Chapter 21
Every day’s a lesson and today, as well as learning that I’ve fallen for a total wanker and developed a taste for swearing, I have also discovered that a parmo is something of a local delicacy. A piece of breaded chicken topped with béchamel and cheese.
‘Get stuck into that.’ Peter, who has fluffy white eyebrows, smiles, and I end up apologising profusely for being a vegetarian.
‘The kids of today!’ He tuts good-naturedly, taking my plate and tucking into it himself. ‘Let’s get the poor thing some more chips then.’
I drop my head on the table and bang it lightly. What am I doing here? I wonder. Hanging out with a bunch of kindly pensioners and burying my head in the sand, I guess. Much like our coastal location, I feel all at sea. I’ve tried so hard to embrace this new me and it hasn’t worked. Should I text Bryan now and tell him I’ll see him on Monday? Just the thought of that fills me with dread. Trudging back into work to spend the day putting out fires before trudging home again to watch a documentary about biohacking your health or that gameshow where families compete to build the most impressive playdough sculptures. I’m way too old for their target audience btw, I just can’t help myself.
What once seemed like a sensible path now seems quite bleak. Despite everything I’ve learned today, and the fact that it makes good sense to retreat home with my tail between my legs, I just don’t want to. But what’s the alternative? I feel like this past week has offered me a taste of something new and exciting and now I want more. Or is it just that I want Luke? I’m so confused and the beginnings of a headache have started to pulse at my temples.
I push my drink around, a sudden and overwhelming yearning to talk this through with someone. The girls are my go-to for advice, but obviously I can’t turn to Stella with this, tied up as she is within the fabric of this drama. And Em seems to be using her scant reception to shout things at me. So my stupid brain flies straight to Luke and I tut at myself. How did he make it into my top three people in a matter of days? I’ve known Stella and Em for a decade and suddenly Luke’s right up there with them, the person I want to share big stuff with, the person I want to lean on for support. How ironic, then, that he’s also the person I need to get as far away from as possible.
What I need, right now, are my parents. When Otis and I were breaking up, I spent hours round at Mum and Dad’s house drinking sherry and talking through my problems. Maybe I could get hold of them, I wonder as more chips arrive. Even though they are halfway around the world, with a bit of luck they might still be up.
‘Just going to message my parents,’ I tell the gang.
They all bob their heads up and down, making ‘good idea’ noises.
Hello
Are you free for a chat? Xx
Mum is typing …
Hello love!
Your father’s just in the bathroom
He’s having a bit of bother with his digestion but a week of eating only grilled meats will do that to a man
Shall I call?
I’m calling!
Mum is calling.
I get up from the picnic bench and head over to the edge of the beer garden, leaning against a fence and looking out to sea as I take the call. ‘Mum,’ I answer, relieved, the soothing sound of her voice already making me feel marginally better. ‘How’s the trip so far? You’re already making the most of that photo-sharing app, I see.’
‘Did you see the picture of me with one of those little marsupials?’
‘I loved it.’ I laugh to myself. ‘That little guy looked so cute and weirdly like it had a smile on its face.’
Mum chuckles. ‘They’re so friendly. ANDY, WHAT ARE THOSE LITTLE MARSUPIALS WE MET ON THAT ISLAND CALLED?’
I can hear the muffled voice of my dad in the background.
‘FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, ANDY, IT’S THE MEAT! YOU’LL NEVER HAVE A SUCCESSFUL TRIP TO THE TOILET IF YOU DON’T EAT SOME FRUIT AND VEGETABLES.’
Mum continues to give Dad, presumably still on the loo, a loud lecture about his digestion and for some reason I find it comforting.
‘Oh, here he comes now,’ Mum says as the sound of a door opening and a flushing toilet come down the line. ‘SHUT THE DOOR, ANDY, THE STENCH! Our Jess is on the phone.’
‘Oh hello, love!’ Dad calls amiably.
‘I was asking what those little marsupials were called Andy,’ Mum says.
‘Quokkas,’ says Dad. ‘Delightful little things and so friendly. They live on an island just off the coast of Perth, declining population apparently. Your mother fell madly in love and wanted to bring one home in her suitcase.’
‘I think that sort of thing’s frowned upon,’ I say and it makes me smile. ‘Anyway, you’ve only just started your trip. You’re not actually coming home for ages.’
