I was pleased to see, once I surfaced from my thriller – which wasn’t overly thrilling – in order to pour more coffee, that on further inspection there were several tables of same-sex couples and I wondered idly if the pairs were lovers or just mates away on holiday together. Two men, deep in conversation over their breakfast, were particularly good-looking – very fanciable, in fact – and I hurriedly buried my nose back into my Kindle as one, realising he was under scrutiny, smiled in my direction. I didn’t think I was up for flirting across the coffee pots just yet. I took a couple of quick photos of the breakfast feast and view of the beach from my table, sending them by text to Tom, Freya, Clare and Fi, and then, determinedly avoiding reading Mark’s message once more, switched off my phone and headed for the beach and sunshine.
*
And so I spent the day and the following days in heaven, swimming, sunbathing and reading, eating delicious food and drinking the all-inclusive cocktails. I walked on the beach, was pampered and cosseted in the spa and gazed in wonder at the giant iguanas and pelicans that roamed the verdant grounds of the hotel.
By my fourth day there I was fully into the routine of it all. In the evenings, after a day on the beach, I would shower and walk to one of the many bars, admiring the spectacular sunsets over a Mojito before going into dinner. At first, I’d been nervous of walking into the restaurants by myself. On the first evening the waiter had asked ‘One? Just for one? A table for one?’ very loudly and, humiliated at my lack of friends or husband, I’d almost turned and gone back to my room and ordered room service. But instead I’d smiled serenely and replied, just as loudly, ‘Just me; a table for one, please.’ After that it had got easier and by the third evening I’d even relinquished my book in order to take in the wonderful ambience as I feasted on the view from the terrace dining room as well as the incredible food. OK, I drank too much, but it was there, all laid on for me, and it helped me relax and even enjoy my own company.
On that fourth evening, I’d just finished a rather glorious chocolate mousse and was feeling replete when I noticed the two men I’d seen at breakfast on my first morning there. They were sitting around the corner from me and as I turned to find the waiter in order to ask for more water, the taller of the two, the one who’d smiled at me, raised a glass. I raised my glass of wine back, not really knowing what else to do. I wasn’t used to strange men raising glasses of wine at me and couldn’t for the life of me think what the protocol was when one actually did so.
‘Come and join us?’ The tall smiley one appeared at my side. ‘You look a bit lonely by yourself.’
‘I can assure you I’m not,’ I said rather stiffly. Then I relented and smiled. ‘Well, maybe a little…’
‘We’ve just ordered coffee and a liqueur. Come and sit with us and we’ll order one for you as well.’
I was totally relieved when I realised Ritchie and Julian were together in every sense of the word and could relax and enjoy their company without trying to work out whether either of them fancied me, or what might happen next if I’d fancied one of them.
Julian, the taller guy, was, I’d guessed, quite a bit older than me and this was confirmed when they told me they were out in Mexico to celebrate Julian’s fiftieth birthday. Ritchie was nearer my own age and both were vets who lived near Manchester.
‘Were you on my flight?’ I asked. ‘You weren’t on my coach transfer. Mind you, no one else from that flight was. I was bundled onto the wrong coach, apparently, and the hotel was about to send out a search party in the rain to find me.’ I laughed ruefully. That awful coach journey now seemed years ago.
‘We certainly saw you on the flight,’ Julian smiled. ‘We were sat almost across from you and started taking bets as to whether you’d ever wake up. You were obviously in need of a jolly good sleep.’
‘We dubbed you Little Orphan Annie,’ Ritchie joined in. ‘You seemed so little and alone.’
‘And now you feel you have to adopt me?’ I smiled back at them. ‘You really don’t, you know. I’m learning to be by myself…’ I paused. ‘Actually, beginning to learn to love myself as well.’
‘We all need to love ourselves,’ Ritchie laughed, handing me the Cointreau and coffee I’d ordered. ‘Rule number one: no one will love you until you learn to love yourself.’
