Summer on the Turquoise Coast

by Summer on the Turquoise Coast (retail) (epub)

  ‘I think I’ll wear these,’ Nina said, fishing out a lightweight pair of stretchy trousers. ‘Especially if there’s dancing.’ Nina had absolutely no intention of dancing with her grandmother; she didn’t think a waltz or a foxtrot would go down too well to DNCE’s Cake by the Ocean, which had been blasted through the speakers approximately every other song that afternoon as they’d sunbathed by the pool. Actually, Flossie had staked herself out in the sun like a cat on a sunny windowsill, whilst Nina had smothered herself in factor thirty (factor fifty on her nose and collarbone) and waged a silent war with the ever-moving sun, using two strategically angled canvas umbrellas. When she couldn’t stand any more DNCE, she’d eventually given up trying to read the latest hardback about Elizabeth Tudor, and had rammed her earbuds in her ears, listening to her gym playlist instead.

  Still, it had been an enjoyable first day, and she felt relatively relaxed, though she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the party later. Her bed was calling to her, the little nap she’d taken before lunch nowhere near making up for an almost complete loss of a night’s sleep.

  Finally ready (she would have been ready much sooner if her grandmother hadn’t tried to dress like her twin), Nina followed Flossie to the restaurant. Her stomach gurgled loudly as the enticing smells of roasted meats and bubbling sauces reached her nose.

  They chose a table on the terrace. Nina ordered a soft drink from one of the attentive waiters and Flossie asked for a glass of white wine. There’s a surprise, Nina thought somewhat sarcastically.

  ‘Go wild, have a glass of wine, or a beer,’ Flossie suggested, but Nina was having none of it. One of them had to stay sober, and it looked like it wasn’t going to be her grannie. Anyway, if Flossie kept drinking like this (she’d already emptied her glass and was waving it at the waiter for a refill), the old lady wasn’t going to be long out of bed, which suited Nina just fine.

  They took their time over dinner. When they’d finished Nina wished she was the one wearing the elasticated waist; her food-baby of a stomach was positively obscene and slightly uncomfortable. She made a mental note to explore the hotel’s gym tomorrow. At this rate, if she didn’t keep things in check, she’d be going home two sizes larger.

  Flossie, for all her apparently old lady frailness, couldn’t half pack her food away. She’d already had two large meals earlier in the day, then a couple of slices of odd-looking cake and some strange pastry-type biscuits in the afternoon, she had then eaten her way through a piled-high plate of spaghetti with a tomato sauce, followed by mashed potato and a lamb (probably goat, Nina thought cynically) casserole. After that, she’d had some curry and rice, a wobbly pink and green jelly-like dessert, some baklava, and a slice of gateau. All washed down with what was probably the best part of a whole bottle of wine. At least the old woman had something inside her to soak up the alcohol.

  Later, sitting in the larger of the hotel’s three bars – Flossie had insisted on this one because it was where the party was being held later – Nina surreptitiously undid the button on her trousers and relaxed back into her seat, with a glass of cool white wine in her hand. She took a cautious sip, realised it was in fact quite drinkable, and took another. She wouldn’t have more than a couple of glasses though, because she hated that not-in-control feeling, and besides, her nose and lips went numb when she’d had too much to drink, and so did her brain.

  The tables around them quickly filled up. Nina noticed there was a variety of mixtures – couples, same gender groups, mixed-sex groups. Knowing everyone had come here as a singleton, she spent the next half-hour people watching, trying to guess which ones were after a quick shag, and which ones might actually have the beginnings of a burgeoning relationship.

  Her game was interrupted by a man, but thankfully it wasn’t Carl, The Budgie Smuggler.

  ‘Mind if we sit here?’ A tall bloke in a white button-down shirt and a pair of jeans indicated the two empty chairs at their table.

  Nina did mind, but considering the bar was full and there weren’t many free seats, she could hardly say no. Then she felt slightly hurt when she realised their table did in fact have the only two unoccupied seats in the room – her grannie was obviously putting people (men and women alike) off.

  Chagrined at her uncharitable and downright nasty thoughts, Nina smiled. ‘Help yourself.’

