Holiday Fling

by Christina Jones

  ‘We were together six years, Julie. I’m wondering how many times he was unfaithful before. I’ve been such a fool.’

  ‘Six years with the same man at your age! I’d say you’d been a fool!’ She took a breath. ‘Seriously, Bella, none of us guessed. We all thought you’d lucked out first time, but it was too good to be true.’

  ‘There were receipts in his desk for hotel trips all over Europe for the past two years. Times when I thought he was in Huddersfield on business conferences. Huddersfield!’

  ‘Do you think he wanted you to find them?’ asked Julie gently.

  I nodded. ‘Possibly, he didn’t deny any of it when I confronted him. I think in some weird twisted way he thought it was OK to cheat on me when we weren’t married, but that it would be dishonourable once we were married.’

  ‘And he wasn’t prepared to give up his lewd ways?’

  ‘Didn’t even offer it as a possibility. He just kept saying he’d pay me back my half of the wedding as if that would make all the difference.’

  ‘It would have been bloody rotten of him if he hadn’t. You’re not exactly swimming in money, are you, hun?’

  ‘I know. I know. I’m going to have to find a smaller flat and on my salary it’s going to be hard. I always put my career second to his. Bastard.’

  Julie looked smug. ‘So what I’m saying is before you go back and have to work your butt off to make ends meet, find a new flat, maybe even a new job unless you want to see him at the office every day …’

  I groaned.

  ‘Then you are due some fun to replenish your batteries and get ready for the trials ahead. It’s my treat. We’ll have a blast. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.’

  And so I agreed. We went into the airport, through security where Julie almost got herself strip-searched by making suggestive comments to the young security guard, and into the teaming waiting area.

  There is a lot of life in an airport lounge. As I sat on the uncomfortable wire seats feeling somehow adrift, it carried on all around me. Weary, furrow-faced parents attempted to cajole their small, sticky, over excited offspring into tolerable behaviour. Youths on the gap year huddled together counting out change for snacks and coffee from the over-priced shops. Businessmen with their briefcases, rustled newspapers with an air of detached boredom. Young couples kissed and stroked each other, barely able to contain themselves until they reached their hotel rooms. A solitary elderly traveller stared misty-eyed into the distance and a group of professionals off to a conference somewhere were beginning to let their hair down drinking from tiny bottles of wine. The sun pounded through the atrium-style roof and the atmosphere was as warm as it was noisy. My head started to hurt. I felt thirsty and slightly nauseous. I could not have felt less like heading off on an exotic and potentially erotic holiday than if I had spontaneously contracted a bout of intensely itchy thrush.

  Julie stretched, unselfconsciously almost popping a boob out of her top. ‘I hate the waiting bit.’ She took a closer look at my face. ‘Hey, you’re not getting cold feet, are you? We’re almost on the plane.’

  ‘I don’t like flying,’ I said.

  ‘Oh no you don’t! If you don’t get on that plane with me you’ll figuratively be spending the rest of your life waiting for take-off.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’ll always be wondering what you missed.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I said grudgingly.

  ‘And don’t tell me you have never wondered what it would be like with someone other than Lewis.’

  ‘I’ve had other boyfriends,’ I said indignantly.

  ‘You met straight out of university.’

  ‘Yes, university, not a nunnery!’

  ‘Bet you didn’t even get into double figures,’ said Julie watching me closely.

  I flinched in shock. There had been Gerald, Jamie, and Benedict, who went on to be a priest. I preferred not to talk about him. ‘University’s only three years,’ I said defensively.

  ‘Depends how you use them,’ said Julie looking like a cat that had eschewed the cream and gone for the whole dairy.

  I started having even more qualms about the trip. It’s not that I disapprove of the lifestyle Julie claims to live. She must be exaggerating a bit, surely? But I am depressingly old fashioned. I want security, intimacy, and love. Lust comes a long way down my list. At my age I admit it is a bit unusual. But I have never met a man who has made my heartbeat quicken the first time I looked into his eyes. I have never met a man whose smell had me sighing and leaning into him. I have never met a man whose arms I have left only to crave the entire day to return to them. The boys I had dated, well, they had been nice boys. We’d been great friends, but when we tried for something more there had never been that spark. At least there hadn’t been for me. I have, however, read my fair share of romances. It doesn’t help that when everyone else’s parents are divorced, split, or remarried for the third time mine remain happily married to one another. This, above all else, has given me hope that there is ‘the one’ out there for me.

  ‘Kissing frogs,’ I said.

  ‘Should I be insulted?’ asked Julie with more curiosity than anger.

  ‘I was thinking you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. Isn’t that the saying?’

  ‘I don’t want a prince – unless it was Harry – he seems a bit of a wild poppet!’

