I Am Ella, Buy Me

by Joan Ellis

He pats his chest before we nip back to the chalet to get washed and changed.

  When we arrive at the canteen it smells of school dinners. I spot the woman and her lookalike son from the bingo hall. Unable to choose between the myriad options on offer, they have them all. On the same plate. Peter swaggers in and goes straight to the front of the queue. He surveys the mix of pies, potatoes and puddings.

  ‘This is carbohydrate-hell. Did no-one think to ring ahead with my dietary requirements?’

  He flags down a sweaty lad dumping a tray of baked beans on the self- service counter.

  ‘Excuse me, I notice you have tuna on the menu. I’d like mine lightly seared.’

  ‘It’s out of a can, Pete,’ Wally informs him.

  Peter flinches and opts for what he considers to be the least offensive item, tinned fruit salad. The shepherd’s pie looks delicious. I spoon some onto a plate and load up another with pie and chips for Wally. I follow Peter to his table.

  ‘Mind if we join you?’ Wally asks him.

  Without waiting for a reply he plonks himself down and I sit opposite them both. Wally tucks into his dinner. I copy him and blow on my food sending a small bobble of beef into the air. It lands in Peter’s bowl.

  ‘What the hell?’ he yells leaping up and upsetting the dish into his lap. Wally is wiping away tears of laughter.

  ‘Very bloody funny! Look at me!’

  It’s hard not to. Slices of pear and peach cling to Peter’s shorts and his legs drip with syrup.

  ‘Well, do something!’ he shouts.

  One of the staff rushes over and, with the same damp cloth he’s been using to wipe the tables, rub vigorously at Peter’s crotch.

  ‘Get off me,’ screams Peter.

  He looks like he’s wet himself. He sits down, quickly.

  ‘Have you any idea how many calories are in that?’ he asks regarding my meal with disgust.

  ‘Don’t care,’ I tell him, dipping the last of Wally’s chips into the gravy.

  ‘Right, young ‘un, time to see a man about a monkey. Coming, Pete?’

  ‘No, I’ll get an early night,’ he yawns.

  I look at my watch. It’s not even eight o’clock.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re missing, mate,’ says Wally.

  ‘Oh I think I do - a man with his hand up a monkey’s arse.’

  Perhaps Marvellous Michael’s blue velveteen suit fitted him back in the day but, in the intervening years, he has inflated. His jacket is now secured by one very over-worked button. Magic Monkey has just come out of mothballs. Not very effective ones either, judging by his patchy fur.

  Surprisingly Marvellous Michael is magnificent, enabling Magic Monkey to conjure up nuts and bananas out of mid-air. When Tarzan, wearing nothing but a dangerously economic loin cloth, swings across the stage on a creeper and flies off with Magic Monkey, they bring the house down. Literally. Magic Monkey yanks the curtain, covering Marvellous Michael with a cloak of red rayon. The audience goes wild which seems fitting given the jungle theme. I turn to Wally, he dabs his eyes with his hands.

  ‘Me and the wife honeymooned here. That monkey is older than I am.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask, moved by his response.

  ‘No, only pulling your leg. For a hardened ad-girl you aren’t half soppy sometimes.’

  I nip back quickly to the chalet and change into my red silk New Romantic number and leggings. When I arrive at the disco, Darren is thrusting his pelvis in Jill’s direction as she is carried aloft by the boys from the studio. Even Josh struts his funky stuff. I even think I spot a hint of eye-liner. David refuses to join in the fun, preferring to stare at the bottom of an empty pint glass. When the DJ slows the mood most people head for the bar but Wally spots me standing alone and takes my hand. For a few minutes, we’re waltzing on air. I’m smiling, head up, shoulders back, I’ve never had a lesson in my life but I’m a natural. I was born to this. When the music stops Wally makes a little bow and I courtesy. Everyone is laughing.

  Darren manages to say, ‘Best entertainment of the night. Cheers, Ella.’ David is drunk but lucid enough to clarify the situation, ‘They are laughing at you not with you. You’ve got no sense of rhythm.’

  ‘You’re the only joke round here, mate. Come on, you’ve had enough,’ says Wally taking the glass from David’s hand and hoisting him out of his seat.

  ‘This place would drive anyone to drink,’ slurs David, pulling away and accidently elbowing Wally in the ribs.

  David staggers off. Wally collapses into a chair like a burst beach-ball.

  ‘Alright, Wal?’ I ask rubbing the papery skin on the back of his hand.

  ‘Just winded; I’ll be fine.’

  I watch him closely and wait until I see the colour returning to his cheeks.

  ‘Enjoy yourself, young ‘un. I’m goin’ to sit this one out,’ says Wally when Status Quo starts blaring out of the speakers.

  I devise a simple routine, basically the warm-up from my aerobics class and do that for about an hour. Having star-jumped my way through every record, I go to the bar for a drink. Out of habit I go to order a glass of wine then change my mind. I want water. When I turn round, Josh is leading some of the campers in a conga. Odd considering Abba is on the turntable.

