by Tom Bale
‘It’s like my mum warned us. The time goes so quickly – before you know it they’ll be adults and won’t need us anymore.’
Sam only grunts, as though he believes this might be a good thing. He’s right, really. And yet...
‘Typical, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘The one time we win something, it’s when we don’t want to.’
‘Don’t we?’ She tries to sound amused, not irritated.
‘Okay, don’t need to, is what I mean. And the way she was so excited – like this place is a dump.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t think that. It’s just, if this Conchis is very exclusive…’
‘So what? It’s the same sun overhead. Same sea, the same water in the pool.’
Jody sighs. He’s beginning to remind her of her dad, the way he goes off on these rants.
‘Posh food, I suppose,’ he goes on, ‘but, I mean, anyone who takes a look round the restaurant here and doesn’t think it’s enough needs their head testing.’
‘Sam...’
‘And champagne is well overrated. That stuff at Trude’s wedding tasted rank.’
‘That wasn’t proper champagne.’ Jody raises a hand before he can respond. ‘Sam! Calm down, please.’
She gives him her sternest look. This always works, because it only takes a second for him to be reminded of the way his own parents used to rage at each other.
He takes a deep breath. ‘All I’m saying is, it’s not gonna be that special. And then there’s the stress of keeping the kids on their best behaviour–’
‘So you don’t want to go, I get that. I think the real problem is that you feel we don’t belong there. But why shouldn’t we go anywhere we like? Who cares if a lot of snobby people think we’re… you-know-whats?’
Sam wants to go on arguing but he knows she has a point. He also knows this is one of the things Jody loves most about him – that he’ll listen to another point of view, and if he’s wrong he’ll be man enough to say so. His dad and his brother Carl have never, to Sam’s knowledge, admitted they were wrong about anything – and certainly not to a woman.
In his head, that makes Sam smarter than them. But the way he’s handled this hasn’t been very smart.
Because he can’t shake off the idea that he is a chav. The same goes for his whole extended family. He hates his parents for the upbringing they gave him, and yet, if they were attacked or criticised in any way, he knows he would feel driven to defend them. Even his dad, who’s dicked around his whole life: not sticking at anything, always taking the easy option and running away, leaving a fresh set of victims to pick up the pieces. And his mum, the pisshead who never bothered if he was up for school because she couldn’t get out of bed herself. His mum, who blamed him for the fact his dad had buggered off, then blamed him again, years later, when her relationship with his stepdad went sour.
All that shitty unfairness and yet still he can’t not feel something for them. He’s tried, many times, but there always remains a tiny seed: something that threatens to grow and bloom if it’s treated right. For years he’s fantasised about one or both of them asking to meet him, then begging his forgiveness for all their failings and swearing that they love him, truly – the way Sam loves his own children: that they love him so much they’d die for him.
The proof of his own feelings are there in the tears that blur his vision when he watches the kids coming back from the bar, Dylan proudly gripping a Coke in both hands, Grace fussing over him with motherly concern while also taking quick sassy drags on a long straw. He turns away from Jody, rubbing his eyes.
‘I know how you feel, I really do,’ she says. ‘A holiday like this... it’s meant to be about freedom. But tomorrow’s a chance to have a new experience – maybe something we’ll never get to do again.’
‘I s’pose.’ His attention is on Dylan, who’s trying so hard not to spill the Coke that he ends up spilling a bit. The boy stops, takes a gulp then carries on, his tongue poking from the side of his mouth like a counterbalance.
Jody caresses his arm. ‘Good or bad, it’s only a couple of hours. If we really hate it we’ll just say one of the kids is ill and make a quick exit.’
It’s a deal, then, Jody thinks. But she’s conscious of a lingering resentment that something so trivial has threatened to come between them.
For an hour or so they shift the loungers in and out of shadow, according to how much direct sun their bodies can take. Dylan sleeps in the shade, and Sam is virtually dozing, too. Grace is engrossed in her book so Jody, feeling restless, wraps a sarong around her bikini and takes herself off for a walk.