And so these two lovely men became my mates, in much the same way as if Fi and Clare had been in Mexico with me. I was conscious that they were a couple on a romantic holiday in this rather wonderful hotel and didn’t want to be a gooseberry, but they constantly assured me they’d been together far too long to spend the time holding hands and smooching like love-sick turtle doves, and that I must join them whenever being by myself wasn’t what I wanted any more.
And for most of the time it was. To be by myself, I mean. With very little to do but lie in the sun all day – the heavens opened most days but only for half an hour at the most and usually before breakfast or after dinner – I soon acquired a rather lovely tan. My hair, which I’d not had the time or inclination to do anything with since Mark had left, had grown long and rather messy while the sun now lightened it from gold to silver. Looking in the mirror before joining Richie and Julian for drinks and dinner one evening, I smiled at my reflection. New freckles had appeared on my nose, my hair – newly washed and simply towelled-dry rather than straightened into submission by the left-at-home GHDs – fell onto my shoulders and the white dress Clare had brought round for me the night before I left, assuring me that, yes, it would fit me, showed off my newly slim figure and tan. A slick of bright pink lipstick and I was ready for anything.
The three of us drank rather a lot that evening, moving from pre-dinner cocktails onto wine at dinner and then back to the piano bar for a sedate nightcap. I was about to say my good night, relishing finishing the thriller – which had actually turned out rather thrilling after all – in bed.
‘No, don’t go to bed,’ Julian protested. ‘Come on, it’s karaoke evening over in the Cholula bar. Richie hates karaoke and will never come with me.’
‘I love karaoke,’ I beamed, ‘although I’ve never dared to get up and sing.’
‘We can sing something together,’ he grinned. ‘Come on. I can be Marvin Gaye…’ he pouted ‘…and you can be Tammi Terrell.’
‘Who?’
‘Tammi Terrell. You know: “The wo…rld is ju…st a great big on…ion …” Julian took my hand, singing the words in a high falsetto.
I laughed. ‘Sorry, before my time.’
‘And mine.’ Richie grimaced, downing his glass of Kahlúa in one. ‘Oh God, come on then if we really have to.’
While not the world’s best singer, I could hold a tune and, shored up with several glasses of Kahlúa myself, Julian and I went for it. There was quite a crowd gathered but Julian was actually a really good vocalist and together we sang ‘Islands in the Stream’ moving on to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ and finished with Patti La Belle and Michael McDonald’s ‘On My Own’.
This last duet made me think of Mark and I suddenly wanted to cry. Jumping up, I went over to the DJ, scanned the song list and, before I lost my nerve, booked a solo spot. I could do this, I told myself. I was a head teacher, for heaven’s sake; I could do anything.
‘What are you going to sing?’ Julian laughed as I downed two more Kahlúas. ‘Do you want me to join you?’
‘Only a woman can go for this one,’ I said tipsily. ‘Only a very strong woman…’
Ten minutes later and I was back up on the stage. I gave it all I’d got, I really did. I saw Richie wincing and Julian doubled over with laughter, but I went for it. I was Gloria. I was that woman. I’d just got to the best bits about crumbling, about laying down and dying when, as if in some sort of slow-motion dream, my eyes met another pair and locked with them. I crumbled. I could have lay down and died. Literally.
What the fucking hell was Xavier Bamforth doing in this bar, in this hotel, in this country?
22
Is That a Frig
ate I See Before Me…?
‘Are you all right, lovely?’ Julian came up to the stage as soon as Gloria and I had belted out our last note. To be honest, Gloria did the belting while I petered out, stumbling over the words and notes as the crowd in the bar smiled in sympathy.
‘I’m fine,’ I pulled a face. ‘Just very embarrassed.’
‘You were fine to begin with.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. I think I need a drink.’
Julian handed me a glass of water. ‘What happened? You suddenly looked as if you’d seen a ghost.’
‘Not a ghost. Just someone from home.’
‘From home? From Midhope? Here?’ Julian stared at me. ‘Oh, Cassandra Moonbeam, not your husband? He hasn’t followed you here and come to claim you back, leaving Serpentina to slither back into her pit from whence she came?’