  I push my way through the drunken dancing queens and clamber on stage where I mouth a request to the DJ then I hunt for Wally.

  ‘May I have the pleasure?’ I ask him as Bob Dylan’s voice begins to serenade us.

  He takes my hand and I follow his lead, my feet barely touching the floor.

  ‘You’ve got it, young ‘un. That’s it.’

  I could dance all night but the music stops abruptly. I glance up at the mirrored disco ball shimmering above me, reflecting my happiness for a few moments. I step into one of the pools of light flooding the floor but it escapes, slipping out from under my foot like a sprite. I check my watch; it’s nearly midnight. The DJ spins the final disk. It’s a slow one giving sweaty couples the perfect opportunity to glue themselves together, tongues entwined.

  ‘Time to go,’ says Wally.

  ‘Yeah. It’s been a great night, apart from David’s little outburst.’

  I hold his arm with one hand and my sling-backs with the other and we make our way over to the chalet.

  ‘Look, the Milky Way,’ says Wally.

  ‘Where?’ I ask getting excited and automatically thinking of chocolate bars.

  ‘There,’ he replies pointing up at the shimmering haze set against the blackness.

  I’ve never seen it before. It’s beautiful. We stand, looking up at the sky, marvelling at the diamonds scattered against black satin. Reluctantly, we go into the chalet and close the door.

  ‘Night, Wal,’ I call from my bed.

  ‘Night, young ‘un,’ he replies.

  Then I hear his teeth drop into the glass. As I close my eyes, I am still smiling.

  Chapter thirty

  Use humour where appropriate

  Having once woken to the sight of Darren’s bare bum, I now start the day to the sound of Wally’s snoring. I peak through the door and see the sheet, pulled up over his mouth, rise and fall with each puff. He won’t mind missing keep fit; he’s always telling me he had enough of it in the army.

  There’s a bang on the door, I open it to see Jill looking alarmingly bright- eyed.

  ‘Everyone has overslept. Hurry up,’ she booms.

  ‘Ssch!’ I whisper, pointing at Wally and closing the door behind me.

  The other CBA campers stagger out of their chalets. Most of the girls have just rolled out of bed. With their unmade-up faces, they are unrecognisable and they have swopped heels for trainers making them all at least four inches shorter. The guys strut about with their T-shirts tucked into their shorts. Sportswear is a great leveller.

  Peter jogs along the beach towards us wearing a pale blue and white tracksuit with matching trainers. He is sporting three sweatbands, one on his head and one on each wrist. I can’t imagine him eve
r exerting himself sufficiently to perspire. He does a pointless little run on the spot before flopping over at the waist in an attempt to touch his toes. Jill marshals us into teams of two and puts me with Darren. Thanks for that.

  ‘Good morning CBA-ers. I’m now going to hand you over to your lovely instructor, Sam.’

  Sam’s muscular body puts Peter’s in the shade.

  ‘You! Yes, you in the baby blue track-suit! Stop! Very dangerous manoeuvre,’ Sam yells at Peter then continues to humiliate him. ‘Okay, we all saw what Little Boy Blue did. Stupid and dangerous.’

  Well, Sam’s certainly got Peter sussed.

  ‘You missed a brilliant night,’ I tell Peter, mid leg-lunge.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ he says, straining to straighten-up. ‘I went to bed early.’ He winks at me.

  ‘Little Boy Blue! Back straight.’

  ‘Listen,’ Peter says. ‘I don’t know who you are or what qualifications you have in the fitness industry but I belong to a top London gym – platinum- membership. I know how to lunge.’

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ I tell Sam helpfully.

  Peter hates him. But I love him and wonder how much Jill is paying to put Peter through his paces. It’s worth every penny. Perhaps we should have a whip-round to ensure he achieves his full potential.

  ‘That’s me done. Doesn’t do to mix training styles,’ says Peter, clearly out of breath and jogging backwards up the beach.

  With that, he reverses straight into the guy from bingo, the one who looks like his mum. Sam sprints over, ignores Peter and helps the other man who is not a bit embarrassed about his wig falling off. Satisfied the only injury is Peter’s bruised ego, Sam tells us about the next event, a treasure hunt. He hands one person from each pair a padlock and chain, together with the first clue.

  ‘I am locking all of you to a partner,’ Sam says, chaining me to Darren at the ankles. ‘It’s a three-legged race.’

  Manacled? This place really is a prison camp.

  ‘Go! Go! Go!’ shouts Sam.

  Darren and I dash off in opposite directions and fall over. Reluctantly, we hold onto each other just long enough to get to our feet. Darren reads out the clue.

  ‘What has a bark you can’t hear?’ Cryptic is not my thing.

  ‘Bark? Dog?’ suggests Darren.

  ‘A tree?’ I shout.

  ‘Yeah!’ he yells before turning his head and throwing up.

  ‘Filthy pig! We could’ve made it to the loo if you’d said,’ I say feeling sick myself.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says putting his arm around my waist and breaking into a run before I can protest.