  My attention was caught by a flash of red. I turn my head quickly but it’s vanished. ‘Did you see that?’ I ask.

  ‘Nope,’ says Julie, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. ‘I’m going to fantasise about my island. If you run off I shall expel you from the sisterhood of womankind and you’ll have to spend the rest of your life drinking in smelly sports bars.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare risk such a dire fate,’ I promised. Before very long Julie was snoring lightly. I realised that she was probably up at the crack of dawn organising this getaway for me. I looked over at her with affection. In another age she’d doubtless have been a famous courtesan, famed for a wit and her beauty and the mistress of kings, princes and great men of the age. And all the time she would have been harking on about women’s rights long before most women realised that they were due rights. Today she was a highly successful advertising account manager, highly-paid, but it seemed to me always restless and unfulfilled. She was just too alive. She snorted in her sleep and her sunglasses slid down her forehead. I positioned them carefully on her nose and went off to have a wander round the shops. I took my purse, but left my carry-on bag with Julie’s. Hopefully Security would assume it was hers. There was nothing in it worth stealing and it should convince her I’d not made a run for it.

  The shops were bright and full of stuff shrink wrapped in plastic. I found I didn’t want anything. I even managed to walk through the make-up counters without one twinge of covertousness for the latest mascara or new way of sticking colour on your lips. This for me was unprecedented. As someone without any artistic talent I had always used my face as a colour by numbers substitute. I loved playing with make-up in the same way that little girls love playing dress-up. Actually, I didn’t mind playing dress-up either. My wardrobe, as Julie had discovered, bore a number of full length, glitzy party dresses bought in sales because they were so lovely and that I had never had any opportunity to wear. This all struck me as incredibly sad. My life less lived. I sniffed unattractively and made my way back out to the concourse. There was that flash of red again.

  I whirled on my heel. Not a good idea when you’re wearing wedges. I stumbled sideways and collided with someone. An arm caught me and stopped me from toppling over. ‘Oh thank you,’ I began. Then I looked into the eyes of my rescuer. They were the true, clear blue of the Aegean sea. Before I’d even taken in his features a warm scent of cloves and musk reached me. ‘I’m so sorry. That was clumsy of me. I thought I saw …’

  ‘A flash of red?’ asked the man. He had dark, thick, wavy hair cut short enough to e
mphasis his obvious masculinity. His nose was straight, his chin firm, and his lips twitching under my searching gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. He let me go. He must have been slightly over six foot, slim but with wide shoulders, dressed in jeans, a plain blue T-shirt that brought out even further the colour of his eyes, and a navy casual linen jacket. In one hand he held a light brown leather carry-on bag.

  ‘The red flashes? It’s a little girl. She’s wearing a red coat and playing hide and seek from her parents. I confess if I was only slightly younger I’d think of joining her myself. Is there anything as boring as waiting for your flight to be called? I feel as if I’ve died and gone to Limbo. Marcus Wade.’

  He held out his hand. He waited a moment. ‘I’m Marcus Wade, fellow traveller in Limbo.’

  ‘Bella Frost,’ I said taking his hand. His grip was warm, firm, and dry. I let go quickly. It was either that or hold on for good. My heart, which I have always thought to be healthy, was beating violently and erratically.

  ‘Unusual name,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘So where are you off too?’

  ‘Er-um, Spain.’ I was already blushing frantically. Please, I thought, don’t let him ask any more.

  ‘Really? Which part? I know the South-west quite well.’

  I could feel the blood rushing into my face. ‘I’m not entirely sure. My friend,’ I gestured to Julie, ‘booked. It’s one of those RomanticMeets holidays.’

  Was it my imagination or was he frowning slightly. ‘Oh, the ones you go on to meet … er …’

  ‘Other people,’ I filled in desperately.

  ‘I’ve never had the nerve to try one. I always thought they would be full of people,’ he hesitated, ‘far more sophisticated than me.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said miserably. I was all too well aware that RomanticMeets was sometimes referred to by the nickname ShagandGreet. ‘I mean you’re not unsophisticated at all. My friend booked it for me as a surprise to cheer me up. I was meant to be getting married today.’ Dear God, could I have sounded any more desperate?

  ‘I hope you have a good time,’ said Marcus. There was no doubt he was preparing to back away at top speed from the mad woman.

  Just then I caught another flash of red. Only this time it didn’t move on. ‘Just a moment,’ I said, placing my hand on his sleeve and looking past him, ‘Did you say that you thought the flashes of red were a little girl.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Only there’s something red under that seat over there and it’s shaking.’

