New Balls Please (Ball Games #3)

by Andie M. Long

  'Here we are, look,' says Jim as a Center Parcs car turns the corner.

  After explaining my actions for what appears to be the thirty-seventh time, the tow guy fastens the rope to the back of my car and drives his own forward. The tow rope breaks in two.

  'Sorry. Can't shift it,' he says. 'Are you with a breakdown company?'

  'Yes,' I answer.

  'Good. You need to ring them. There’s nothing else we can do.'

  Jim apologises. Shaking his hand, I thank him and he hitches a lift back to base with the tow man. I return to my villa, hoping no-one prangs my car. There’s a lump in my throat and I feel like I can hardly breathe. Luckily my phone has an almost full battery and I manage to get a signal, something that’s difficult when you’re among so many trees. I inform the breakdown company of my predicament. They must be used to idiots ringing them because the lady is lovely and reassures me that a trip to Center Parcs is no problem for their rescue vehicles.

  I lie back on my bed. It's now ten-fifteen. Why did I not stay at home? I could be curled up in bed reading, or watching a DVD. I could have made Tim suffer for a day and had the kids in my pocket until they'd apologised. Instead, I'm in the middle of the countryside in the midst of chaos.

  The breakdown company tells me they could be up to three hours. Fuck my Life. Like I’m hypnotised I can’t keep away from the window, so I’m intrigued to see flashing lights outside and go to explore. Two guys are taking out the wooden post from the hilly bit where the cars have had to drive up a little.

  I walk up to them, my arms crossed over my stomach. 'Oh dear. I've caused a lot of hassle.'

  'Yep, you're the talk of Center Parcs,' laughs one of them.

  The other one nudges him. 'Leave her alone.' He turns towards me. 'We've got to remove this post in case the other cars hit it. It'll give them more room to get past yours until it’s moved.'

  I nod. 'Well, the breakdown company are on their—'

  A large rumbling sound interrupts our conversation. A tractor comes around the corner and pulls up next to my car. He sticks his head out of the window.

  'Heard there was a woman who needed a proper bloke,' he winks and jumps down from the tractor.

  Less than five minutes later my car is free of the mud. The tractor driver even gets in my car and parks it for me. I don't think my trembling limbs could have managed it. The relief is overwhelming.

  'Leave it there,' he tells me. 'I've had a word with the traffic people and you can keep it there all week.'

  I place my hand on my heart. 'Thank you so much,' I throw myself at him and embrace him in a warm hug. 'What's your name?'

  'Tony. It's my pleasure. Now you get yourself settled for the night.'

  I slap my forehead. 'Shit. I need to cancel the breakdown people. They're on their way.'

  ‘So off you go. Then relax.' He chuckles.

  'I will. Promise. Oh by the way. What time does the shop close?'

  'Eight-thirty.'

  I glance at my watch. It's now ten-fifty-five.

  ‘Right. Okay. Thank you.'

  'You okay?' he asks me.

  'Yeah. I'm great now the car is out of the road,' I tell him. It’s the truth. Although I'm miffed there’s nothing to eat and only tap water to drink, my relief about the car makes up for it. I bid him good night and return to my lodge.

  I cancel the breakdown people first. Then I make another mug of hot water and change into my pyjamas. I'm overcome with exhaustion. Maybe I should rest and start again tomorrow? It seems an intelligent idea and I climb beneath my sheets and close my eyes. Luckily my mind decides I shouldn’t suffer any further. It gives me a lovely dream where the muscle-bound guys rescue me after all. Except this time, there’s no car.

  Chapter Three

  Camille

  I look around the lounge as if she will appear. 'What do you mean she's left?'

  It's Sunday and I've turned up for lunch. Lunch that isn’t cooked. I could have done with a day in bed. The Play Centre I own has been manic this week, plus I've got a cold trying to start. My dad passes me my mum's note.

  I rub at my eyelid. 'What does she mean… no-one's asked about her? I rang you Thursday night!'

  My dad shrugs. 'So did Tyler. But I forgot to tell her you'd called. I turned the ringer off in the bedroom so she wouldn't be disturbed. Now she assumes no-one cares.'

  'Oh, for goodness sake. So she booked a week in Center Parcs?'

