by Tom Bale
‘Wey-hey,’ says Gareth in a low, hungry voice. ‘Now the grown-up entertainment begins.’
The women share bemused glances at the way Sam and Gareth are leering at the stilt walkers, but Jody can’t really blame them. Her own attention is frequently drawn back to the stage, where Borko is shaking hands with the returning musicians.
She loses sight of him as he steps down. The crowd as a whole is moving towards the terrace to get a clearer view of the stilt walkers. She hears a furnace-like roar as one of the girls sprays a jet of flame into the air.
Then there’s a disturbance nearby: Borko is coming her way, flanked by a couple of bodyguards. People shake his hand and clap him on the back and he nods, absorbing their compliments with a dutiful smile. An elderly woman makes a comment about the hotel, and Jody hears him reply, ‘In a manner of speaking. I own the company that owns it!’
Now he’s almost within touching distance. His gaze alights on Jody and doesn’t veer away; for a long moment he is looking directly into her eyes and she thinks: He knows me.
Impossible. It lasts only a second, and Michelle is standing right next to her but doesn’t seem to notice anything untoward. By the time Sam and Gareth turn to look, Borko is already striding past, his attention focused on other guests; and no doubt some of them are falling for it, too.
It’s a trick they teach politicians, Jody realises. The ability to make you feel like you’re the only person who matters to them.
All the same, she feels a little shaken. When she mentions needing the toilet, Michelle says she’ll come, prompting a snigger from Gareth.
‘Why is it you girls always have to go together?’
‘To complain about men with their eyes out on stalks,’ Michelle says, gesturing at the fire breathers.
Sam leans close and murmurs to Jody, ‘Check on the kids, will you?’ She gives him a questioning look but he only shrugs, as if embarrassed to show how much he cares in front of the other couple.
Jody and Michelle fight their way against the flow, following a sign for the rest rooms, and it’s a relief when they come to a wide hallway with a marble floor and several easy chairs. The aircon is so effective that Jody decides to put on the cardigan she’s carrying.
The Ladies is as sumptuous as every other part of the hotel, with an array of toiletries in little glass jars lined up on a shelf above the sinks. Michelle alights on them with glee, while encouraging Jody to do the same. ‘They’ll be gone by the end of the day.’
Jody takes a couple of soaps, and says that’s all she can fit into her handbag. She’s never felt comfortable helping herself to anything: it feels too much like theft.
They go on chatting while they’re in the cubicles, Michelle becoming less and less discreet.
‘You know how, with some men, you can tell they’re gonna know what they’re doing – between the sheets, I mean? Wouldn’t you bet that Mr Borko scores highly.’
‘I daresay he gets plenty of practice.’ Jody can’t help shivering as she recalls how he seemed to peer into her soul.
‘He could practice with me any time. I’d even let Gareth have his fun with one of those fire-breathing hussies in return!’
Jody laughs, but the conversation is making her uneasy. This feels like an alternative glimpse of the future: would-be swingers like Gareth and Michelle or lonely husks like Trevor and Kay. Is there any hope that she and Sam can avoid either fate?
After washing her hands, Jody says she wants to see how the kids are doing.
Michelle is dismissive. ‘They’ll be fine.’
‘I know. I’m paranoid. It’s–’ Jody stops, but knows she has to explain. ‘Dylan was quite ill, at the start of the year. In hospital for a while.’
‘Oh dear. What was it?’
‘Uh… meningitis.’ Jody hates saying the word; not just because it’s a reminder of the agony they went through, but because all too often people rear away at the very mention of it – as though she or Dylan might be carrying the disease right now.
But Michelle briefly rests a hand on Jody’s shoulder and says, ‘How awful for you. I’m sure I’d be paranoid after a thing like that.’
There’s a corridor at right angles to the hall. Jody can hear exuberant shouts and screams from a doorway at the far end. A couple of the staff are huddled outside, as if taking shelter. When one of them spots Jody, he moves clear of the doorway, and Jody realises she was half expecting to be barred from entering.
