, I’ll fix you up all together tomorrow,’ the harassed courier assured Brenda and Pamela. ‘Just for tonight will you take the accommodation here and I’ll be around first thing to get you moved.’ With bad grace, they agreed. It was three a.m. and they were too tired to argue.
‘This is a real pain in the ass,’ grumbled Brenda as she stared around the poky little studio. It had a sofa which doubled as a bed, underneath which was a small pull-out bed. Two easy chairs, a small dining table and chairs, a kitchenette with a two-ring cooker, a fridge and a sink, comprised the rest of the contents. A tiled bathroom completed the accommodation. The Ritz it most definitely was not!
‘Well what a dive,’ complained Pamela as she surveyed their abode.
‘Sorry about this,’ Brenda apologized, feeling dreadful. After all, she’d asked Pamela to come on holidays and this was what she’d found.
‘It’s not your fault, Bren. It was that smarmy little shit in the travel agency. Boy, is he going to get an earful from me when I get back home,’ Pamela fumed. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed and tomorrow we’ll kick up a fuss until we’re put with the others,’ she declared, disappearing into the bathroom to wash her teeth. Two minutes later a bloodcurdling shriek nearly gave Brenda a heart attack. Pamela flew out of the bathroom, babbling.
‘Brenda, there’s something horrible in the bath. It’s got huge eyes and a swivelly head and hundreds of legs. I . . . I’m not going in there again.’ Brenda swallowed hard and patted her distraught cousin on the shoulder.
‘I’ll handle it, just let me find something to kill it with,’ she said dry-mouthed, her heart palpitating. This was not pan of the plan. Holidays were meant to be enjoyed. They weren’t supposed to be dread-inducing ordeals. There was a mop beside the sink and, taking a deep breath, Brenda prepared to do battle.
Peering around the shower curtain, she could see the grotesque insect eyeing her balefully. She whacked the mop in the direction of its head and ran shrieking out of the bathroom when it flew up into the air and started buzzing around. Frantically, Brenda slammed the bathroom door. ‘Oh God, I’m not going in there again,’ she jabbered hysterically. ‘It’s huge!’
‘I’m bursting to go to the loo,’ wailed Pamela. Brenda groaned. Come to think of it so was she. She had a sudden brainwave.
‘There’s toilets down by the swimming-pool, I noticed them when the courier was bringing us here. We can go there.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ stormed Pamela as they walked along in the dark, towards the swimming-pool. The lighting was very poor when they eventually did reach the pool area. And the toilets were in complete darkness.
Two very disgruntled young ladies finally lay down to go to sleep. They’d been asleep ten minutes or less when the occupants of the apartment above them arrived back home from a night out and proceeded to have a party. This went on for about an hour and when silence at last descended, Brenda checked her watch and saw that it was five-thirty a.m. Fuming, she shoved her head under the pillow and tried to go back to sleep.
They woke several hours later, heavy-headed and grumpy. ‘Let’s see what the place is like in daylight,’ Brenda suggested, trying to inject some holiday spirit into the strained atmosphere. She felt a spark of excitement. She was looking forward to seeing the famous blue skies and sea of the Mediterranean. She flung open the dark green shutters. It was pouring rain!
Brenda couldn’t believe her eyes. Great sheets of rain from low-hanging lead-grey clouds pounded the roads and buildings. The sea, across the road, was as grey as the skies. The beach was a dirty pallid brownish colour. To the west, behind low hills, deep rumbling peals of thunder accompanied spectacular sheets of purple-hued lightning. To think she’d spent a fortune to come to Spain and escape from the rain at home. Life surely was a bitch, she sighed in disgust.
‘I think I’ll go back to bed,’ she told an equally crestfallen Pamela. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘No don’t,’ Pamela said, tousle-haired and bleary-eyed from her bed on the floor.’ Let’s be waiting for the courier in reception. We’ll take our luggage with us. I’m not spending another minute in this hole.’
At this stage Brenda was too fed up to care. She dressed in the clothes she’d worn the previous day and, desperate for a pee, ventured gingerly into the bathroom. It was still there on the wall by the ventilator, its swivel eyes gazing malevolently at her. She went to the loo and shot out the door. She’d wash her teeth and have a shower in their new apartment.
The girls sat at a table in a small bar facing reception so that they could pounce on the courier the minute she arrived. They were hungry and the waiter assured them that ‘The Big English Breakfast’ was their speciality.
Twenty minutes later he triumphantly placed a platter each in front of them. Two stringy fatty rashers, a scut of a sausage, a watery fried egg and a spoonful of beans on a slice of toast comprised ‘The Big English Breakfast.’
Pamela met Brenda’s disgusted gaze. ‘Bon appétit,’ she said drily as the waiter reappeared with two cups, from each of which dangled the string of a teabag.
By the time the courier eventually arrived, around half eleven, the pair of them were in such a temper they were ready to take the next flight home.
‘If you could just spend one more day here, there’ll be a studio available in Santa Lucia Apartments tomorrow.’ She smiled pleasantly.