I’d told Julian and Richie the whole story of Mark’s defection, and their favourite game was now thinking up new and evil tortures for the pair of them. We’d gone from forcing tacos up their nostrils to super-gluing Mark’s willy to his stomach and on to rubbing both of them all over with sandpaper before soaking them in a bath of lemon juice.
‘No, someone from home I don’t really like,’ I muttered, keeping my head down as I spoke. ‘I’m so embarrassed. Mortified, in fact. The time before last when he saw me I was wrapped around a giant penis…’ I looked round to where Xavier Bamforth was now sitting a few tables away, ordering a drink from one of the waiters. ‘Look, I’m going to have to go over and speak to him. I’ll see you both in the morning.’
‘Early, remember.’ Richie kissed me good night.
‘Early?’
‘We need to be in the hotel lobby at six.’
‘Oh, gosh, yes. The boat trip. I’ll just go and have a word with the guy over there and then I’m off.’ The three of us turned, as one, to Xavier and he raised his glass. What was it with men and raising glasses? Oh God, now he’d know we’d all been talking about him.
‘Are you stalking me?’ I asked as I sat down opposite him. ‘First, you’re in my office, then in Leeds, then at the meeting in the village hall and now you’re here, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Erm, I think I could ask you the same question,’ he said drily.
I shook my head. ‘I bet I was here first.’ I realised I must sound childish and tried to find my head teacher head. It seemed to have disappeared along with Gloria Gaynor. ‘So, Mr Bamforth, are you on holiday?’
Xavier looked at me as if I was daft. Or drunk. I think very probably I was both.
‘That would appear to be the general idea,’ he finally said, not smiling. ‘One does tend to be on holiday when one finds oneself in a five-star hotel in Mexico.’
‘You could be working,’ I sniffed. ‘Selling your engineering stuff – or whatever it is you Bamforths make – to the Mexican Government.’
‘Really?’
‘You don’t appear to be in a very holiday mood,’ I said.
‘As opposed to you, who obviously are. So, are those two your roadies?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Roadies? Backing group? Promoters? I’m assuming you spend your half-term breaks moonlighting as a Gloria Gaynor tribute act.’
I laughed. ‘I was pretty crap, wasn’t I? But I was OK until I spotted you.’
He actually smiled at that. ‘No, you weren’t. I should stick to the day job if I were you.’
‘So, where’s your wife? Did she hear me sing and make a hasty retreat?’
‘My wife is tucked up in bed, I should imagine. Whose bed that is, is anyone’s guess.’
‘Right.’ I didn’t quite know what to say to that.
Xavier drained his glass. ‘Sorry, I need to go to bed myself: I’m booked on some trip to some island in the morning.’
‘Isla Contoy?’
‘Er, I think so. And the other one?’
‘Isla Contoy and Isla Mujeres? Six a.m. at reception?’
I believe so.’ Xavier actually smiled. ‘I thought I ought to see some sights while I’m here.’
‘You don’t sound overly enthusiastic.’
‘My mother booked this whole damned Mexican trip for me. She saw it advertised in the Midhope Examiner and booked it all before I could argue. I was suddenly at Manchester airport, passport in hand.’
‘She obviously thought you were in need of it.’
‘She obviously did.’ He stood up. ‘Good night, Mrs Beresford. Sleep well.’
*
By six the next morning I was up and ready for the off. Richie and Julian had suggested we all needed a bit of cultural activity rather than the sybaritic eating, drinking and sunbathing lifestyle we were getting used to on a daily basis.
‘Do you not think, on a boat trip, we’ll be doing just that but in a different location?’ I’d asked somewhat doubtfully.
‘Exploration is all important,’ Julian had replied loftily. ‘It broadens the mind.’
Xavier Bamforth was already in reception speaking on his phone. He nodded at me but carried on what appeared to be a rather heated argument with someone.
By six fifteen Julian, Richie, Xavier and myself had been joined by two American couples from the hotel and were being herded onto a small minibus that would take us down to the port and to our boat.