‘Now then, how are you, luvvie? How are the girls?’
It doesn’t matter that we’re all about to turn thirty, Mum will still never not refer to me and my friendship group as girls.
‘Oh …’ I begin, and I don’t even have to get another word out for Mum to sense that something’s wrong.
‘What is it?’ she asks. ‘Wait, don’t tell me yet. I’m going to video-call you so I can see you too.’
A minute later and Mum, Dad and their hotel balcony have filled my phone screen.
‘You look so well!’ I cry, taking in their holiday glow.
‘Never mind that,’ Mum says dismissively. ‘What is wrong?’
‘I’m in a bit of a pickle.’ I sniff, and inevitably I pour out every single thing that’s been going on, from the Luke crush to the discovery that he has a girlfriend and everything in between. Well, not everything in between. They are my parents and I skip a lot of what happened by the bonfire. But by the time I’ve finished, Dad has folded his arms and looks positively mutinous.
‘If you want me to fly back and give him a talking to, Jessie, I will,’ he says.
‘Don’t be silly, Andy.’ Mum tuts. ‘Our Jessie is perfectly grown up enough to sort this out by herself. Even if it seems awful right now, she’ll be fine, won’t you, love?’
‘I guess so,’ I say, wavering, not feeling quite so confident in myself.
‘I had a holiday romance once,’ says Mum.
‘Did you?’ Dad and I ask in unison.
Mum turns to Dad and gives him an exasperated look. ‘It was you, you daft bat.’
Of course. I’ve heard a few stories of when Mum and Dad first met over the years and I’d forgotten that they were on holiday at the time.
‘There I was, living my best life as a Butlin’s holiday rep, when your father turned up with his family for a break.’
‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you,’ Dad tells Mum.
‘I remember’ – she chuckles – ‘your mum kept telling you off.’
‘Nanny Jane always said it was rude to stare.’ I smile at the memory.
‘I know.’ Dad shakes his head. ‘But you were breathtaking, Pam. You were back then and you still are now.’
‘You two!’ I sniff, almost welling up.
‘Of course, it wasn’t all plain-sailing,’ Dad explains. ‘There was a long line of young bucks hoping for the chance of a date with your mother. She’d perform a song on stage each night and then there would literally be a queue of lads waiting by the stage, hoping she’d stop and chat to them.’
‘I think you’re exaggerating there.’ Mum chuckles.
‘I am not!’
‘So how did you win Mum’s heart then, Dad?’ I ask.
‘Well, thankfully we were there for two weeks for a start,’ he recalls. ‘Because I spent the first week mooning after your mother and telling myself that I would never be good enough to date someone as beautiful as her.’
‘Honestly, Andy.’ Mum tuts. ‘You’re making it sound like I was Cindy Crawford.’
‘I told myself I was stupid to even consider it. What had I got to offer that all the other lads hadn’t? I tell you, luvvie, I was a right grumpy bugger for that first week. Then I saw a flyer for a poetry writing competition and thought I’d enter, just for something to do.’
‘That’s right.’ Mum smiles. ‘You were the only boy in the competition! And your father won! He stood up and read this lovely poem he’d written and I remember thinking, “Who is this handsome, sensitive soul?”’
‘Of course, I didn’t think it was very macho to be writing poetry, let alone entering it into competitions. But I trusted my instincts and look where it got me,’ Dad says, proudly taking Mum’s hand.
By now, I’m in bits. I wipe a stray tear from my cheek and beam at the image of my folks on screen.
‘I miss you so much.’
‘Listen, love,’ Mum says, ‘you’ll be just fine. I always say that honesty is the best policy. You need to go back, in your own time, mind, and tell him you know he has a girlfriend. But give him a chance to tell you what’s happening. Don’t make any rash decisions before you’ve got all the facts in front of you.’
‘Yes, and don’t make any decisions at all after a few whiskies,’ chips in Dad. ‘I learned that lesson the hard way. That’s how I got roped into starring in that production of The Full Monty at the local. That was after a night on the sauce. Let me tell you, the drunken idea of getting naked on stage and the actual reality of it are two very different things.’