She strolls through the gardens, parallel to the main building. It’s siesta time and the paths are quiet. She is mentally rifling through the suitcases, trying to decide if the clothes she brought will be impressive enough for the reception the next day. If not, are there shops near here?
She cuts back inside, vaguely intent on asking at reception. A warring voice tells her it’s silly: they can’t afford to be buying new outfits now. She’ll have to make do.
She grins. Can’t be many guests at the Conchis sporting the latest lines from Primarni.
And now a woman is smiling back at her. It’s Kay Baxter, sitting alone in a dim corner of the bar, dressed in a long skirt and tailored jacket. Jody wonders if the Baxters ever put on swimwear or venture into the sun.
‘Hot out there,’ Kay says.
‘Sweltering,’ Jody agrees. ‘Nice, though.’
‘Rather too much for me.’ She reaches for her glass, a cocktail of some kind. ‘It’s Jody, isn’t it?’
This feels like an invitation to stay and talk, so Jody nods, moving closer to one of the vacant chairs.
‘Thought I’d have a wander. Bit of time to myself.’
‘Well, it’s a busy life as a mother. Never a spare moment.’
Kay’s eyes take on a slightly regretful quality, but Jody doesn’t register the change until it’s too late. ‘Do you have kids?’
‘No. It wasn’t to be, I’m afraid.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ Aware that her ability to dislike this woman has been compromised, Jody looks around the room. ‘Where’s Trevor?’
‘He’s had to complain about the noise from the room above us. Music and laughing till well after midnight.’ She sniffs. ‘Russians, I think.’
Jody almost repeats herself: Sorry to hear that. She’s preparing to say her farewell when Kay asks, ‘You wouldn’t have seen our rep today, by any chance?’
‘She was here earlier,’ Jody says, assuming the Baxters want to involve Gabby in their complaint.
‘Oh.’ Kay purses her lips. ‘I wonder when we’ll hear about the prize draw.’
The comment seems to hang in the air like a small but potent thundercloud. Jody feels heat rushing to her face. It’s an absurd reaction, as is the sense of guilt when she says, ‘Actually, we’ve won.’
‘You’ve...?’ Kay places a hand over her mouth, clears her throat and finally offers a smile. ‘That’s wonderful for you.’
‘Sam doesn’t think so. Typical man – he has to be dragged kicking and screaming to any sort of formal gathering.’
‘Trevor’s usually quite...’ Kay tails off, and a moment later Jody understands why.
‘Did I catch my name being taken in vain?’ His voice, deep and droning, reminds Jody of someone irritating on TV, though she can’t place who it is. Trevor is wearing a crisp white shirt, tucked into tailored shorts with a brown leather belt, and matching leather sandals over white socks.
He ignores Jody completely, letting out an exasperated sigh. ‘They’re suggesting we give it another night. I informed them that if we’re disturbed again, I’ll be insisting on an upgrade.’
‘Goodness, I hope it’s better tonight.’
‘I still intend to register a grievance with the rep. Then we can put in a claim when we get home.’
He sits down next to Kay, exposing bony white knees, and frowns as he realises his wife is trying t
o tell him something.
‘... was here earlier. They’ve been chosen, from the draw.’
Only then does Trevor acknowledge Jody’s presence, his gaze hovering at breast level for a moment. ‘What? Who has?’
Kay indicates Jody. ‘These– I mean, they… Jody and…’
‘To the Hotel Conchis?’ Trevor pinches his lower lip and starts to twist and pull on it. Jody has a feeling that he wants to stuff a fist in his mouth and scream at the injustice, but this has to make do instead.
After waiting in vain for him to respond, Kay fills the silence with a fluttering laugh of almost total insincerity and says to Jody, ‘And well done, you!’
11
When Sam hears about the conversation, his first reaction is to savour the victory, but it doesn’t make him any keener to go. That afternoon, at Grace’s request, they give tennis a try. None of them can play properly, but chasing down the ball becomes such a challenge that Sam ends up soaked in sweat, and the swim he has to cool off afterwards is the most satisfying of the holiday so far.
