She’s sitting behind the desk, drinking a bottle of Coke through a straw, not appearing particularly busy. ‘Hello, Luke,’ she says, looking straight past him to get a better look at Tom, who has slipped his shades up into his tousled strawberry-blond hair. ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘This is Tom. He’s over for the summer. He was wondering if there were any more jobs going.’
‘Well, let’s see.’ She makes a show of moving her books and journals around the desktop, flipping pages and clucking her tongue.
‘I told him I wasn’t sure –’ Luke starts to explain.
‘Hasn’t your shift started, Luke?’ Suzy interrupts, pointing her pen at the clock above her desk, smirking at Tom as she does so.
Luke feels his cheeks flush. ‘Yeah, I’d better get going. The only thing is, Suzy, Tom wants to meet me after I finish. But that’s not till four, so he might need to wait around a bit?’
Suzy stands and perches on the corner of the desk, tapping her pen on the palm of her other hand. ‘I think that’ll be fine, Luke. Tom and I can have a little chat about jobs, and then we’ll see if we can’t organise a pool pass for the afternoon – how’s that sound?’
Tom gives Luke his one-sided smile. ‘Cool,’ he says.
‘Tom can meet you back here later, Luke. Thanks for showing him the way.’ Suzy flicks her head towards the door.
Luke glances back at Tom as he leaves, feeling invisible as he pulls the door shut and trudges along the dried-up paths towards the cleaning block and his bucket and mop. He checks the Housekeeping rota and heads up to his first chalet, keeping a lookout for Samantha, who’s due in despite the fact that it’s meant to be a study day. When he woke this morning, he was satisfied to see that, ten days on from Len’s beating, his bruises have just about reached their peak, the colour around his chest and ribs having turned the dark browny-black hue of an over-ripe banana. Today’s his big chance to show Samantha what Len’s really like.
‘Lukey-baby,’ Gordon sings as Luke arrives at Chalet 34. He pauses, a pillow hugged to his chest. ‘Bad news. The entertainments team have pinched Sexy Sam for the day – so it’s still just you and me.’
Luke carries his trug into the bathroom. ‘Why Sam?’
‘She’s got an art O-level. They’re designing the new season’s posters this week.’
‘Bugger,’ Luke mutters, as he squirts cleaning fluid around the rim of the bath.
‘I knew you were keen on her,’ Gordon calls over his shoulder, as he shakes out a fresh bed sheet. ‘We can always go and find her when we’ve finished our shift. I think she’s working in the ballroom.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ Luke replies, and for the rest of the day they work through their list, skipping lunch in order to finish early and meet up with Sam. At half-past three they return their gear to Housekeeping, and Gordon agrees to give Luke a bit of space, taking himself off to the canteen for a Chelsea bun and a cup of tea. Luke rushes across the holiday park, checking his watch as he nears the ballroom, just as Samantha appears through the large double doors, clutching a clipboard to her chest. She looks flawless.
‘Hi!’ she calls over. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages!’
‘I’ve been here all along – it’s just they like to keep me locked up in the furthest reaches of the place. Don’t want me scaring the holidaymakers.’
She laughs.
‘What have you been working on today?’ he asks. His dad once told him that girls love it when you ask lots of questions. It lets them know you’re interested.
‘Competition posters for high season. We’ve done “Elegant Grandmother” and “Miss Model Girl” today. I’ve got to do “Eligible Escort” tomorrow.’ She gives him a little tilt of her head. ‘Maybe you could go in for that one.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think so. Although I’m starting to wish I’d taken art more seriously now – your job sounds a lot better than cleaning the bogs.’
Samantha looks quite pleased with herself. ‘I suppose it must be. Anyway, these’ll be finished soon, so I’ll be back on cleaning duties with you two before you know it.’
‘So, what’re you doing now?’ Luke asks. ‘Tell you what, I’m melting in this heat. Fancy coming to the pool?’
She bites down on her plump bottom lip, a quiver of a frown dimpling her forehead. ‘Oh, I wish I could. Lenny’s picking me up at half-four – I don’t think I’ll have time.’
