by Ella Craig
‘No, because everyone will be talking about it in work tomorrow. ‘
Kath heaved a petulant sigh and turned to Miles. ‘Sorry, I’m ducking out on you again, but I didn’t realise Mary wanted to leave early.’
He put his arms around her. ‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll try to pop in tomorrow and say goodbye before you bugger off up North.’
‘Best be early I hope to leave before lunch.’ Kath’s happy mood turned sour. Just when she was getting somewhere with Miles, reality had to butt in and remind her of the mess she was making of her life.
‘Fine, we can sort out a new cinema date and go over your plans for my birthday.’ Miles grinned at her in a way that made her knees go weak.
Kath raised her head and went for a mouth on mouth kiss, but she missed and ended up pecking him on the cheek. Was it due to Mary tugging at her arm, or did Miles pull away at the last minute?
my funny valentine
‘Jesus Christ, Kathy, we are only going away for the weekend.’ Tony picked up her suitcase. ‘And this weighs a ton.’ He swung it into the boot. ‘How much are you taking?’
Kath stood on the doorstep with a holdall at her feet and a suit carrier in her arms. ‘Quit your moaning. This is a woman’s prerogative.’ She laid the carrier on the back seat of the car. ‘I couldn’t decide what to wear, so I packed the lot.’
‘All this for a campsite in Bude,’ Tony threw her bag in the boot and closed the lid with a vicious thump. ‘Now where are you going?’
‘I forgot to turn off the gas and water.’ Kath ran back into her flat.
‘We will be away for three nights, what is the point?’ Tony bellowed after her.
He revved the engine and scowled at her when she climbed into the passenger seat after double-checking the front door was locked.
‘Can we go now?’ Sarcasm oozed from his every pore.
‘Of course, we can, it’s whether we may!’ said Kath.
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’ Why did he find nothing she said funny anymore?
They shot forward with a squeal of rubber and, amid tooting horns, Tony forced the car into the stream of traffic. Kath tutted and earned a snarled ‘shut it.’ She sat and seethed, so much for the start of their romantic weekend.
‘If we left at noon as planned we would not be stuck in a traffic jam of biblical proportions,’ she said.
‘So, this is my entire fault?’
‘Yes, you turned up at midday and spent the next hour on the phone with your wife and children.’
‘I had to make sure they got to Jackie’s sister.’
Kath ignored the convenience of having Valentine’s Day fall in the same week as half term. ‘That doesn’t explain why you were late in the first place. We missed lunch because of your tardiness.’
‘And we’ll miss tea because of your visitor who I didn’t meet because you made me hide in the toilet.’
‘Because Miles knows my cousin whose husband works in the same office as Jackie, so I will not apologise for saving your neck.’
Kath cringed at her effortless ability to tell a convincing lie these days. Not that her story did anything to lessen Tony’s smouldering jealousy or her burgeoning guilt. As for poor old Miles, he barely had time to say good afternoon before she hustled him out of her flat and slammed the door in his face. And to top it all, her period had started with horrendous cramps in her stomach, back and thighs. She hoped the paracetamol would kick in soon.
After an hour of stop-start driving, they left the city behind, and the open road stretched before them or rather it meandered all over the place. Tony decided to take the scenic route via little-known country lanes.
‘Less chance of seeing anyone we know,’ he informed her.
She stared at him with bemusement, who else would head towards an out of season caravan site for a dirty weekend? Only ageing Romeos and their illicit Juliets, no one in a position to throw stones or tell tales to teacher. How had Tony talked her into this? The novelty of having him back was wearing off all too soon. It didn’t help that his idea of giving her space was moving six inches along the settee from her. And now she was stuck in a car with him as he swore and drove like a man possessed.
‘Will you please stop pumping the brakes, I’m feeling sick.’
‘It’s these bloody roads, corners and bends everywhere.’
‘If you didn’t drive so fast you wouldn’t have to keep braking.’
The car came to a screeching halt. ‘Think you can do any better, do you? Want to drive?’
‘You know I can’t drive,’ Kath screamed at him, rubbing her chest where the seatbelt had locked across her body.