  For the first time ever, Darren and I are in step and race to towards the copse where he spots the next clue pinned to a tree. He reads it before tearing it down.

  ‘You can’t do that. It’s not fair on the others,’ I tell him.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ mimics Darren. ‘You wanna win, don’t you?’

  ‘Not by cheating.’

  He laughs, holding the slip of paper above his head as I try to grab it.

  ‘You are such a pain in the arse, Ella.’

  ‘Put it back.’

  ‘No, you bossy cow.’

  I hear the crunch of leaves underfoot and spin round to see Sam towering over us.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asks.

  ‘No. Unlock me,’ demands Darren. ‘She’s a nightmare.’

  ‘You’ll be disqualified,’ Sam tells him.

  ‘Unlock me,’ Darren repeats moving his foot forward and taking mine with it.

  Sam kneels down and releases the chain.

  ‘You can still compete but you’re handicapped without him,’ the instructor explains.

  Really? You sure? This is Darren Davies we’re talking about.

  I catch sight of Josh and his partner frantically searching for the clue hidden in Darren’s hand. I shoot him a look. I am about to take off when Darren grabs Sam’s arm.

  ‘Chain me back to her,’ he hisses.

  ‘Only if you put the clue back,’ I whisper to him.

  I nod and the instructor secures Darren’s ankle to mine. As soon as Sam disappears, Darren secures the note back on the tree.

  Surprisingly, we are a good team, what I don’t know he does, and we quickly solve all the clues. We’re into the home straight but Mr Media and Mr Planning are gaining on us. Those two will do anything to win, even sell their souls, if they had any.

  We race towards Sam who unlocks us.

  ‘You’re in the lead so far,’ says Jill noting times next to our names. ‘Last leg, the hundred yard dash to the finishing line. Go for it.’

  ‘We only did it for fun, Jill,’ I tell her feeling obliged to bow out given how people lost time looking for the missing clue.

  Darren opens his mouth to protest but throws up again instead. I sit on the grass and wait for the others to finish the race.

  ‘I am so unfit,’ Josh wheezes, collapsing next to me. ‘You and Darren went like the wind.’

  Darren wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and squats on the grass.

  ‘Any more games later?’ I ask, changing the subject.

  ‘I think we’re doing a presentation so I’m in with a chance,’ says Josh.

  ‘Presentation? Boring! Might as well be back at work,’ says Darren, pulling out tufts of grass and throwing them at two sea-gulls scavenging from of a nearby bin.

  Josh rolls his eyes at his partner who is lying in the recovery position.

  ‘She’s nice,’ says Darren looking at her longingly.

  I’m hot and need a shower. I get up and head back to the chalet.

  ‘Did you win, young ‘un?’ Wally asks towel-drying his last few remaining strands of hair.

  It doesn’t take long.

  ‘Not really, Wal. Any hot water left?’

  ‘Plenty, I only had a strip-wash. Just did me bits.’

  Now, I have an unfortunate image of Wally naked. I mentally log it alongside the one of Peter without pants.

  ‘Wakey! Wakey!’ Wally says waving a piece of paper at me. ‘Someone shoved this under the door earlier. We’ve got to write and perform a sketch at 3pm in the hall.’

  ‘Got any party pieces, Wally?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, you’re the writer.’

  I hate it when people say that. Nothing strikes fear into my heart like a leaving card waiting for my comment. It sits on my desk, silently mocking me until Jill comes to collect it and I’m forced to write something incisive and witty like, ‘Lots of love, Ella x.’

  Even Josh comes up with something more original than that.

  Wally clicks his fingers in my face as I watch a spider shoot across the floor, like small black tumbleweed.

  ‘Chop! Chop!’

  ‘Wally you’re beginning to sound like Peter. Hey, that’s it. You be Peter. No, I’ll be Peter and you be Jill.’

  ‘I ain’t having none of that,’ says Wally at my affront to his manhood.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Sit down and let me do your make-up. What colour eye- shadow would madam like?’

  ‘Blue to match my eyes,’ giggles Wally.

  He sits obediently on the side of his bed, feigning annoyance but secretly loving his new role, trusting me with his transformation. I brush the blue powder over his wrinkly eye-lids and blend it in with the tips of my fingers.

  ‘Open!’ I tell him.

  He peers at me, like a terrified fledgling.

  ‘Do this,’ I tell him, opening my mouth and stretching my lips over my teeth.

  He looks like Magic Monkey. I laugh and my hand shakes as I attempt to draw a Cupid’s Bow on his thin lips. After sweeping bronzer over his frail cheekbones, I finish off with a dusting of face powder. He sneezes fitfully three times like an asthmatic cat.

  ‘Finished?’ I ask.

  He sniffs and nods. I apply the mascara. He sneezes again causing me to poke him in the eye with the brush. He cups the side of his face with his hand.

  ‘Ow!�
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  ‘Sorry,’ I say handing him a tissue. ‘Quick, let me do your nails.’

  Even his wife wouldn’t recognise him now. I show him his reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I quite fancy myself,’ he pouts. I open the chalet door.