The noise level is deafening, which is partly down to the acoustics of the room itself, and partly because the kids are running riot. At first she can’t make sense of their costumes, the sinister blank faces. They’re in a space the size of a sports hall, complete with a sprung timber floor and a high vaulted ceiling. The narrow windows are covered by heavy shades, blocking any natural light. About a third of the space is taken up by a gigantic soft play area on three levels, complete with various tubes and climbing bars. Two steep slides drop into a ball pit large enough for about fifty kids.
The rest of the room is bare, except for a row of tables at the back groaning with soft drinks and snacks…
And guns and ammo – because most of the children have put on thin coveralls and masks, and they’re charging around firing paintballs at each other.
No. Not at each other. Jody sees that their targets are four or five of the staff, who are dressed as waiters but also have painted faces and long rubbery clown shoes that hamper their movement – to the delight of their assailants.
It takes Jody a minute to identify her own children. Dylan, of course, is enthusiastically taking part in the paintball game, brandishing a gun almost as big as he is. Grace and Alice are also kitted out, but have found a quiet spot on the far side of the ball pit and are doing more chatting than shooting.
The other staff, including the entertainers who led them here, are standing at the far side of the room, close to the refreshments, in what is obviously a designated safe zone. With a distinct air of relief, they watch as the poor waiters are pursued through the play area and shot mercilessly, their smart jackets and trousers splattered with bright red paint.
One of the men gets cornered at the top of a slide. He endures a couple of shots at point-blank range, then, with a convincing cry of desperation, he hurls himself into the ball pit. With the red and white makeup, it’s hard to tell for sure, but he seems oddly familiar. Jody is denied a second look because the man is submerged beneath hundreds of plastic balls, while more shots rain down from above.
Then he reappears briefly, and recognition brings a gasp.
It can’t be.
20
Somehow Sam has become trapped in a conversation with Gareth about foreigners, and how there are ‘too fucking many’ of them in the UK. He’s praying they move on to safer ground before Jody comes back.
It started with a comment about how ‘they don’t seem as bad in their own countries.’ This was in relation to a holiday to India a few years back, which Gareth and Michelle enjoyed far more than they expected. ‘Filthy, how they live, and poor as buggery – but doesn’t mean we want ’em coming over here, does it?’
Suddenly he’s in full flight, and Sam can’t do anything except keep his expression neutral and wish he was somewhere else. Until now Gareth had seemed like a nice enough bloke, happy to eye up the stilt walkers. At one point he whistled sadly and said, ‘I’d give ten years off my life for an hour in bed with her.’ Sam was tempted to joke that, if his wife caught him at it he’d probably lose far more than ten years.
He wonders if that sense of disappointment is what has turned Gareth’s mood. Now he’s raging that ‘they all need to be sent back, not just the blacks and pakis. Everyone foreign.’
There was a time when Sam might have agreed – this was basically what his own parents had brought him up to believe – but for the past couple of years they’ve had a Romanian working with them, and he’s turned out to be a really top bloke: hard-working, reliable, gets his round in. It wa
s Jody who pointed out that, before they got to know him, Sam and his workmates would have wanted the guy kicked out of the country. So it’s complicated. Surely Gareth must realise that?
Sam is gearing up to say so when Michelle returns. Jody’s gone to take a look at the kids, she tells him, and Sam pretends this is news to him. It’s also an opportunity to change the subject. He asks about their hotel, praying this won’t spark off another rant.
Then Jody appears, her brow creased with anxiety. Sam’s heart lurches.
‘What’s up? Are they all right?’
‘Yeah.’ Her eyes say otherwise. ‘Just something I want you to see.’ She flutters a smile at the Dowds. ‘Won’t be a second.’
‘Jesus, thanks,’ Sam says as she leads him away.
‘Boring?’
‘Racist. Like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Oh, that’s awful.’
‘The kids are okay, aren’t they?’
‘Yes. Having a whale of a time.’
‘So what is it...?’