‘Then shut up, and stop nagging me.’
Kath shut up and sat in stiff silence. She refused to map read until Tony showed symptoms of apoplexy at getting lost for the umpteenth time.
‘The turning is back there,’ she said sweetly.
Tony gave her a filthy look and threw the car into reverse. The engine howled its displeasure as they hurtled backwards.
‘Don’t speed and you might see the signs.’ Now there’s a metaphor for life, thought Kath. She wished Miles were here. They would have invented a fake philosophy and a new religion that would have kept them laughing for days.
Tony turned on to the right road and drove at a snail’s pace. ‘Is this better, your Ladyship?’ He said in a posh voice.
Was this meant to be funny? Kath threw him a withering smile.
‘At last,’ he said and squeezed her knee. ‘About time you cheered up. Let’s forget all about this afternoon. I’m sorry I got angry with you. Forgive me?’
‘I will apologise for acting like a cow, but I won’t forgive you.’
Tony laughed, ‘I love your sense of humour.’
She didn’t bother to explain, in case she started another argument.
The rest of the journey passed in silence and eventually the car bounced down a rough track. Kath saw shiny humps through the gaps in the hedgerows, which must be caravans unless they were beached whales. An easy mistake to make in such a desolate and deserted place. No lights glimmered to beckon travellers in; the few working street lamps cast a jaundiced glow over the site making it appear as inviting as a leper colony.
‘Doesn’t look much,’ Tony echoed Kath’s thoughts. ‘But the chalets are quite nice, and the clubhouse is OK, look.’
‘I’m surprised you can tell for all the lanterns.’ Kath shielded her eyes. ‘The whole building is lit up like a Christmas tree.’
‘Pretty.’
‘Tacky.’
‘Don’t be such a snob.’ Tony parked the car. ‘Wait here, whilst I collect the keys.’
Kath opened the window and heard music and laughter. She got out of the car and breathed in the odours of chips, stale beer and the sea. Memories flooded back of family holidays spent on similar campsites: giggling with Jo as they listened to their parents make muted love in an elderly caravan; drinking sterilised milk, living on cheese sandwiches, and tinned soup; and playing on the beach all day.
She did not have such fond recall of the nights when she and Jo were dumped in the children’s room while her parents spent their evenings in the bar. A place of egalitarian bliss, where social divisions were forgotten or ignored, and the lion lay down with the lamb. The children much preferred to weed out the lambs and make their lives a misery. Kath would be forever grateful her sister was a lion.
‘We’re lucky; we have a chalet by the pool.’ Tony’s return interrupted Kath’s reverie.
‘Wonderful, we’ll be able to go ice-skating.’
‘No, you fool, the water is heated.’ Tony playfully cuffed her on the side of the head. ‘Come on, let’s settle in and go for a drink.’
Kath woke with a start the next morning. Dim light filtered through the curtains, the cold seeped into her bones, and her stomach ached like a bastard. She rolled over and found a space where Tony ought to be.
‘Tony? Are you in the loo?’
No answer, the sod had left her in bed. Surely, the point of going away together was to wake up together. That he managed to get up at all surprised her, considering the amount he drank. It made a pleasant change to spend a boozy evening in a pub knowing they had the whole night. The unpleasant part came later when Tony threw up in the toilet and passed out on the bed.
The place still stank of vomit and beer. Kath ducked her head under the covers and wriggled into the dip in the mattress. She hoped Tony would hurry back soon; she could murder a cup of tea.
The sun streamed through the window piercing the bed covers and breaking up Kath’s sleep. She poked her head out from under the blankets to discover a marked lack of Tony, breakfast or a romantic red rose on the pillow. He’d been and gone because the curtains were drawn and the windows opened. Did he want to freeze her to death? She shivered into her dressing gown and padded into the bathroom.
An icy shower followed by an attempt to dry with a threadbare towel did little to improve Kath’s temper. She was bleeding like a stuck pig, and the cost of tampons in this place would be extortionate if the shop sold them. From what Kath remembered of last night, there were not many women of an age to be in need of sanitary items.
