by Tom Bale
Right this second, Sam doesn’t care what the hotel’s like – he just wants to get to their room and crash out for a while – but first there’s the check-in to survive.
Trevor nods in the direction of the departing coach. ‘Didn’t tip him, I hope?’ Sam shakes his head but Trevor carries on complaining: ‘Outrageous, the way everyone expects something for nothing these days.’
Sam hesitates at the entrance, only for Trevor to wave him through. Ironically, this is one occasion when Sam would have preferred to let the other man go first and watch what he did; now he has no choice but to approach the reception desk and introduce himself.
He’s dreading the thought that the staff will speak no English, or that their accents will be too strong for Sam to understand. But as it turns out, the man who greets him has very good English. He’s young, dark-haired, and looks a bit like an Italian footballer, Schelotto.
Sam has to fill in a form, and fights off his usual panic, thankful that it’s all simple stuff: name, address, nationality. He puts ‘English’, then adds ‘British’ as well. He can never remember which one you’re supposed to use.
There’s some confusion when the man refers to Jody as ‘Mrs Berry.’ Sam has to explain that she’s Jody Lamb, not Berry, and the man turns away to check the booking details on a computer. Feeling vaguely ashamed, Sam wants to explain why they’re not married. It’s partly the expense of a wedding when there are so many other priorities, partly a ridiculous problem over surnames. Sam knows she doesn’t like how ‘Jody Berry’ sounds, and ‘Jody Lamb-Berry’ is even worse: A very peculiar flavour of jam, as she’s often joked.
It doesn’t cause a problem, but there’s another worry when the man requests their passports. Luckily they’re in Jody’s handbag, meaning Sam has to ask for them. The Smugs are within earshot and don’t react, so Sam has to assume it’s not some kind of scam. He hands them over and is told they’ll be kept safe until they check out.
A couple more minutes and it’s done. Each of them has a white plastic wristband fitted: proof they’re entitled to the all-inclusive package. Then Sam is given tokens to exchange for beach towels, as well as two plastic key cards which not only open the door but also operate the electricity in the room.
Taking a case each, and a child each, Sam and Jody head across the lobby and through a set of double doors which lead outside. Another blast of that stunning heat, like someone’s turned a blowtorch in their direction. Feels pretty good now he’s adjusting to it.
This side of the hotel is a different world; everything nicely laid out, lots of well-watered grass and flowers. A network of pale stone paths run through the gardens, leading to a pool and a large patio area filled with sun loungers, paired off beneath huge white umbrellas. There’s a pool bar with a thatched bamboo roof, half a dozen people sitting on stools and sipping drinks.
As they trundle the cases along the path, Sam feels the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. Several people have glanced up from their sun loungers; one or two in the pool are turning in their direction as well.
‘We’re getting eyeballed,’ he mutters, feeling sweat pour from his face. In his experience, coming to someone’s notice usually means trouble, but Jody only laughs.
‘Because we’re the newbies, all pale and sickly. A few days and we’ll be doing it too, checking out the latest arrivals and staring in pity at the leavers.’
Dylan can hardly contain his eagerness to explore, so they end up making all sorts of promises just to hurry him past the pool and into a separate accommodation block. Their room is on the ground floor, along a wide corridor with tiled floors and unglazed windows. The air feels surprisingly cool, the walls throwing clever shadows that prevent the heat from building.
Room 109: they’re here at last, at the end of a long, hard journey – planning it, saving for it, then the travelling itself – and Sam is nervous. Nearly three grand.
He fumbles with the card and finally has it. The door opens with a click but it’s heavy. A fire door. The room is dark, warm and stuffy. Sam leaves the cases and walks in, as if he needs to make sure it’s safe for his family – and there’s a man in the corner, completely still–
What the hell?
‘Here,’ Jody calls. Sam missed the slot by the door. She places her own card into it and a couple of lights come on. The man who just scared the shit out of him is actually a big old-fashioned standing lamp. Sam laughs, feeling like a fool.