Luke gives her his puppydog eyes. He’s been trying them out lately, ever since one of the women in the laundry room commented when he asked to borrow ten pence to buy a Mars bar. ‘Look,’ she’d said to her elderly workmate as they folded a large starched sheet between them. ‘How could you say no to those eyes?’
Samantha covers her mouth with her hand. ‘Stop it – he’s picking me up, so I can’t change my plans now.’
‘Go on. It’s early – you can have a quick swim now and still be out and dressed for when Len gets here. Go on.’
He does the puppy look again and is pleasantly surprised when it works.
‘I suppose I could fit it in, couldn’t I? But don’t let me stay in too long. I’ll need plenty of time to get dressed and dry my hair.’
‘Great!’ Luke shifts his swimming bag on his shoulder. ‘So, see you in the pool, then?’
In the changing rooms, he strips down to his swimming trunks and drapes his towel around his shoulders so no one can see his bruises until he’s ready. He waits in the shaded entrance, watching the other bathers milling about or reclining on the loungers, and he’s just starting to wonder if Samantha has changed her mind when she appears from the Ladies’ changing rooms opposite. She’s wearing a two-piece, sky-blue with a white trim. Her breasts are small and lovely, but it’s her legs that drive him crazy. They’re so long and lean and tanned, like a tennis player’s; he can’t stop staring at them. She gracefully walks along the edge and enters via the step rail, turning her back to him as she descends, bending slightly at the hips so that her bottom is clearly framed against the blue and white tiles. Her bikini perfectly matches the blue tiles of the pool.
Gordon appears in the entrance, blocking his view. ‘So this is where you were off to, is it? We must be psychic. Give us a sec and I’ll be in.’ He squeezes past Luke, sucking his weedy stomach in and making a big show of not touching him.
‘Just give me five minutes,’ Luke whispers. ‘I need to talk to Sam without you butting in.’
‘Oo-ooh,’ says Gordon, pouting his lips. ‘Go on, then. I’ll hang back a bit.’
Luke knows he’s just got to get on and do this, so, taking a deep breath, he strides purposefully to the poolside, where he releases his towel, dropping it on to a lounger. ‘Hi, Sam!’ he calls over with a wave.
She’s in the water, holding on to the far rail, and as she turns her eyes grow wide, and she gasps.
Luke panics and jumps in, but it ends up being more of a bomb-drop, sending a wave of water up and over the edge and soaking most of the sunbathers around the pool. A little girl starts crying, and, as Luke resurfaces, her father approaches the edge, waving an angry hand in the air. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ He points at the large enamelled Swimming Rules notice, nailed to the wood-panelled wall of the changing room.
Will Patrons Kindly Refrain from: Running. Pushing. Acrobatics. Shouting. Ducking. Petting. Bombing…
‘Sorry,’ Luke replies feebly, running his palms across his face to clear beads of water from his lashes. He glances around the pool area, where other patrons are tutting and shaking their heads in support of the furious father.
‘Sorry? Pathetic. We’ve been giving her swimming lessons all week, and she’s just getting her confidence. All it takes is a berk like you in the pool and we’re back to square one!’
The man looks as if he’s been lying in the sun too long; his round belly is almost purple.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Luke repeats. ‘I promise it won’t happen again.’ He cocks his head to one side to
address the little girl directly. ‘I promise.’
The man backs away, feeling down for his child’s hand. ‘Well. Well, you just make sure it doesn’t.’ He retreats to his sun lounger, his face swiftly disappearing behind the sports pages.
The little girl sits down on the floor with a comic, safely protected from the sun by her father’s rotund shadow, and Luke pushes off to glide over towards Samantha. He pulls a terrified face, rolling his eyes in the direction of the fat man.
‘Berk,’ Samantha whispers, giggling as he reaches her.
‘True,’ he whispers back.
Side by side, they swim to the far corner of the pool, where Luke hooks his arm up on the edge so that his upper bruises are clearly visible.
‘Luke, I hope you don’t mind me asking –?’ Samantha flutters a delicate hand towards his chest.
He looks surprised, pulls his chin in and surveys his torso. ‘Oh, this. Oh, it’s nothing.’
There’s a light splash at the other end of the pool, and to Luke’s dismay Gordon starts to swim in their direction. ‘Great,’ he mutters.