She wrapped herself in one of Tony’s sweaters and left the chalet. Cheery voices greeted her; there were people in the pool. She bade the cavorting swimmers a good morning only to find out it was now the afternoon. Kath took their joshing at being a lie-a-bed with as much good humour as she could summon up. Why had Tony let her sleep through the morning? It was after one now, and both Tony and his car had disappeared. She bought herself a paper and went to the restaurant for a late solitary breakfast.
By three o’clock, and bored out of her head, she wandered over to the tourist information display where she grabbed a badly photocopied leaflet. She followed the smudged directions and walked up to Compass Point to admire the storm tower there. The day was beautiful with clear blue skies and a fresh breeze that blew away Kath’s anger and frustration. She stared at the boiling sea crashing on the rocks below, and her spirits rose as the violence of nature invigorated her. She took the footpath into town and strolled along a canal up to the road leading to the campsite. Twilight had morphed into night when she got back to the chalet; she opened the door to find an irate Tony.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ His attitude was at odds with her serenity, an uncomfortable reminder of the real world.
‘You weren’t around when I woke up, so, I went for a walk.’
‘Why didn’t you leave a note?’
‘What just like the one you left for me?’ Kath marched into the bedroom and pulled clothes out of the wardrobe.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I am looking for something to wear for the Valentine Ball tonight. The main reason we came here, remember? By the way, I spotted a lovely place to have dinner.’ She selected an outfit and sauntered into the bathroom.
Tony followed her in.
‘Do you mind?’ She pushed him back out.
‘I’ve seen it all before.’
‘Yes, but not on the toilet, out!’
‘You can be a strange one sometimes.’ Was he laughing at her?
‘Some things are personal,’ she said with as much dignity as possible. ‘I am a private bathroom person always have been, and this has nothing to do with my upbringing.’
‘Whatever you say. I’ll be out here with the newspaper.’
Kath swore under her breath, washed, and dressed in a mad hurry in case Tony barged in. He didn’t, but the stupid incident punctured her tranquil mood, and the day changed from a commune with nature to a lonely waste of time. She applied her make-up, flung open the door and posed in front of Tony. He carried on reading.
‘I’m ready.’
‘OK, let’s find this pub of yours.’ He put the newspaper down. ‘Then you can tell me where you’ve been today.’
‘I could ask you the same thing.’ Kath’s mood turned from foul to murderous when he said nothing about her new dress. ‘Why didn’t you wake me and take me with you?’
‘Sorry, love, but you didn’t stir when I went to breakfast or when I came back to collect the car keys.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘To the bank, I had to transfer money into our current account. A couple of cheques are due to clear today, and there wasn’t enough in there to cover them. Luckily, Jackie reminded me.’
‘Jackie?’ Kath shrieked in disbelief.
‘I called her this morning. I wanted to talk to the kids and catch Jackie before she rang home. I must speak with her again later this evening.’
‘Christ, you spent most of yesterday talking to her. Why don’t you invite her along if you miss her so much?’
‘No need to be jealous, I only wanted to speak to the kids. Hey, what do you reckon to the presents I got them?’ Tony emptied a bag into her lap.
‘Delightful,’ said Kath thinking: where’s my bloody present? She made a pretence of inspecting the shell necklaces, the pebble sweets and the model of a trawler. ‘Won’t your wife be suspicious of these?’
‘No. I told her I’m going fishing this weekend to stop her ringing me at home, and now I won’t have to keep rushing off to the phone.’
Like hell you will, thought Kath. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
‘OK, you wait in the car, and I’ll ring Jackie from the club payphone before we go.’
‘No, I will walk down to the pub, and you can catch me up.’
‘What's it called?’
‘Doesn’t matter, just find the one I am sitting in.’ She swept out the door and stormed off down the road. To Tony’s credit, he caught up with her before she arrived at the pub.