  The man and his friend pulled out a chair each and sat down. The friend looked around for a waiter, whilst the one who’d spoken kept shooting little glances in her direction.

  ‘Put a smile on it,’ Flossie leaned in close and hissed. ‘You’re enough to scare a corpse.’

  ‘Gran!’

  ‘Well you are. You’ve got a face on you like a bulldog chewing a wasp.’

  Nina had to laugh; some of her grandmother’s sayings were quite funny. Then she realised the reason those seats were free wasn’t because of her grandmother – it was because of her own expression. They must look a right pair. Nina was wrapped up in her own world, trying subconsciously to pretend her grandmother wasn’t sitting next to her in a crowded bar, whilst the old lady tapped her feet and bobbed her head to whatever loud music was blasting out from the speakers, and downing drinks at the same rate as a kid with a bag of sweets whose mother was threatening to take them away. Nina, on the other hand, sipped hers like it was poisonous and stared enviously at the people around her who were clearly having fun.

  At least she recognised her own emotion. It wasn’t a slight disdain (though at first, she’d convinced herself that’s what it was), or a superiority (she’d never lower herself to go on a singles holiday – this was like a dating site with sun), but a twinge of envy at the smiles and laughter all around her. And there she was, sitting in a bubble of ‘don’t-talk-to-me’, and giving off sour vibes. She was on holiday; it might not be the sort of holiday she would have chosen for herself, but it was the only one she was going to get this year, so Nina decided to make the most of it. It wouldn’t hurt her to be friendly and to join in (within reason).

  ‘Hi,’ she said, leaning forward and holding out her hand to the man who had asked if the seats were taken. ‘I’m Nina, and this is my grandmother, Flossie.’

  He stared at her hand for a second too long before shaking it. ‘Ben. He’s Jerry.’

  It was Nina’s turn to pause, then she burst out laughing. ‘You’re joking, right?’

  Ben looked rather put out. ‘No, my name really is Ben.’

  ‘And he’s Jerry?’

  ‘Jeremy, actually,’ Jerry said. ‘I prefer people to call me Jezza, but Jeremy Clarkson got there first, so Jeremy will do.

  He had a point, Nina conceded. Not that she was a Top Gear fan, but the name “Jezza” was synonymous with the famous car show. Even she knew that. But Ben and Jerry? Honestly?

  A waiter appeared and as the two men placed their order, Nina examined them out of the corner of her eye. Ben was tall, well-built like a rugby player, with big shoulders and chunky thighs. Not bad looking, either – straight, sandy hair, cut short at the back and sides, a little longer on the top, causing a bit of the front of it to flop over his forehead. She guestimated him to be in his early thirties. Jerry (she resisted the urge to snigger) was a couple of inches shorter, thinner, with dark hair and freckles spattered over his round face. He had a nice, wonky-toothed smile, and reminded her of a little boy she taught a couple of years ago. If she compared them to ice cream (and once the ice cream idea was in her head, she couldn’t shift it), Ben was fudge with chunks in, and Jerry was vanilla.

  ‘Been here long?’ Ben asked, using the standard holiday line.

  ‘This is technically our first day. We arrived very, very early this morning,’ Nina said.

  ‘No wonder you look tired,’ Ben replied.

  Charming! That’s what you get for trying to be nice. Nina frowned at him, before deciding that “tired” was better than “miserable” or “grumpy”.

  ‘Travelling does take it out of you,’ she agreed, wincing when she heard
her mother’s voice coming out of her mouth.

  ‘I hate night flights,’ Jeremy said, ‘but that’s all we could get. Are you here for a week?’

  ‘No, a fortnight.’ She winced again. Did anyone below the age of fifty actually say “fortnight”?

  ‘Sweet. We’ve been here a week already, haven’t we, Ben?’ Jeremy nudged his friend with his elbow, bringing the other man back into the conversation. Ben had been busy eyeing up a gaggle of women on the next table, with their short, short skirts, and their cleavages hanging out. They were loud too, all screeching laughter and innuendoes, and more hair than you could shake a can of hairspray at.

  Nina smoothed her own neat bob with her free hand. The other clutched her wine glass tightly.

  Flossie was uncharacteristically silent and Nina shot her a concerned glance, relieved to see her grandmother still awake and still with it. The old lady was staring intently at the two men opposite, her gaze going from one to the other and back again.