The room is gloomy because the blinds are shut. There’s a low grinding noise and the air begins to stir as the aircon gets to work. Now that he can see the room clearly, his first thought is that it’s a mistake. This can’t be theirs.
It’s larger than some of the flats they rented as teenage parents, and the furniture and decoration are a hell of a lot smarter. Tiled floors, and deep maroon walls with a kind of gold flecked pattern where a dado rail would be. Pale oak-effect furniture, but solid looking: not self-assembled.
There’s a big double bed with a silky cream-coloured bedspread, and some kind of fancy arrangement of towels lying on it, shaped to look like a swan. A couple of chairs and a table, a low unit with a small TV, then a wide open space and an alcove off to the side with two single beds for the kids. There are even curtains to pull across for some privacy.
He glances at Jody, who is pinching her nostrils together and blinking a lot. For a second, she won’t look in his direction.
‘So, kids,’ he says, ‘what do you reckon?’
‘It’s really cool!’ Grace inspects the alcove and points to the right-hand bed. ‘I’ll have that one.’
Dylan immediately flings himself on that bed. ‘I want it!’
‘Oh, I’ll have this one then.’ Grace sneaks a sly look at her parents: Outwitted!
Jody chuckles. Her hand goes out to Sam, her fingers curling between his. He’s still struggling to find the word that describes how he feels, but settles on delight. It’s a sensation like being wrapped in a thick, warm towel, and his thinking is suddenly clear and straightforward.
They worked bloody hard to save for this holiday. It cost them more than they could afford, to be honest, but now it’s done, and whether they enjoy it or not is pretty much in their own hands. So either he goes on fretting, ruining it for himself and probably for his family as well… or else he puts his worries aside and focuses on having a good time.
He pulls Jody into his arms, and when they’re squashed up together, he says, ‘Sorry I’ve been such a dick. You were right.’
‘Was I?’
‘Yeah. We need this, don’t we? A proper break.’
He kisses her on the cheek, then on the lips. The kids are peeking out of the alcove, and seeing this embrace through their eyes, Sam is aware that he doesn’t have a single memory of his own mum and dad like this: cuddling, laughing, showing affection for one another.
5
The blinds are opened to reveal a sliding glass door that leads to a small patio area, divided from its neighbours by a low wall on each side. There’s a table and two chairs, and a lovely view across the manicured gardens to the nearest of the three pools, less than fifty metres away.
The en-suite bathroom doesn’t have a bath, just a complicated-looking shower, but the room is large and clean, with plenty of space in the cabinet for their toiletries. Jody is inclined to get started on the unpacking, but she can’t find it in her heart to disagree when Dylan insists they should go straight to the pool.
She changes into her new bikini, excited but also apprehensive about how she’ll compare to everyone else around the pool. At least they all have plenty of new clothes, courtesy of her mum. A few weeks ago she admitted that she’d been saving up, secretly, on Jody’s behalf. Two hundred pounds, which she, her mum and Grace had spent in Primark, New Look and TK Maxx during a fantastic girls’ day out in Crawley.
She hadn’t told Sam about the windfall until afterwards, when she showed him the chinos, shorts and T-shirts she’d bought him. His reaction was
oddly subdued; not ungrateful or angry, not going on about all the practical things they could have got with the money. Instead he’d sunk into one of his moody silences for a day or so.
But he wolf whistles when she emerges from the bathroom, which almost makes her blush.
‘Don’t. Is it all right?’
‘You look great.’
‘You really do, Mum,’ Grace adds, as if she already knows that a partner’s verdict can’t be taken at face value.
‘My thighs, though...’
Sam shakes his head. ‘Don’t be silly.’
His turn in the bathroom. He changes into a pair of swimming shorts and a Brighton & Hove Albion shirt. She’d prefer him to wear one of his new tops but it’s not something to make a fuss about. At twenty-six Sam still has quite a narrow, boyish frame, but his job as a painter and decorator has given him good muscle tone. The sight of his pale spindly legs makes her smile, though – as does the fact that he’s left his socks on.