Tonight they take their time over dinner, having several courses. Sam keeps an eye out for the poor bloke who dropped the tray but there’s no sign of him. He wonders what other jobs you’d find on an island like this, if the tourist trade kicked you out.
It’s nearly half eight before they’re done, and when they step into the sweet warmth of the evening the live entertainment is in full swing. Naturally enough Grace is desperate to take a look, and if ever there’s some back-up pestering to be done, well, Dylan’s your go-to guy.
‘But aren’t you both tired?’ Jody asks, and the kids shake their heads with perfect comic timing.
Laughing, Sam says, ‘A late night won’t hurt.’ In his own childhood he regularly stayed up beyond midnight, though in very different circumstances to this.
They manage to find a table, and Sam troops off to the bar for drinks. It’s only when he returns that he realises the Baxters are sitting less than two metres away. The woman, Kay, glances over and nods at him. Sam nods back, but leaves it at that.
The music is performed by a group of four young women: two singers, two acoustic guitarists. The women are dark-haired and attractive, and their songs have a kind of twisty, twinkly sound that Sam thinks might be Spanish.
Before long the kids have drifted off to join a group of children sitting on a low wall at the edge of the little auditorium. A couple of the animation team are with them, and Sam remembers that they’re supposed to be doing the kids’ club tomorrow morning. And then this thing in the afternoon. The Conchis.
When the musicians take a break, their songs are replaced by piped-in Euro disco. Sam goes to the bar and waits his turn. Trevor comes alongside, trying to signal to a barman even though the staff are busy serving the people in front of them.
‘Quite good, those Iberian fillies,’ Trevor says. ‘Very easy on the eye.’
Sam isn’t sure who he’s talking about – the band, presumably – but he nods anyway. He gets served first, so it makes sense to order for Trevor. A whisky and a G&T. Sam passes the drinks back to him, and although he hasn’t handed over a tip or been pressured to leave one, something sets Trevor off on the subject again.
‘Beggars belief that it’s taken for granted. I mean, no one tips me at the end of the day, just for doing my job.’
This could be an invitation to ask what Trevor does for a living, but Sam ignores it. They move away, Sam trying hard not to spill the four drinks he’s holding. He’s reminded of how Dylan met the same challenge earlier, and has to check his tongue isn’t sticking out.
In his usual sarcastic tone, Trevor says, ‘Hear you got lucky today.’
‘I suppose.’ Although Sam has pictured himself gloating in front of the Baxters, now the moment’s here he can’t bring himself to do it.
Jody accepts her drink, feeling hugely relieved that Sam and Trevor are managing to be civil towards one another.
‘All set for your big day tomorrow?’ Trevor asks her.
Jody is able to nod quite confidently. ‘It’s only a couple of hours in the afternoon.’
‘You know who might be there, don’t you?’ Trevor is only too keen to answer his own question. ‘Borko Radić, son and heir of President Dragan Radić. I take it you know who he is?’
Jody’s nod is more convincing than Sam’s. Once they’d booked the holiday, her dad set about researching the country’s recent history, though what he learned was so depressing that she tried not to pay too much attention.
‘Warlord turned oligarch,’ Trevor says, with what sounds like approval. ‘He’s ruled for years, even though they supposedly have elections. Siphoning off wealth like there’s no tomorrow, lucky bugger.’
‘So what would his son be doing at a reception for foreign tourists?’ Jody asks.
‘A PR exercise. Borko’s being groomed to take over. He was quite the playboy after he left Oxford – starlets and cocaine and all that. Fancied himself as an adventurer, delving into the jungles of South America, trekking across deserts. Very keen on safaris, too.’ Trevor leans forward, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, the whisky rancid on his breath. ‘If you get a chance you ought to ask him if the rumour’s true.’
‘What rumour?’ Jody asks.
‘It’s said that he shot a western black rhinoceros, which is now officially extinct.’ Before they can react, Trevor guffaws. ‘My God, there was an uproar from the animal rights brigade! They wanted a criminal investigation, but no chance of that, of course.’
Jody tries not to recoil; the man sounds repulsive. Fortunately they’re interrupted by Dylan, who has run up with another boy in tow. He’s about the same age, round-faced and blond, and holding a toy fire truck.