‘Yes, half of Carpston have seen your father’s you-know-what,’ adds Mum cheerfully, before peering into the screen again. ‘Let your thoughts percolate, Jess. Give yourself time. We love you and we support you.’
‘Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad,’ I say shakily, before hanging up. I weave through the picnic tables on my way back to Rita, Peter and Anita’s table, now strewn with empty sherry glasses, half-eaten bowls of chips and crisps packets ripped all the way open. For octogenarians, these guys are hungry.
‘Come on, we’re going inside,’ Rita says, frowning at a solitary cloud passing overhead, shrugging her coat back on. I follow my new friends into the pub, still slightly wobbly after three whiskies, and we find a table inside.
‘You all right, love?’ asks Anita as we settle in.
‘Just had a nice catch-up with my folks. That’s what I want’– I sniff – ‘a relationship like Mum and Dad’s.’ (Maybe minus the toilet chat.)
‘And what’s to stop you having it?’
‘I’m not exactly having much love at the moment,’ I point out, motioning towards my frazzled, blood-stained, whisky-smelling carcass. ‘It’s not screaming romantic heroine, is it?’
Rita is still chuckling as the front door swings open in dramatic style and Gary, the barman, mutters something about its poor hinges. That’s not what I notice. It’s Em who is barging in.
‘There you are!’ she huffs, looking at me like I have caused her a major inconvenience. ‘Finally.’
‘Aye, aye, aye.’ Dita Ortiz follows shortly after, eyeing me with concern. ‘My darling Yessica. What on earth is going on?’
‘What are you two doing here?’ I sniff. The whole pub falls silent, and it takes me a moment to remember that Dita is a Hollywood superstar who has just bulldozed her way into the pub. The last time I saw Dita she was very much incognito at the barbecue. Today she’s not remotely low key – blood red lipstick, voluminous hair and a pearlescent blazer thrown over a lace-trimmed dress. And then there’s the fact that her bodyguard Viktor is loitering behind her, a slab of muscle scoping the joint.
‘How did you find me?’ I press, hopping out of my seat.
Taxi driver Carl is the next to barrel through the doors, which pretty much answers my question.
‘Can we please mind the hinges!’ huffs Gary.
‘That’d be my fault, pet,’ Carl says, nodding his hellos to every single person in this pub and sending an apologetic look to Gary.
‘Carl!’ I tut. ‘Isn’t there such a thing as, I don’t know, driver–traveller confidentiality?’
‘Don’t be cross with Carl.’ Dita rests a manicured hand on Carl’s shoulder. ‘He’s a good boy.’
‘Our Dita can be very persuasive,’ he adds.
‘But—’ I’m so confused I stagger back and collapse onto a bar stool.
‘Babes, it’s actually thanks to you that we found you,’ Em explains, looking at me with a mix of fondness and exasperation. ‘Remember how you made us take down Carl’s number in case of emergencies when we first got here?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Well, you’d been awol all morning and when I couldn’t find you at the hotel, I started to get worried. It’s not like you to just disappear into a black hole.’
‘I think you’ll find our little town is no black hole,’ Anita points out, perturbed.
‘We’ve got our own outdoor gym, don’t you know?’ adds Peter.
‘Absolutely no shade on this place,’ Em says sincerely. ‘It’s a beautiful town. Dita and I were admiring the bunting decorating the town square on the drive here.’
‘I sewed some of that.’ Rita grins proudly.
‘No way!’ Em beams, before bringing herself back to the matter in hand. ‘Right, where was I? Oh yes, while I was looking for you, I found Stella and Luke, who said they hadn’t seen you in the maze. That’s odd, I thought. I know your sense of direction is atrocious—’
‘Hey!’
‘But not even Jessie could get lost in a maze, I thought to myself. And I’d definitely seen you go in when I was coming out of breakfast. When I said that to Luke, his face clouded over, babes. He said, and I quote: “She must have heard.”’
‘Yes, I did hear,’ I butt in. ‘I heard him and Stella talking about his American girlfriend of four years. PRESENT TENSE.’
Dita puts a soothing hand on my shoulder, now.
‘Yes, well, there’s an update on that,’ Em insists, not looking nearly as furious as I thought she would, on my behalf. ‘But anyway, long story short, we realised you’d be having a paddy—’
‘I’d hardly call this a paddy!’ I say, indignant. ‘I’d call it an existential crisis, Em. A bloody life-changing, why are all men such supreme idiots moment.’