‘I do hope we’re not going to be made to follow a group leader with an orange flag on an umbrella,’ Richie was grumbling. ‘We had enough of that in Venice when we were there.’
‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘Cristiano told me we’re picking up two other couples from the next hotel and then it’s straight onto the boat and off to Isla Contoy.’
Once the twelve of us were on board with a welcome from the captain and his two staff as well as introductions, and ‘Ooh, isn’t this lovely?” all round, we bagged spaces on the deck or in the shade according to whether we were sun worshippers or not, and the boat’s engine throbbed and we were off.
Xavier, I ascertained from his tan, must actually have been here quite a few days before me. He immediately stripped off down to rather brief white shorts, lay down on the deck and, with a straw hat over his face, went immediately to sleep.
‘Come on, lovey,’ Julian called over to me. ‘We’ve saved you a place here between us. He patted the area next to him and I walked across, feeling my way carefully as the swell from the sea rocked the boat, catching me off balance.
‘Nice swimsuit,’ Richie whistled as I stripped off my shorts and T-shirt and hunted for my sunglasses.
‘It’s not mine,’ I smiled.
‘Well, it’s certainly not mine,’ Julian quipped. ‘Ooh, but I wish it were. I think it would really suit me.’
‘Cut it out, Julian,’ Ritchie said, slightly crossly. ‘So, Cassie, if it’s not yours, whose is it?’
‘I have a glamorous friend called Clare who came over with a caseload of very upmarket stuff for me to borrow. If she hadn’t, I’m afraid I’d be wearing my baggy old Primark bikinis that actually need throwing out. I never thought her stuff would fit me. Pre-Mark going they certainly wouldn’t.’
‘So, darling, he’s done you a bit of a favour then in buggering off with Serpentina,’ Julian smiled. ‘Every cloud and all that.’
‘Listen, you two, can I ask you something?’ I hesitated, not sure if what I was going to ask was an intrusion.
Richie smiled. ‘When did we realise we were gay? That’s the usual one.’
‘The very one, I’m afraid. Not very original, am I? The thing is, my son, Tom, is quite possibly gay. I mean, he’s seventeen. Would he know by now?’
‘Well, Julian didn’t. He was married for fifteen years, has two kids…’
‘I always knew,’ Julian drawled. ‘It was just easier in life to not go with being gay. My parents would have been horrified at the time. They find it even stranger now that I’ve been married, but there you go. Besides, I loved my wife. I still do. I just don’t really like having sex with women.’ He laughed and stroked my arm.
‘And you, Richie?’ I asked.
‘Probably in my adolescence when all the boys in the class were boasting about how far they’d gone with girls. I never wanted to, really. I liked girls. In fact, I preferred their company. Just didn’t fancy them. I used to hang out with them, go along to Boyzone concerts with the girls in my class and all the time I was having fantasies about Shane Lynch.’
‘Richie, you still do,’ Julian tutted. ‘I’ve had to compete with Shane Lynch ever since I met you. So, Cassandra, does that help?’
‘It does actually. What Richie’s just said is almost identical to what Tom said to me the other night.’
‘Cassie, if he is, he is. It’s no big deal. Just be there for him and try not to judge.’
*
We hugged the coast for several miles, marvelling at the expanse of rain forest and lush palm trees. We’d been promised sea turtles and double-crested cormorants but none had as yet put in an appearance.
‘Isn’t that a frigate over there?’ Xavier suddenly appeared at our side with binoculars.
‘A frigate? Where?’ We all shaded our eyes, searching the horizon for warships.
‘Mexico isn’t at war with anyone, is she?’ I asked, slightly nervously.
‘Only Donald Trump, as far as I know,’ Julian said. ‘So, where is it then, Xav? This frigate? I can’t see it.’
‘There, look.’ Xavier was quite animated, waving his free arm towards the sky while continuing to peer through his binoculars.
Julian, Richie and I all looked at each other and I began to giggle.
‘I hate to tell you this, mate,’ Julian said, ‘but that ain’t no warship. That’s a bloody great bird. A big one, I admit, but not really to be confused with a warship.’
A Village Affair Page 21