He bends over and hooks a sock with his thumb, flicking it off in her direction while giving her a knowing look. Later, he’s saying, and the thought makes her stomach muscles clench for a second.
I’ll ask him tonight, when we’re in bed.
Before they head out, she insists on slathering them with sun cream. ‘No one’s going home burnt, and that’s a promise.’
It’s nearly three o’clock when they step outside. They collect swimming towels from a cabin by the pool, then find a group of unclaimed sun loungers and make camp beneath a couple of umbrellas. Sam accompanies the kids to the pool while Jody adjusts the lounger to sit up and watch them.
She lets out a brisk sigh, as if to say, Right, what’s next? And realises the answer is: Nothing. After all the packing and preparing, it’s a difficult transition to make. For weeks she’s been carrying a mental checklist inside her head, and now it’s complete. There is literally nothing she has to do. Nothing but relax.
That thought brings a tremor of doubt. Can she still remember how?
Sam’s never been one for swimming, although he and Jody regularly take the kids to the local pool. Grace is already a confident swimmer, and Dylan is fearless even when he’s floundering. To stay afloat he kicks and thrashes, never minding if his head goes under and he catches a mouthful of water: he just spits it out, laughs, and starts again.
From the safety of the pool, Sam studies his fellow holidaymakers, hoping for pointers as to how he and Jody can blend in. There seems to be quite a mixed bag: young couples and family groups and a few older people. No one’s wearing much, which adds to the challenge of guessing nationalities. What he takes to be the Germans (maybe Danish or Swedish as well) seem more evenly tanned, with better skin. The men have longer hair and wear rings and necklaces and dodgy sandals, while the women are more likely to be fit – elegant, perhaps, is a better word, even when they’re only wearing a few scraps of fabric.
The Brits, on the whole, are paler, flabbier, and have far more tattoos – his own are pretty understated compared to some – although there’s one guy with a massive white gut, a shaved head and ink all over his arms and chest who, when he calls to his wife at the bar, turns out to be Russian or something. Sam had him down as a solid Essex geezer.
Lots of people are smoking, and the drifting aroma of tobacco makes him dizzy with longing. He set out to quit nearly two years ago, channelling the money into their holiday fund, and since then he’s only lapsed on a handful of occasions, but it’s going to be much harder to resist temptation in a country where smoking isn’t banned – or even disapproved of, by the look of it.
Once he’s got out and towelled off, and the kids have announced that they’re starving, Sam volunteers to investigate what’s on offer at the pool bar. He’s happy to go alone but the other three tag along, curious to experience what all-inclusive really means.
The bar is staffed by two young guys, dark-skinned and cocky in a way that doesn’t rile Sam like it would at home. They’re serving a man who’s ordered a load of complicated-looking cocktails, and knocking back a beer while he waits. At one end there’s a glass cabinet with fresh fruit, pastries and various filled rolls, then a chest freezer with three flavours of ice cream. And it’s self-service, which the kids cotton on to with broad smiles.
‘So we can get ice cream whenever we want?’ Grace asks.
Jody shakes her head. ‘Only when Dad or I agree. Otherwise you’ll burst.’ A negotiation follows, the deal being that they can have ice cream now, as long as they choose a roll and some fruit to eat afterwards. ‘Back to front, but what the hell?’ she says to Sam.
While they’re sorting the food, he orders drinks. Out of habit he reaches into his pocket, then remembers and lifts his wristband into view, although the barman seems uninterested. Even so, Sam can’t help patting the empty pocket of his swimming shorts, still a bit doubtful that he’ll be given the drinks and not asked for money in return.
But that’s what happens, and it’s weird in a nice way. After a happy little picnic, Jody makes the kids play games for ten minutes, then she takes them for a swim. Sam stays where he is, feeling pleasantly full and lazy. He admires Jody’s body as she walks across the paved area around the pool – only that causes a stirring, so he switches his attention to a large group wandering across from the direction of the restaurant, chatting and laughing together. He counts four couples and eight or nine children. It makes him think of his own extended family, and how they would never come away together like this – not even if someone won big on the lottery.