‘I want him to share but he doesn’t listen,’ Dylan complains.
‘He speaks a different language, that’s all.’ Jody suggests that Dylan could set an example by having a drink, then offering the glass to his friend. The experiment is a success, and soon they’re kneeling on the path, rolling the truck back and forth.
‘How sweet,’ Kay says, and Jody is reminded that her dad believes strongly that overseas travel is a civilising influence – even a holiday in a setting as artificial as this.
Ironically, she tunes back in to hear Trevor busy documenting the failings of the various nationalities present at the hotel: ‘... Russians are just pig-ignorant gits, frankly. They make the Germans look polite by comparison!’
Kay issues one of her high-pitched laughs, which seems to be an attempt to soften the impact of what he’s saying. ‘We’re no better, really,’ she reminds him.
‘Valid point,’ Trevor says, wagging his finger. ‘Some of the knuckle-draggers on that Manchester flight... it’s all fifteen-stone monsters with nose rings, football shirts and tattoos,’ – the punchline is telegraphed by a pause – ‘and that’s just the women!’
12
The crack about football shirts and tattoos cuts deep. Sam wonders if it’s intentional. Certainly Kay looks embarrassed, distracting them with a garbled enquiry about how the children are settling in to the holiday. While Jody answers, Sam remembers that he wore his Albion shirt to the welcome meeting. Then again, he doesn’t think the Baxters have been anywhere near the pool, where they might have seen his tattoos – an eagle on his chest, roses entwined in Jody’s name on his right bicep and the kids’ names in Celtic lettering on his shoulder blades.
So take a deep breath, Sam. Trevor’s a fuckwit, but you don’t want to ruin your holiday by laying him out in front of dozens of people…
Grace brings Dylan back, tears streaming down his face: he tripped over on the path. There’s a graze on his knee, bleeding lightly. Normally a tissue and a hug and he’d be good as new, but on this occasion they’re grateful for an excuse to leave.
‘You know what Carl would do if someone talked to him like that?’ Sam mutters once they’re out of earshot.
‘I do, yes.’ Jody links her arm with his, bumping hips in
a friendly way. ‘Which is why Carl’s not in a position to have a holiday like this. And he wouldn’t have a partner as wonderful as me.’
Sam can only laugh. It amazes him how she’s able to level out his moods so skilfully. Like skimming froth from a beer.
‘So, basically, you’re saying: grow up. Be the bigger man?’
‘Why not? Okay, they’re a couple of pompous snobs. But from what Kay told me this afternoon, they wanted kids and couldn’t have them. Now they’re turning into a sour, lonely old couple with nothing to look forward to. Think of what we have, compared to them.’
Instead of speaking, Sam finds her hand and squeezes it. The kids run ahead, Dylan’s injured knee already forgotten. Grace spots some kind of lizard on the path and they stop to examine it. The heat builds around them, and from the plants and bushes comes the urgent buzz and click of insects: crickets, is it, or cicadas?
Jody isn’t sure either, but Dylan laughs explosively when she explains how they make the noise. ‘Rubbing their legs together? That’s silly, Mummy!’
As they move away, Jody murmurs to Sam, ‘You’ve been so uptight lately. It’s worrying me.’
‘Have I?’ To his own ear, Sam sounds mystified, but he’s not sure if it’s convincing. ‘When?’
‘For weeks now. Months.’
‘Oh.’ They walk on. ‘I could probably say the same about you.’
‘So there’s nothing wrong? Nothing... out of the ordinary?’
‘No,’ he says, as if it’s a silly question. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ve only been tense because you’ve been tense.’
‘Right.’ He isn’t sure what to say. ‘Sorry.’
They walk the rest of the way in silence. Sam’s had an idea, and considers telling Jody, but at the last moment he changes his mind.
Back in the room, he checks the fridge and says they could do with some more bottled water. ‘I’ll pop to the bar. Bring you a proper drink, if you like?’
Jody says no, but smiles warmly. ‘You get one if you want.’