  My dad’s face tightens. 'Yes. A whole week. In June. To learn how to play tennis, and less than three weeks before the start of Wimbledon. You know what that means?'

  I hand him the note back. 'What?'

  'It’s going to be expensive. Plus, this is your mother so—'

  'She’ll buy new gear.'

  My usually easy going father’s nostrils flare. 'She's using the money we saved together. For going away together. I'm not impressed, Camille.'

  'Have you tried ringing her?’

  ‘Of course, I have. I’m struggling though. She's in the middle of the forest so it won't connect. When it does, she's not answering.'

  I take a deep breath and speak calmly. 'Well, you'll have to go and get her.'

  'No. No way.' My dad shakes his head. As he finishes speaking, his mouth tightens in a firm line. 'I'm fed up of her acting like a spoilt teenager. She's wasted our joint savings. She'd better flipping well enjoy the week off. Hopefully, while she's there, she can see how ridiculous she's being. I'm at work all week and she's due back next Saturday. If she's lucky, I won't have changed the locks.'

  Shit. 'But, Dad, this is how Mum is.'

  'Well, it's got to stop. It's just your mum and me now Tyler's left home. I was looking forward to a week or two abroad, now there's a huge deficit in the savings account. She works three days a week and I work five. It’s a bloody insult that I'm working full-time while she's swanning around Center Parcs.' He folds his hands across his chest. 'I'll tell you something else. Tomorrow morning, I’ll ring the bank and cancel her credit card. She's not spending any more of our money. I wonder how she'd feel if I swanned off for a week. There’s an idea. I might go shopping and buy myself some new threads. Spend the rest of our savings.'

  Bloody hell. I've never heard my dad be so vocal. Mum’s really gone and done it this time. 'Dad, please don't say threads.'

  'Clobber then. I’ll get some new clobber.'

  Dear God, he's so old.

  I place a hand on his shoulder. 'Do you want me to come with you?'

  'No, I'll be fine. I'll have a look at what's in fashion on the internet. When she comes home, that mother of yours will find she has a new partner. One that's not putting up with her drama anymore. I might even have some of my own.'

  The doorbell goes and my dad walks to answer it. It's my brother. Half an hour late as usual.

  I watch as a dishevelled mess plods into the dining room, says 'Eh?' and then notices I'm in the lounge.

  'Where's lunch?' Tyler strokes the stubble on his chin. Shaving must have been beyond him this morning.

  'Have you even washed today?'

  He flops on the sofa. 'Oh, don't you start. Lindsay was on at me about not getting out of bed. I'm knackered.'

  'Well, Mum's left home.'

  ‘Oh, is she at the shops? What’s she forgot this time? The peas?’

  ‘No, I mean she’s left. Packed a suitcase.’

  He laughs. 'You're funny you are.'

  'Where is she then? And where's lunch?'

  He leaves the room, walking past Dad and looks around the house, occasionally shouting 'Mum,' then returns.

  'Aw, stop messing about. I'm tired and absolutely flipping starving. I didn't get up in time for breakfast.'

  My dad hands Tyler the note.

  He reads it and rolls his eyes. 'Oh, for God's sake.’ His stomach rumbles and he places his hand on it. ‘I'm so hungry.'

  'Mum's left and taken herself to Center Parcs and all you're bothered about is your stomach?' I scold.

&n
bsp; Dad shrugs. 'Us blokes really do struggle with an empty stomach. Come on, I'll treat you both to a carvery at The Red Lion. I'm fed up thinking about your mother’s antics. Give me a minute to put my coat and shoes on.'

  Dad goes off to get ready.

  Tyler stares at me.

  'What?'

  'I'm waiting for you to tell me what I've got to do.'

  'You can think for yourself, you know. What do you think we should do? Dad is set on leaving her to it.'

  'Camille. Any time I've suggested anything in our whole lives you've told me it’s stupid and then bossily made me do what you want.'

  I narrow my eyes at him. 'No, I haven't.'

  'Okay.’ His tongue pokes the side of his cheek. ‘Well... I think we should leave Mum and Dad to get on with it. It's their relationship.'

  I huff. 'That's a stupid idea.'

  Tyler looks skywards and mutters under his breath. It sounds like 'Told you.'