‘And historically, I’ve seen you storm off enough times when you’ve lost your temper,’ Em ploughs on.
‘Like when?’ I ask.
‘That time at uni when you got a 2.2 on a mock exam, then holed up in the library for an entire day, fuming. That time when—’
‘Okay, okay, I get it.’
‘We looked in the hotel library,’ adds Dita. ‘No Yessica.’
‘No Yessica,’ Em echoes with a shake of her head. ‘And then I remembered that you’d made me store “Carl’s Vomitorium on Wheels” in my contacts. And here I am! Viktor and Dita followed behind Carl and me, and Luke stayed back at the hotel because he and Stella needed to have a conversation.’
‘We came straight to find you,’ explains Dita. ‘And to tell you not to panic. I haven’t known you very long, Yessica, but I can tell already that you are quite a dramatic sort of person.’
I literally don’t know how to reply to this so I just lean against the bar, staggered, while the person who has just accused me of being dramatic pulls her tiny bell out of her bag and rings it.
‘Y’alreet, Dita pet?’ Carl asks when no one appears to take her order.
Dita tries again. Gary the barman eyes her warily, arms folded across his chest, and yet he says nothing.
‘Jesus H, would you like a drink, babes?’ Em asks.
‘Yes, of course!’ Dita is struggling to compute what has just happened.
‘We don’t answer to bells here, not even Hollywood ones,’ Peter says cheerily, his eyebrows taking on a new shape.
‘This has never happened to Dita before and I find it … majestic,’ she says breathily, grabbing her pad from her handbag and making notes. ‘So powerful. Barkeep, I would like a glass of your Vina Tondonio please.’
Gary the bartender sniffs. ‘I can offer you red or white.’
‘Ay dios mio,’ mutters Dita.
The next thing I know, Dita and barkeeper Gary are arguing over the correct pronunciation of ‘rioja’ (ballsy move on Gary’s part), and Em is buzzing around me like a fly.
‘Jessie,’ she says firmly.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ says Anita, who has shrugged off her own coat since coming indoors and, it turns out, is dressed like she’s starring in a Jane Fonda eighties workout video. ‘But we’re going to have a game of beer pong, would you like to join?’
Beer pong? Em mouths at me, confused.
‘Yes, you do look very stressed, deary,’ says Rita, also resplendent in leg warmers, as she takes a stack of red cups from Gary.
‘Obsessed that you guys are about to play beer pong,’ says Em, ‘but I’m afraid Jess and I really need to talk.’
‘I’d love to play beer pong,’ I say defiantly.
‘Jessica,’ says Em, as if addressing a naughty child. She knows I’m trying to avoid her.
‘Emerald,’ I bat back.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she insists.
My face falls. ‘I just can’t face it, Em,’ I tell her honestly. ‘Today has been a lot already and my mum said I should let it all percolate.’
‘Pam is very wise, but—’
‘And, sorry to butt in again, but I’m really not having a paddy. I feel totally blindsided, and hurt, and angry, and not a little sorry for myself if I’m being honest. None of that feels great, Em. I know I’ve got to face up to it all soon, and I will, but for now I need distractions.’
‘But Jess—’ Em says, brows furrowed.
‘Please, Em. Just drop it. I’ve made my decision, okay? I’m going to give myself a bit more time and beer pong sounds way more fun than facing up to the real world right now. I’m already drunk and sad and my heart hurts and I now get to decide when I want to face up to this shitstorm.’
Em looks super upset now. ‘But Luke—’
‘Nope. I’m not talking about him now. Look, tonight’s our last night at the spa and I just want it to be the three of us. I want to forget about all this emotional drama and have fun with you and Stell. I got side-tracked, I can see that now. And as of tomorrow, I won’t have to see Luke ever again.’
Ouch, stab to the heart at that thought.
‘So for now, can we just drop it and play some beer pong, please?’
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so firm in my life.
Emerald concedes, albeit begrudgingly, and we play. And right when my team is about to lose dramatically to a bunch of pensioners, the pub doors swing open again.
‘The hinges! Mind the hinges, for Christ’s sake!’ shouts Gary, getting quite cross now.
There, leaning against the doorframe, is Luke.