  ‘I prefer the smaller one,’ Flossie said, far too loudly.

  The larger one smiled, a wolfish grin. ‘That’s you sorted tonight, Jerry,’ he said. ‘You’ve pulled.’

  ‘Not for me, stupid,’ Flossie said to Ben. ‘For her!’ She pointed in Nina’s direction. ‘You’re too full of yourself for my liking, young man. He seems much nicer.’ The knobbly finger was now aimed at Jeremy and it was his turn to smile, but Jerry’s small uplifting of the mouth looked a bit strained, Nina thought. In fact, he appeared rather put out.

  ‘Gran!’ Nina hissed. It seemed eye rolling and hissing were going to be featuring quite a lot on this holiday. Mortified at her grandmother’s rudeness (and that the old lady had given the men the impression Nina was in the market for a holiday romance and her grandmother was touting for business on her behalf), she smiled apologetically.

  ‘It’s okay, I love old people; they call a spade a spade,’ Ben said, shrugging his huge shoulders. ‘But you’re barking up the wrong tree with Jerry – he’s got a girlfriend, or rather, he did have a girlfriend. Still pining over her, aren’t you, Jer?’

  Jerry’s smile was decidedly forced.

  ‘I had to practically manhandle him onto the plane,’ Ben carried on, oblivious of his friend’s mortified expression. ‘He didn’t want to come, but I told him this holiday was just what he needed to forget all about Sally. Plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’ Ben jostled Jerry with his elbow and Jerry fought to save his drink, narrowly avoiding spilling some down his blue-checked shirt.

  Nina (and Jerry by the look of it) was relieved when Ben announced his need to ‘have a whazz’ (why announce it, eh? There was absolutely no need; loo or toilet would do. Better still was a simple “excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute”). She watched him swagger off in the direction of the toilets, and hoped he’d fall in. So far, her impression of the type of men who came on this kind of holiday wasn’t good, though Jerry seemed okay, if a little overwhelmed by his louder, brasher friend.

  ‘Were you together long?’ Nina asked.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You and your girlfriend.’

  ‘Only all our lives,’ Jerry said, his gaze dropping to his glass. ‘Our mothers used to take us to the same baby play group.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nina said.

  ‘She said she needed to stretch her wings, whatever that means.’ He swirled the last of his beer, the liquid coating the sides of the glass. ‘I’d asked her to marry me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful.’

  ‘She said yes.’

  ‘Oh? Er… good?’

  ‘But she said she wanted to see a bit of the world first, meet new people.’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘She’s backpacking round Australia with a mate. I reckon it’s an early mid-life crisis.’

  Jerry had to be at least thirty, and if they’d met at a playgroup it meant Sally must be roughly the same age, so it had certainly taken Jerry long enough to pop the question. Maybe him asking had been a wake-up call for this unknown woman and-Nina gave herself a mental shake. She had a habit of making up stories about people she’d only just met. Or even people in the street, or at the supermarket. Everyone had a story, everyone had more to them than they showed the world.

  Take Flossie, for instance; on the outside she appeared to be a typical little old lady, but Nina was starting to realise there was nothing old-ladyish or typical about her grandmother. Especially now, when the old lady in question was flirting outrageously with a bloke on the next table.

  ‘I like proper knickers myself,’ Nina heard Flossie say. ‘Want to see?’

  ‘Gran! No, he doesn’t want to see your knickers.’

  Flossie sat up straighter in her chair and gave Nina a superior look. ‘We were talking about cheese graters,’ she said, shaking her head when Nina stared at her blankly because she was wondering what “cheese graters” were.

  ‘Thongs,’ Flossie explained. ‘He says every girl he’s been with wears ’em. I can’t understand why – they look bloody uncomfortable, splitting your difference like that.’

  Nina’s mouth opened and shut, and opened and shut again. She seemed to have no control over it. How Flossie and this guy had got onto the subject of women’s underwear, Nina had no idea, and she had no intention of asking. And then there was Flossie’s turn of phrase – cheese graters (she guessed Gran meant cheese wire; no wonder Nina had trouble keeping up with her gran’s conversation – it had taken her a moment to realise they weren’t discussing kitchen implements). Then there was splitting one’s difference indeed! The woman was a law unto herself.