They escape the main lounge and hurry along a corridor towards the ear-splitting noise of the children’s party. Sam is cringing even before he takes in the sight of kids in facemasks swarming over a gigantic soft play structure, armed with realistic-looking guns. The whole room looks like the site of a massacre, and it takes him a moment to process the fact that it’s not a bloodbath, but paint.
That lessens the shock a little. But he’s been paintballing himself, on a stag weekend, and it’s definitely not suitable for kids as young as Dylan.
Sam looks around for evidence of supervision. Three or four of the waiters are standing at the back of the room, keeping their heads down. The only other adults in sight are a couple of tough guys standing by a door in the opposite corner. They remind Sam of nightclub bouncers.
Jody lets out an exclamation: ‘It’s getting worse! There were more staff than this a minute ago.’ She clutches his arm. ‘Look over there.’
She means the ball pit, where the kids have trapped a group of men with clown faces.
‘You see that one, second from right?’
‘Yeah. Looks shit scared.’
‘Isn’t he the waiter from our hotel? The one who dropped that tray?’
The children are still firing at the men, but most are running out of ammunition. Some throw their guns down and make for the food and drink. Grace is among them, leading Dylan away from the chaos with a protective arm around his shoulders. Jody feels both proud and slightly pained to see Grace taking on the role of mother; already she’s developing a sense of responsibility towards others and won’t put herself first.
Both have removed their masks. Dylan looks horribly overheated and possibly a little tearful. They haven’t yet noticed their parents.
Then, in the ball pit, someone hurls a ball at one of the clowns, striking him full in the face. With frenzied cries, the other kids follow his lead, joyfully bombarding the men, who twist and writhe but have nowhere to hide.
It’s out of control, Jody thinks. Why doesn’t someone stop it? Why are the men putting up with this?
The second question is answered when one of the clowns struggles to the edge of the ball pit and starts to clamber out. Jody registers that a couple of thuggish-looking men have taken a few steps in his direction. Grimly, he slips back and surrenders to the onslaught.
‘Grace!’ Jody raises her arm to get her daughter’s attention. The children approach at a run, and Jody realises they have been spotted by the guards – or whatever they are. One of them raises a wrist to his mouth and appears to speak into it.
The wildest of the kids, having helped themselves to food, run back to the play area and start lobbing pastries and cakes at the hapless clowns. A boy who has been dry-clicking his gun observes the food fight for a moment, then ploughs through the ball pit until he’s behind the clowns. He reverses the gun and swings it by the barrel, catching one of the men on the back of the head. There’s an eruption of blood as the man pitches forward and vanishes beneath the plastic balls.
A girl screams, loudly enough to cut through all the other noise. The children around her stop throwing food and look up as if emerging from a trance. The Dowds’ girl, Alice, sidles away from the ball pit with a suitably angelic ‘It wasn’t me’ expression on her face.
‘I don’t like this, Mummy,’ Grace says.
‘Neither do I.’ Jody soothes her daughter with a stroke of her hair. ‘But it’s all right now, darling.’
‘I wanna go home,’ Dylan cries. Sam kneels down and strips off the protective clothing, then lifts his son up. Grace removes her coveralls, tossing them away with a look of distaste.
‘It was fun at first,’ she says, ‘but they let everyone go mad.’
As they turn to leave, they find a man in a suit marching along the corridor towards them. He’s grey-haired, with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes as dark as buttons. Jody thinks she saw him earlier, with Borko. The hotel manager, perhaps?
‘My dear lady,’ he says, in excellent English. ‘Something is wrong?’
Jody tries to explain, Sam chipping in to help. It would be easier, probably, to show him the aftermath, but Jody senses that neither of them wants to go back in there.
The man introduces himself as Naji Hussein, but doesn’t say what his position is. He listens with a grave expression, nodding rapidly before they have finished.
‘A case of, uh, “high spirits”, possibly?’
‘Worse than that,’ Jody says. ‘They’re being allowed to run wild.’
‘Mm. The play room allows for freedom, and that, perhaps, awakened their inner savagery?’ He looks faintly amused by the idea.