‘Sorry,’ Samantha says, looking embarrassed. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No, no – not you! Don’t worry about me. It’s nothing.’
‘Is it a condition?’
‘What, this?’
‘Like birthmarks or something?’
‘No!’
Gordon’s now about four feet away and he’s swimming back and forth, within hearing distance, glancing up and giving Luke an encouraging nod every now and then.
‘Is it contagious?’ She recoils slightly as she says it, and her nose wrinkles.
‘God, no!’
‘Sorry,’ she says again. ‘I’m being too nosy. It just looks really painful.’
‘What’s that on your chest, Lukey?’ Gordon shouts over. He’s on his back now, doing a faultless back crawl across the width of the pool.
‘Nothing!’ Luke shouts back.
Samantha tilts her head sweetly. ‘Anyway, I won’t mention it again.’
‘No, I’m just being stupid,’ he says, suddenly afraid he won’t get a chance to expose Len. ‘I should tell you really. I got in a fight. I just thought it might put you off me if you knew.’
Samantha looks appalled.
‘Well, I didn’t exactly get in a fight. Actually, if you want the truth, I just got a right kicking.’ He looks down, trying out a wounded expression.
‘Oh, my God, Luke! You poor thing.’ She throws her arms around his neck and hugs him, and he feels her chest against his, the slightest brush of her bare thigh as she leans in. Gordon swims past again, giving Luke the double thumbs-up while Samantha’s back is turned.
‘Piss off,’ Luke mouths silently, and Gordon flips himself under the water to glide away towards the far end of the pool.
‘Did you call the police? I hope you went to the doctor’s – I mean, it looks terrible!’
Luke shakes his head and gives her his doleful face again. ‘I didn’t want any more trouble, so I kept it to myself. Martin helped me get home, and I’ve been trying to hide the bruises ever since, but you can’t stay covered up forever, can you? To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it until you noticed.’
She rests her hand on his bicep and he clenches his fist to make it tighten, pleased to see it looks quite manly from this angle. He places his other hand on hers, pats it twice and lets it fall back into the water.
‘When did it happen?’
‘Just over a week ago.’
She shakes her head and squeezes his upper arm. ‘And have you got any idea who it was?’
Luke pinches his chin, in the way he’s seen Martin do when he’s nervous. ‘I’m not sure I want to say.’
Her hand slides up on to his shoulder and she gives him a firm little shake. ‘Luke? If you know who it was, you can’t let them get away with it!’
He looks up and nods slowly, maintaining eye contact all the while, loving the feel of her warm hand on his skin. ‘It was Len,’ he says. ‘Len beat me up.’
By Saturday morning, harmony appears restored in the Wolff household.
Mum was working at her sewing machine late last night, sitting at her workbench in her mismatched bra and knickers, rushing to finish off her new dress, cursing every time the thread snapped or the bobbin jammed in her old Singer. From time to time she’d call on Luke to hold a seam or adjust a pin for her, interrupting his TV shows, kissing him on the cheek every time he helped out, and he couldn’t decide if he was more pleased or annoyed at her change in mood. Right up until that point she’d protested that she wasn’t going to the McKees’ party; that she’d rather die than go. But on Thursday, when Dad arranged for flowers to be delivered while he was out at work, something in her shifted. Just you and me, the card said, and Mum threw herself into pre-party preparations, laying out her dress patterns and rushing into town to pick up threads and sequins from Sew and Wear.
Now, as he steps into the hall from his bedroom, Luke sees the finished dress hanging on the back of the living room door. The fabric is a deep yellow and black print she bought some months earlier, and when you look closely you can make out the intricate Grecian design which weaves around the curves of the dress, up over the low-plunging neckline, coming to an end at the wide plastic loops of its halter-neck clasp.
He finds Mum in the kitchen, frying bacon and eggs with one hand, pulling toast from under the grill with the other. ‘You’re just in time,’ she says cheerily, pointing towards the cupboard for Luke to fetch down an extra plate.
He pulls out a seat and nudges at Kitty to budge up, making her squawk. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘No occasion.’ Mum lifts a fried egg out of the pan and on to a slice of buttered white toast. ‘I just thought your dad could do with a bit of help this morning.’ She calls out into the hallway. ‘Richard! Breakfast!’