  She shot the poor man an apologetic look. The “poor man” seemed rather amused. He gave Nina a wide smile, then turned his attention to Flossie.

  ‘It was nice talking with you,’ he said. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about in the women’s underwear department.’ He stopped, and blushed. ‘Not that I spend any time in women’s underwear departments,’ he stammered. ‘I mean… oh heck.’

  Welcome to my world, Nina thought, as Flossie chuckled and said with a wink, ‘Bet you do!’

  Oh dear, this was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 9

  Parrots. Not what Nina had expected as part of the hotel entertainment. Dancing, a magician maybe, and after this afternoon’s performance, games full of innuendo and thrusting hips wouldn’t have been out of place – but parrots?

  Nina had nothing against parrots, in fact these were quite charming, especially the little green one who said “fuck off” a lot, but she’d not anticipated seeing them on centre stage at her hotel.

  The audience were lapping it up. Amused, Nina spent more time watching her fellow tourists than she did the antics of the exotic birds in front of her. Most of the women vied for the chance to be chosen to go up on stage, to be verbally and physically abused by a bird, the rest of the audience egging them on. The parrot-handler picked a couple and invited them onto the stage.

  ‘Too dark,’ one parrot announced, after disappearing down one of the women’s very ample cleavage, and popping back up again.

  ‘Too light,’ it said, after investigating the chest of a lady who had much less up top.

  The parrot-trainer scoured the audience for his next victim, opening his eyes a little wider when they skimmed over Flossie. His gaze came back to her in a hurry, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he saw.

  Flossie, aware of the attention and loving it, stuck out her bosoms and put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Come,’ he gestured to her, holding out a hand.

  Flossie scrambled out of her chair, hauling her body onto the little stage with a bit of difficulty (the other ladies had hopped up – well they would, wouldn’t they, being fifty years younger an’ all, Nina thought meanly). A man sitting nearby was forced to place his hands on the old lady’s backside and push.

  It all made for hilarious viewing, and even Nina might have found it amusing if it hadn’t been her grandmother up there, making a show of hersel
f.

  ‘What’s your name, sexy?’ Parrot-Man said.

  Flossie, deadpan, replied, ‘Sexy.’

  She went down a storm. The man who’d manhandled her backside, shoved two fingers in his mouth and whistled, stamping his feet.

  ‘Your name is “sexy”?’ Parrot-Man said, and Flossie played to the crowd, waggling her hips and doing a little dance. Is this the sort of thing they got up to at the Salvation Army, Nina wondered. Was this kind of behaviour considered normal in geriatric circles?

  ‘Don’t you believe me? Are you saying you don’t think I’m sexy?’ Flossie cried, exaggerating a hurt look.

  ‘You are the most sexy woman I see in all my life,’ Parrot-Man said, knowing he was onto a good thing. Nina wondered if she could rent Flossie out to him for the duration of their stay, so Nina could find a nice, quiet corner and not have to endure many more evenings like this. She sincerely hoped the hotel hadn’t booked a fire eater…

  He sent the parrot down Flossie’s cleavage.

  It took a while to come back out, Gran chortling all the while, wriggling like a kid needing a wee, at the sensation of having a bird down her bra. When it eventually emerged, the poor thing looked rather ruffled.

  ‘Just right,’ it screeched. ‘Goldilocks tits.’

  The crowd went wild.

  Nina wished she was anywhere but here – in a boring meeting, at the dentist, being chased by wild animals…

  When she was tapped on the shoulder from behind, Nina turned to see a red-faced woman, wearing far too much make-up and little else, smiling at her. ‘Bless her, she’s a scream,’ the woman declared. ‘You must be so proud.’

  Yeah, right; proud wasn’t the first word which popped into Nina’s mind when she thought of what her grandmother had got up to lately.

  ‘Come and join us,’ the woman offered, and her two friends nodded.

  To be polite, Nina inched her chair backwards a little, as a token gesture, only to have it dragged almost out from underneath her until she was in the thick of them, like a boring sandwich filling between two flamboyant pieces of bread.