‘They were attacking the men in the ball pool,’ Sam tells him. ‘One of them is a waiter from our hotel. The Adriana Beach.’
Hussein gives a frown that Jody feels sure is fake. ‘I think you are mistaken.’
Sam shakes his head. ‘It’s him. Yesterday morning he dropped a tray of glasses. Now you’re letting kids chuck things at him, like it’s punishment–’
‘No, no, no,’ Hussein says, as if singing the word. ‘A mistake, I promise.’
‘I just hope they’re all right,’ Jody says. ‘Some of them were taking a real beating.’
Hussein nods. ‘I will investigate. Now, their wellbeing should not be your concern. May I suggest you come out on the terrace and relax?’
21
Sam reads Jody’s expression, and says, ‘No, thanks.’ He hoists Dylan a little higher on his shoulder, hoping it’s obvious how tired he is. ‘We need to be leaving.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘The kids are worn out…’ He looks at Jody again, sensing that more will be needed. This man Hussein has something of the salesman about him; won’t take no for an answer.
‘We’ve had such an amazing time!’ Jody says. ‘But yes, I do think it’s best to get the children back.’
It seems to do the trick. Hussein bows his head. ‘One moment, please.’
He enters the play room and unleashes a stream of what sounds like abuse. Jody blows out a sigh and gives Grace a hug. On Sam’s shoulder, Dylan wriggles himself comfortable. Then Hussein is back, hands clasped together as if he’s praying.
‘Order is being restored. And your car will be just a few moments. May I invite you to wait somewhere quiet?’
He doesn’t give them the option, marching halfway along the corridor and opening a door. Sam shrugs at Jody. He’s aware that he’s in no mood to go back and resume the conversation with Gareth and Michelle.
To Sam’s relief, they enter some sort of lounge or meeting room, with an eight-seater table and half a dozen easy chairs. There’s an opening along one wall, which perhaps has a bar behind it, but it’s currently covered by panelling. Best of all, the room is empty. No other guests, no music, no chaos.
‘I shall be back very soon,’ Hussein assures them, and he closes the door softly behind him.
Jody sinks into a chair and cuddl
es Grace on her lap. ‘Home in a minute,’ she says, and Dylan twists round with a hopeful expression.
‘Proper home?’
‘Well, back to our hotel.’
‘I wanna go to our proper home.’
‘The hotel is our home for now,’ Sam gently reminds him. ‘Just for a few more days. You like it there.’
‘Don’t.’
Somehow Sam grins, though by now his patience ought to be wearing thin. Jody matches the smile, but then she frowns. ‘I wonder how he knew we were English?’
Sam thinks about explaining his theory, but the door is opening. A waitress enters with a tray of drinks, ice cubes clinking as she sets it down.
‘Some fruit juice,’ she says, turning quickly to leave.
‘Do you know when the car will be ready?’ Jody calls after her.
‘Uh. I find out.’ An uncertain smile, then she’s gone.
Sam rests his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. He prays that Jody won’t have a go at him for not being more assertive. After growing up with people like Carl, people like his dad, in a pressure situation Sam is never sure how you gauge the difference between being assertive as in getting what you’re entitled to, and assertive as in doing something that’ll get you arrested.
Dylan slides off Sam’s lap and makes for the drinks. Sam wearily follows, in case of a spillage. While he’s there, he picks up a glass and takes a sip.
‘What is it, orange?’ Jody asks.
‘Not sure. A bit of peach or something. Quite tasty.’
‘Oh, go on then,’ Jody says, and Grace doesn’t want to be the odd one out. So they all take a drink, and it’s quite pleasant to unwind, just the four of them, in this cool, quiet room.
‘Did I overreact?’ Jody wonders.
‘Dunno. But it was definitely the guy. Our waiter.’
‘You said “punishment”. Do you really–?’ She breaks off as Sam gives her a look, nodding at Dylan and Grace, both of whom, he knows, are only pretending not to listen.