‘No way!’ Brenda exploded. ‘We didn’t book to stay here. These apartments are much cheaper than the ones in Santa Lucia,’ she glared. ‘Which, I might remind you, is what we paid for. You get us out of this kip or we’re suing for our money back.’
‘We’ve taken photographs of this place. We couldn’t even use the bathroom because it was infested with dreadful insects and we’ll use them as proof in the court case,’ Pamela said coldly. The courier paled slightly.
‘OK, OK, leave it with me. I’ll make a phone call to Santa Lucia and see what they can do,’ she said placatingly.
‘Do that!’ Brenda retorted. If that smarmy little git of a travel agent thought he was going to get away with ripping them off he had another think coming. He’d picked the wrong pair to tangle with. Brenda and Pamela weren’t going to meekly accept what was dished out to them.
‘That told her,’ Brenda whispered to her cousin as they listened to the courier blathering away in Spanish. Five minutes later she came back to them.
‘I’ve sorted it out,’ she said briskly. ‘They didn’t have a studio available so they’ve put you in a four-bed apartment. You’ll be beside your friends. I’ll order a taxi for you and I’ll follow behind on my scooter.’
‘Thank you,’ Brenda said politely. But when the courier went back to the phone she winked at Pamela and said gleefully, ‘A four-bed apartment for just the two of us. It was worth a night in this hole. Don’t let her see that we’re pleased though, in case she decides to put us back in a studio if one becomes available during the week.’
The Santa Lucia Apartments were about a mile away and it was a far superior apartment block. The apartment was clean, if simply decorated, and it was much nicer having a separate bedroom. The bathroom housed no grotesque insects, and there were plenty of fluffy white towels and lots of loo paper. The other place had boasted no such luxuries.
‘We may ask you to move tomorrow, when a studio becomes available.’ The courier smiled ingratiatingly.
‘We’re not moving anywhere. Here we are and here we’ll stay,’ Brenda said firmly. ‘I’m not spending my holidays packing and unpacking. We’re not the tribes of Israel, you know. It’s not our fault that your company overbooked. That’s your problem, I’m afraid.’
‘Fine, fine,’ the courier said hastily. ‘I’ll leave you to your unpacking.’
‘God, Brenda, I didn’t realize you could be such a tough cookie,’ giggled Pamela as they began to unpack their clothes.
‘Me neither,’ Brenda said ruefully. ‘It was just I felt so mad. What with the rain and everything. Well we might as well be miserable in a bit of comfort. At least the girls are next door. It doesn’t sound like they’re up yet, the shutters aren’t even open.’
‘We’ll just unpack, have a shower, and a cup of tea. They should be up by then,’ Pamela suggested.
‘I’m dying for a shower, I’m ponging,’ Brenda remarked as she filled one of the drawers in the wardrobe with bikinis and T-shirts and hoped against hope that she’d get the opportunity to wear them.
That night, the six of them went out on the razzle. It was still raining, but they didn’t care. They were going to have a good night and see what talent was about. After all, getting a tan wasn’t the only reason one went on a foreign holiday, they assured each other, laughing as they climbed out of the taxi. If they couldn’t have sun, they were definitely going to have fun.
Sitting at the bar, consuming Piña Coladas, they laughed and chatted and passed remarks on the talent. Predictably, Tara was the first to be asked to dance. She looked stunning in a pair of tight white jeans and a red boob-tube.
Eve, with her cascading auburn locks and striking green eyes, was next to go. Pamela soon followed. Brenda, Julia and Joan sat at the table sipping their drinks watching the others dance around the dance floor. I hope someone asks me, Brenda thought anxiously. It would be mortifying if all the others were asked to dance and she wasn’t. Maybe going on holidays with three glamour pusses like Tara, Eve and Pamela wasn’t such a good idea after all. She cast a glance at Julia. She was sipping her drink morosely. She was wearing a sundress which didn’t really suit her. It squashed her breasts up and made her look dumpy and all that white freckled bare skin was not appealing. At least I look a bit better than that, Brenda comforted herself. She was wearing pale green Bermuda shorts and a loose white cotton top. If she’d had a tan, they would have looked much better on her. Mind, the teabag job she had done on her legs looked almost as good as a tan. Joan didn’t look particularly happy either as she scanned the floor hoping she too would be asked to dance.
‘Dance pleezze.’ Brenda heard a foreign accent in the region of her left ear. Happily she turned to accept, but her smile faltered a little when she saw a small weedy man with a scraggy moustache in front of her. Just her luck, she thought glumly. Still, a dance was a dance was a dance. Better than being left a wallflower. She walked out with him onto the dance floor.
‘Sprechen Sie Deutsch?’ he asked her and she knew from the guttural sounds that it wasn’t Spanish he was speaking.
‘Deutsch, Deutsch,’ he repeated.
‘Non comprende,’ Brenda answered, not sure whether she was speaking in French or Spanish.
‘Irlande,’ she added for good measure.
‘Aha! Aha!’ Her companion nodded knowledgeably. ‘British.’