He ordered a bottle of Asti by way of apology. Kath did her best to keep their conversation light, and Tony stopped harping on about Jackie and the children. The evening improved and for the first time that weekend, Kath relaxed. She had Tony’s undivided attention, and she wallowed in it, but the time came to go back to the campsite for the ball. Kath would rather spend a cosy evening in the pub, but Tony insisted they go back. How could they miss a rare opportunity to be seen together at a party?
Walking into the clubhouse was like walking into a giant pulsating womb. Hearts, balloons, flowers, table decorations and lights shimmered in every shade of pink from electric fuchsia to a delicate rose. This was not Kath’s idea of romance, but Tony grinned like a loon and kept nudging her with his elbow. She sensed something big was set to happen tonight. Her legs turned to jelly and her bowels to water.
The maître d’ (on a campsite?) took their names and escorted them to a table. Pink champagne sat in a bed of pink ice in a pink bucket, and a dish of glow-in-the-dark taramasalata held pride of place on the table. Kath prodded the pitta breads; at least they were a natural colour unlike the bright red vol-au-vents, stuffed with egg mayonnaise the colour of fresh vomit.
Tony poured the champagne. ‘To us and our future.’ He toasted her and knocked back his drink in one. ‘Come on; let’s dance.’
Kath let Tony drag her onto the dance floor where a band wearing frilly shirts (pink!) were playing a swing version of The Girl from Ipanema. Should she rhumba, samba or cha-cha-cha? She hoped she would manage something sensible without falling over. Tony had the same problem, because he stood by the bandstand, holding her hand and shuffled on the spot until the band finished with a flourish. He raised his free hand and snapped his fingers. There was a drum roll, and a spotlight raked the floor coming to a rest on the pair of them.
‘Please welcome Tony Buffery and Kathy Beck,’ a disembodied God-like voice said. The surrounding couples moved to the edge of the dance floor, and as soon as he had space, Tony sank to one knee.
‘Kathryn Beck.’ The voice oozed game-show host charm. ‘Will you take this man, Tony Buffery, who loves you so much, as your lawful wedded husband?’
Everyone cheered but Tony waved his hand for silence. �
�Will you marry me?’
Kath stared into Tony’s face; she wanted to kill him. What made him think she would appreciate such a public proposal? She had to say something, and running out of the room was clearly not an option. Kath opened her mouth.
‘Gaaah...’ she said.
Tony jumped up, and the maître d’ glided over. He carried a pink heart-shaped cushion upon which a ring sat. He bowed and handed the ring to Tony, who slipped it on to her finger. The maître d’ hoisted her arm aloft as if Kath had won a boxing match. The cheering reached an ear-shattering crescendo and dwindled to an expectant hush. Music reached her, an old song she recognised but couldn’t place, she was sure Miles would know it. Tony took her in his arms and swept her on to the floor in a jaunty foxtrot. He sang to her, the watching crowd joined in, and the words filtered through.
You make me feel so young...
Frank Sinatra and an off-key chorus serenaded her, with the loudest voice Tony’s, somewhat breathless but as insistent as the thunderous noise of clapping. Laugh, cry or throw up? Escape was impossible. Faster and faster, they whirled around the floor, somehow not tripping over each other’s feet. The faces of the crowd blurred into an amorphous blob, safely anonymous, unlike her. The music ended, and a barrage of back slaps and wet kisses escorted them back to their table where a further bottle of champagne awaited them. They drank and left amid more cheering and an impromptu rendition of Frank Sinatra again.
The peace and cool of the chalet acted like balm on Kath’s soul. A finger down the throat helped her stomach stop churning. She hoped she was quieter than Tony had been last night. She cleaned her teeth and scrubbed other women’s lipstick from her cheeks. Cold water and too much drink had left her face as red and shiny as a hothouse tomato. With wrinkle friendly upward, circular motions, she smoothed moisturiser into her skin. She could hear Tony moving around the chalet humming Frank Sinatra to himself.
‘Let’s face the music,’ Kath muttered. ‘And dance?’ She wiped the excess cream from her hands and emerged from the bathroom.
Tony had poured them a couple of whiskies. He raised his glass to her. ‘I love you, Kathy.’ His eyes glittered, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. ‘What do you think of my ring?’