  'If Dad leaves her at Center Parcs she'll think no-one cares. What if she doesn't come back?'

  'Where's she going to go, Cam? She has a cushy number at home and she knows it.'

  'But Dad always sorts her out and calms her down. What if they split up?'

  He walks over and pats my head, the twat.

  'Little Cam. The folks will do what they need to do. They'll argue and either sort it out or not. They're grownups. I'm surprised Dad hasn't snapped before with all the money Mum wastes on her obsessions. Now she thinks she's Serena Williams.'

  Dad walks in. 'Right, are you two ready?'

  We nod and head to the local.

  The Red Lion is always heaving Sunday lunchtime, but the staff there are used to it and get customers through to the tables steadily. It's an idea to book a table if you don't want a long wait but Becky, one of the regular staff there tells us she's just cleared a table for three and we can go straight through. The table is tucked away near the toilets and fits around a post. It’s not the best table but it suits us today, seeing as we are all so hungry.

  Dad rubs the condensation off the side of his pint glass. 'I wonder what your Mother's doing right now?’

  'As long as it’s not the tennis coach,' says Tyler.

  Dad looks stricken.

  'Tyler!' I shout. 'Don't be so stupid.'

  He looks at his feet. 'I thought it was funny.'

  'Do you think the tennis coach will be a bloke? An attractive bloke?' asks my dad.

  'Given the number of attractive men in the world, the odds are seriously against it,' I reassure him. 'I'll check the website later and let you know if you like.'

  Dad nods.

  We get up and queue for our carvery lunch. Mum's a great cook but there are a choice of joints and an array of vegetables here. The pièce de résistance though is the Yorkshire Puddings. They are enormous. Our mum has never been able to cook a Yorkshire Pudding and has to rely on ready cooked frozen ones from the supermarket. She says she's tried every recipe going. At one point she even bought a new oven as she was convinced her own wasn't reaching the correct temperature. They still came out as flat as a CD. Our eyes widen in delight as the small crunchy planet is placed on our plates.

  We return to our table. Tyler takes a bite of the pudding.

  'Mmm. Do you think we could come here every Sunday?' he asks.

  'Are you going to ask your Mother that?' Dad replies.

  ‘Not if I value my testicles.’

  Dad sighs. 'There's one thing preying on my mind about your Mother, though.'

  'What's that, Dad?' I ask.

  'I don't know that she hasn't lost her way a bit. Gone depressed like. Only…’ he clears his throat, ‘before Tyler moved out your mum really got a grip on things. The house was spotless. She was in a great mood all the time. Then Ty left and well… her housework went… almost non-existent. If I ask her to do anything she looks so miserable.'

  Tyler changes the subject, saying how nice the gravy is. I turn to him and he's tapping his foot on the floor.

  'What do you know that we don't, Tyler Turner?’

  'Me? What do you mean?' he protests.

  'You're all fidgety and changing the subject. Has Mum been depressed? Has she said anything to you?'

  Tyler sighs. 'Do not shoot the messenger, okay?'

  My dad sits back, 'Go on Tyler. Out with it. Whatever it is. I need to hear it.'

  So Tyler owns up.

  'Let me get this straight. For a couple of months, before you left our house, your mum was paying you to do the chores?'

  Tyler gulps. 'I needed the money.'

  'And she told you to not mention this to me? Took all my praise for the lovely standard of cleaning attained as if she’d done it herself?'

  ‘Glad you liked it.'

  I elbow him. 'Not the right time Tyler.'

  Dad tilts his head to one side, his arms are crossed and his finger taps against the shirt sleeve of the opposite arm. 'So what did your mum do on her days off?'

  'Watched box-sets mainly and went shopping.'

  Dad exhales deeply.

  'So shall I talk to Mum?' I ask. It's the last thing I feel like doing but someone needs to talk sense to this family. It's like being in a troop of quarrelling chimps right now.

  Dad puts his cutlery down on his plate with force. It makes a chinking noise. 'No Camille. Absolutely not.'

  'Why not?'

  'Your mum has taken herself off, annoyed that she isn't getting our attention. I'm going back to what we did when you children were acting up and trying to get our attention in a negative way.'

  Uh oh.

  'So you're going to ignore it?'