Sam is one of six kids, including three half-siblings, ranging in age from nineteen to nearly forty. He’s uncle to eight more, and there are various step-parents and cousins, though the only ones he feels close to are his Uncle Paul and Aunt Steph, and their girls, Nina and Zoe. That’s who he’d bring with him, and with his eyes shut and the sun warming his body, Sam drifts into an enjoyable daydream where his sudden good fortune puts him in a position to repay the generosity Paul and Steph showed to him. He pictures their faces when he says he’s treating them all to a holiday: anywhere they want to go.
Trouble is, Nina’s in the second year of her law degree, while Zoe has recently returned from travelling in South East Asia. That causes his daydream to stutter a little, but he can’t take it personally: when kids nowadays get such amazing opportunities, it would be crazy not to take them...
Kids nowadays, he thinks ruefully. As though he’s forty rather than twenty-six.
Almost without noticing, Jody rediscovers her ability to relax. Suddenly two hours have passed, and she decides that this is enough exposure to the sun for the first day. Back to the room for a nap, she decrees, and no one protests – although that sly chancer Dylan wangles another ice cream out of them first.
Her gut reaction is to refuse, but when she opens her mouth, she hears herself saying, ‘Go on then.’ Because that’s the point of holidays, isn’t it? That’s what she hopes to lay down in their memories to relish for years to come. The treats. The not saying no.
In the room, Grace and Dylan sit on their beds and read the comics they were allowed to buy at Gatwick. Jody makes a start on the unpacking, kneeling beside the open cases on the cool tiled floor. Sam helps, obediently placing clothes and toiletries in the homes she allocates for them.
It takes a while to register how quiet the kids have become. They exchange a glance, then Sam tiptoes to the alcove and has a look round. He waves her over. Jody slips her arm round his waist as they stand for a moment, cherishing the sight of the children zonked out on their beds, Dylan snoring gently, Grace faintly smiling in her sleep.
‘Beautiful,’ Jody whispers, and Sam nods and whispers back: ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘This,’ he says, and kisses her, and carefully they draw the curtain across the alcove and close the blinds before creeping between the half-empty cases, discarding their clothes as they go, and slip into the spacious double bed.
‘We can’t,�
� Jody hisses. ‘Can we?’
Sam shrugs. ‘Just a cuddle.’
Jody’s full-throated laugh nearly ruins it. She has to clamp a hand over her mouth. They push off the top covers, leaving only a sheet, wriggle down beneath it and embrace. The mattress feels cool for a few blissful seconds; their bodies are warm and quickly grow warmer, their touch soft then softer; the sun has already heightened the sensitivity of their skin, so all that’s needed is the lightest of caresses. They make love with hands and mouths, fingers and lips, with slow and slippery teasing, tasting salt and sun cream, alcohol and chlorine, and the feel beneath their fingertips is of silk, the wetness silky and hot, their movements slow and smooth, fingers pressing hot and harder, fierce and fast then faster, gripping, gliding, gasping; finished.
They sleep.
6
Until Sam snaps awake. The room is unfamiliar, dark but with the threat of a terrible brightness straining to reach them. He senses someone watching from the corner, then remembers the floor lamp and with that he knows exactly where he is and how he came to fall asleep.
‘What time…?’
Jody stirs, then jerks upright. ‘Welcome meeting’s at six!’
Sam checks his phone. ‘It’s five to.’
‘Shit.’
‘Do we really have to go?’
‘We ought to, if we’re going to make the most of this holiday.’
Sam says nothing. He would dearly love to lie here and drift for a while, but he can’t later complain that he’s missing out on information if he doesn’t bother to turn up for the meeting.
They dress quickly. Sam feels guilty about waking the kids, until he pulls back the curtain and finds Grace reading a Lemony Snicket book while Dylan is staring at the ceiling, as if thinking deep thoughts about life and the universe.