Luke fetches the ketchup and impatiently thuds away at the base of the glass bottle. ‘What’s up with Dad, then?’
‘Hangover,’ she mouths silently, setting out Dad’s plate and stretching across to cut up Kitty’s bacon.
‘Again?’
‘He was out with Simon last night. Blind drunk, the pair of them – I’m surprised you didn’t hear them. I had to virtually wrestle Simon out into the street, to stop him waking everyone up. It was gone midnight!’
‘He’s such an idiot when he’s had a few.’
‘I’m afraid I wasn’t very patient with him – but he can’t come round here every time him and Laura have a marital spat. I just hope it’s not awkward when I see him at the party tonight.’
Luke sneers. ‘Pissheads. You’d think they’d be old enough to know better. And they’re teachers.’
Mum takes a mouthful of bacon and chews thoughtfully. ‘It’s just as well I’m not teaching any more. I’d never be able to keep up with the social life. Mind you, Simon hasn’t got kids to worry about, has he? I’m sure he’d be a bit more restrained if he had a four-year-old bouncing into his bedroom every morning.’
Luke spears a piece of bacon and folds it into his mouth. Resting his knife and fork on the side of his plate, he makes a big display of stretching out, reaching back to tap his fingers on the wall behind. ‘So, what kind of party is it, then?’
‘What do you mean?’ Mum replies without looking up.
‘Well, is it a birthday party? A fancy dress party? Simon said something about masks…’
‘It’s just a party.’ She carries on eating.
‘A cocktail party?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Or one of those Tarts and Vicars parties?’
‘Luke!’
‘I bet Dad would like that.’
Mum refills her cup with tea from the pot, and retrieves a piece of toast that Kitty has pushed off her plate.
‘I hope Mike’s up to it,’ Luke says, as he watches Mum stir milk into her tea. ‘He looked like he was having heart failure that Sunday – what d�
�you think’s wrong with him?’
Mum lifts her head and stares into the space just beyond Luke’s ear. She blinks, and meets his gaze again. ‘Diana seemed to think it was stress. And he did calm down a bit after a cigarette, so she’s probably right.’
‘I reckon she’s wearing him out,’ Luke grins. ‘I mean, he’s got to be sixty. At least.’
‘Actually, he’s fifty-eight. Di said she’s twenty-nine – exactly half his age.’
Luke waggles his knife. ‘Just as I thought: dirty old man!’
Dad skulks into the kitchen, shirtless, and joins them at the table, wincing as his chair catches on the floor. ‘Who’s a dirty old man?’ His face looks crinkled and puffy.
‘Apart from you?’ Luke replies, putting down his cutlery and folding his arms.
Kitty waves her toast above her head. ‘Berty ole man!’
‘Oh, dear, Dad. Overdo it a bit last night, did you? You’re not looking like such a ladykiller this morning.’
Dad ignores him. ‘Is there any coffee, love?’
Mum strokes a hand across his shoulders as she gets up to pour him a mug. ‘One or two sugars?’
He rests his face in his hands and puts up two fingers. Luke picks up his knife and fork and continues to eat his breakfast, growing increasingly chirpy as he enjoys the spectacle of his father’s hangover. Dad lifts his head as Mum places his coffee mug on the table, revealing a clear film of sweat beading up over his top lip. He returns a withering look as Luke smiles at him from across the table.
‘Open the back door, Jo,’ he asks feebly, running his hand across his brow. ‘It’s roasting in here.’
‘Silly boy,’ she says, planting a kiss on the top of his head and leaving the table to push open the back door, propping a loose paving slab against it to hold it in place. She sits again and resumes her breakfast.
‘Silly,’ Luke agrees earnestly.
Dad continues to ignore him, and attempts a mouthful of bacon.
‘Silly Billy,’ mimics Kitty. When Dad doesn’t acknowledge her, she starts up. ‘Silly Billy Gilly Willy Hilly Jilly Pilly Shilly –’ She bounces in her seat, bashing her little hands on the tabletop with each syllable, causing Dad’s coffee to slop and spill. ‘Quilly!’
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