‘No, no, Irlande, Irlande,’ Brenda repeated. What did he mean British when she’d just told him she was from Ireland? Did he need a geography lesson as well?
‘Ich bin ein Deutscher.’ He beamed and she noted that the state of his teeth left a lot to be desired. Something clicked. Deutsch. Wasn’t that German?
‘German?’ she asked brightly.
He nodded so enthusiastically she thought his head was going to fall off.
‘Ich bin ein Deutscher. Ich bin ein Deutscher.’
Bully for you, she thought dejectedly. So much for meeting a Spanish hunk. He gabbled away as they danced. And then he pulled her closer and ran his hands over her hips.
‘Stop that!’ Brenda said crossly, removing his hands. Two minutes later he was trying the same trick. She gave him an elbow in the ribs and pulled away from him. ‘Piss off, you dirty little man, don’t think you’re going to maul me,’ she said angrily as the dance ended and she stalked back to their table.
‘What a little skunk,’ she growled to Julia and Joan. ‘Talk about Russian fingers and Roman hands.’ The music changed and the sound of Abba pulsated. ‘Come on,’ she ordered the other pair. ‘Let’s boogie.’
Brenda loved dancing. Once the music inspired her she was completely uninhibited and danced to enjoy herself. It had been one of the greatest bonds she’d had with Eddie. She danced under the swirling lights enjoying the beat and the atmosphere. When the next slow set came, reluctantly she left the floor. She could have danced for hours.
Tara was still dancing with her original partner. Pamela was dancing with someone different. Eve was at the table with Joan and Julia. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ She grinned at Brenda.
‘Yeah, are you?’ Brenda took a thirsty gulp of her San Miguel.
‘It’s a good disco, the talent’s not great though. The Copa down the road is supposed to be good too, we could go down there later,’ she suggested.
‘Sure. Let’s try everywhere,’ Brenda agreed. The next minute the amorous German was beside her.
‘Dance?’
‘Piss off, you.’ Brenda glowered. He got the message and turned to Julia.
‘Dance?’
‘No thank you,’ Julia said primly. He cast a hopeful eye in Joan’s direction.
‘Get lost, Romeo,’ Joan snorted. He slouched away to try his luck elsewhere.
‘Come on, girls, let’s try our luck in the Copa,’ Eve laughed. Tara and Pamela said they were happy enough where they were. The rest of them headed off to sample the delights of the Copa.
They didn’t get home until the early hours. Tara and Pamela were still out, so Brenda left the light on in the hallway and fell into bed. She was fairly squiffy, although not as smashed as Joan and Julia, who had had cocktail after cocktail. Brenda was glad she wasn’t sharing a bedroom with the two of them. Julia had already puked and it was a sure thing that Joan would too. It had been a good night though, she thought drowsily, even if the weather was a disaster.
Brenda surfaced around half ten next morning. Pamela’s bed hadn’t been slept in. Where was she, Brenda wondered anxiously. Yawning, she strolled into the lounge and kitchenette area and flung back the curtains. Sunshine streamed in through the windows. The sky was the bluest she had ever seen. The azure waters of the Mediterranean glittered like crystal. Brenda’s heart lifted as she gazed on the scene. This was more like it, she thought with satisfaction. How bright the sunlight was, it dazzled the eye. And the colours! She’d never seen a
sky that blue. She wasn’t going to hang around, she decided, she was going to get out there fast. But where the hell was Pamela?
A muffled groan caused her to spin around in the direction of the sofa. Who the hell was that? Brenda’s eyes widened at the sight before her.
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Oooh,’ Brenda heard Pamela sigh. Mortified, she saw that her cousin was wrapped in the passionate embrace of a very tanned and very naked Spaniard. Brenda retreated hastily to the bedroom.
She was stunned, and, she had to admit to herself, more than a bit shocked. Pamela was doing a very steady line at home. News of an engagement would not have come as a surprise to the families. And here she was having a passionate fling with someone she’d met on her first night abroad.
Don’t be such a hypocrite, she argued with herself. You’ve gone on the pill in case the same thing happens to you. What are you feeling so offended about? Yeah but Pam’s almost engaged to Sean. If she was still going with Eddie there was no way she’d consider having a foreign fling. In fact she probably wouldn’t even be on this holiday. It was a bit much that she couldn’t even go into the kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea. Did Pamela expect her to just ignore the fact that they were having sex on the sofa and go about making her breakfast as if they weren’t there? It was infuriating, to say the least. The sun was shining, the sea was begging her to swim in it, but her suntan lotions were in the small sideboard in the lounge and because of Don Juan out on the sofa, she was trapped in the bloody bedroom! Was anything going to go right on this holiday?
‘I’m going out there,’ she muttered furiously after twenty minutes. The unmistakable sound of creaks and grunts and sighs had died down. From behind her bedroom door she could hear the murmur of voices and then she heard the toilet door close. Maybe it was him. Maybe he’d leave after he’d been to the loo. He’d better!
Foreign Affairs Page 38