  'That's right. Then eventually, she’ll bring her backside home. If she starts to tantrum about being ignored, I'll confront her about the housework issue.'

  Oh dear God, there'll be a murder and I love my dad.

  'Dad, no. Don't go there,' begs Tyler. 'You'll not win. It's Mum.'

  'Everybody stop saying that,' Dad snaps. 'All these years I've let things slide. No more. She's gone too far. This worm has turned. Tomorrow, I'm going to the bookshop and I’ll find myself one of those self-help books like she's always doing. There must be a How to survive a Manipulative Wife tome out there somewhere.'

  'If there's a companion book on girlfriend, can you get it for me?' says Tyler.

  I shake my head. 'You've only been going out with Lindsay two and a half months.'

  'I know, but she gets me to do things and afterwards I’m wondering how she did it.' He complains. ‘It’s some form of brainwashing.’

  'Exactly.' My dad waves his finger about. 'They're like witches or something, son. Take a lesson from me. Don't let Lindsay lay down the law.'

  They do a bro fist. I roll my eyes.

  I decide that I'm getting nowhere and my Yorkshire Pudding is getting cold, so I stuff a large piece in my mouth to prevent me from shouting at them both about being dickheads.

  Tomorrow I hope Beth makes it to Kid Zone. I need the opinion of another female.

  Chapter Four

  Dora

  I make sure I’m up nice and early on Sunday morning and head over to the on-site ParcMarket at around ten to get stocked up on groceries. There's a bottle of wine in my basket for later, and plenty of milk and tea bags. A life without a cuppa is a miserable one. After a good sleep, I've calmed down about the car issue. When I left the villa and walked up the road, other than the missing post and the tyre marks in the mud, you wouldn't know it had happened. Recalling the events of the evening, I return to the alcohol section and add a four-pack of beer to my basket. The heavy basket makes my arm ache but once I’ve called into the Information Centre, my bags will be lighter. I pay for my items and make the short walk there, then wait in the queue for a few minutes.

  'Can I help you?' An older woman greets me and then smiles.

  'Yes, could I leave these cans to split between Jim and Tony?' I place the four-pack on the counter. 'Also, do you have some paper and a pen so I can leave a note?' />
  The woman appraises me with a knowing smile and passes me some Center Parcs headed paper and a pen. She says nothing until I hand her the note.

  Thank you for helping me out of the mud. Please enjoy a beer. Sorry once again, Dora. Villa 332.

  The woman gives a throaty chuckle. 'I thought it must be you. Are you okay now?'

  I flick my fringe. 'Lots better thank you. I’m going to try to forget about it and enjoy my break.'

  She places the beer under the counter. 'Well, I'll see these get to the guys. They'll appreciate the thought.'

  'Thank you.'

  I head out of Information and hope I don't need to go in again for the duration of my break.

  Although some of my shopping needs to be in the fridge sooner rather than later, I'm passing the Jardin des Sports and its patio area looks lovely. Five minutes later, I'm nursing a Tia Maria coffee and enjoying the extra warmth of the outdoor heater. As I relax, thoughts cross my mind.

  I wonder what Tim and the kids are doing today. Whether the kids turned up for lunch and what they think of me being here.

  I catch sight of my distorted reflection in the cafe window. Being a forty-five-year-old woman is hard. People say I appear in my mid-thirties, but they aren’t greeted with the face I wake up with. It takes a subtle fake tan, lots of exercise and care with my diet to maintain this image. Plus, a heap of foundation and anti-ageing products. Tim gets to see that morning face. I'm surprised he comes anywhere near me, never mind inside me.

  I sigh. The tennis lessons start tomorrow, so what am I going to do with today?

  I recall that I passed a sports shop when I came through to the café. I'll treat myself to a nice outfit for the tennis, then get this shopping back and spend the day relaxing. Oh, I could book the Aqua Sana spa too! Maybe have a quiet stroll to find the wildlife. Then I’ll consume lots of cups of tea and read a book on my Kindle.

  Perhaps my family will call me later. I’ve had missed calls from Tim, but he must have changed his mind. He’s not left any messages. I refuse to think about it anymore. Well, I'll try not to. It’s hard when you feel invisible and no-one cares.