  ‘Shaking?’ Marcus repeated blankly, but I was already moving across the lobby floor. The wire seat was close to a shop selling ties and socks. A violently bright display hung by the door. The flash of red blended in all too well. I guessed what had happened at once. Underneath the seat quivered a little girl of about five or six. She wore a bright red hooded fleece and was sobbing her heart out. I knelt down and peered underneath. ‘Hallo, Little Red Riding Hood. Are you all right?’

  The little girl wailed louder and turned her face away from me. I became aware of Marcus crouching down beside me. ‘Did Mummy tell you not to talk to strangers?’ I asked. The little shoulders shook. ‘Well, Mummy was absolutely right,’ said Marcus. ‘This is Bella and I’m Marcus.’

  ‘There, if you know our names we can’t be strangers, can we?’

  A distorted voice loudly and mostly indecipherably called a flight. I ignored it. ‘Sweetie, have you lost your Mummy?’

  The little girl wriggled further under the seat. ‘She’s been well primed by her parents,’ said Marcus. ‘You stay with her and I’ll go and find an airport official. See if you can get her to tell you her name.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘Hopefully her mum will have already contacted them.’

  He nodded and headed off. I sat down more comfortably on the floor, tucking my legs underneath me. ‘Marcus has gone to find someone who will find your mummy,’ I said. ‘I saw you playing hide and seek earlier. Were you playing with your mum?’

  A very slight shake of the head. She still had her back turned to me.

  ‘If we’re going to find your mum it would help to know your name. I’m Bella, which is short for Arabella. I was named after my great-great-grandmother. She used to be a famous music hall singer.’

  A little tear stained face peered round at me. ‘Was she a pop star?’

  There are very few occasions when I have been glad of the cult of the celebrity, but this was one of them. ‘Yes, she was. She wore incredibly pretty dresses and people came from all over,’ I hesitated and then decided to sacrifice truth for interest, ‘the world to hear her sing.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘She married a prince,’ I said desperately.

  ‘Does that mean you’re a princess?’

  ‘She certainly is,’ said Marcus’ voice beside me. ‘Can’t you tell by her lovely long hair? Only princesses have hair as curly and pretty as that.’

  The little girl pushed back her hood, revealing long , glossy, blue-blacklocks, ‘I have long hair too.’

  ‘Why, your highness! I didn’t realise,’ said Marcus. ‘Which princess do I have the honour of addressing. princess …’ He paused hopefully.

  The little girl gave a small giggle. She turned round to face us. ‘Marcie, but I’m not a princess, silly.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Marcus. ‘Only you look very like one.’ He turned to me and said quietly, ‘I reported it at the desk and they are sending a security guard over.’

  I nodded, ‘Do you hear that Marcie? Someone’s coming who can help find your mummy.’

  ‘She’ll have got on the plane by now,’ said Marcie. A fat tear trickled down her cheek. ‘She told me if I got lost again she’d go without me.’

  ‘Mummies sometimes say things like that to make us behave,’ I said quickly, ‘but she didn’t mean. I am sure.’

  ‘Have you been lost for long, Princess?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, what are you doing down there?’ Julie’s voice rang loudly in my ear. ‘Did you not hear them call our flight?’

  I scrambled to my feet. ‘Oh sorry, Julie. This gentleman and I found a lost girl. We’re waiting for Security to come and help us.’

  Julie glanced down and took in the sniffing child. ‘Hasn’t she got a handkerchief,’ she said, sounding vaguely disgusting. ‘Hi kid! Take this,’ she passed the child a tissue from her bag. She spoke to Marcus, ‘Look, whatever your name is you don’t mind waiting with the kid, do you? Only that’s the second call for our flight.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Great. Come on, Bella. Bye, kid. I’m sure you’re mum’ll be back soon.’

  Marcie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Is the princess going?’ she asked Marcus.

  ‘She has to catch her carriage,’ said Marcus. ‘I’ll stay with you till we find your mummy.’

  The speaker called our flight again. ‘For God’s sake,’ said Julie, ‘Come on! They won’t hold the flight for us. We don’t have any luggage on board.’ She thrust my bag at me.

  ‘Bye Marcie,’ I said. ‘Marcus will take good care of you.’

  By now Julie was literally pulling me away by the sleeve. We started moving quickly towards the gates. From the display board I could see ours was, as Sod’s law would dictate, the furtherest away. We weren’t yet on last call, but we were definitely due to be at the final security point. Julie staggered. She put out her hand to save herself and caught my shoulder. ‘It’s no good,’ she squealed. ‘these heels weren’t made for speed!’ She bent down to pull off her shoes. Looking over her shoulder I saw an overweight and distinctly grumpy looking security guard arrive at Marcie’s hiding place. Marcus stood up to greet him. Then the security guard crouched down and gestured impatiently for Marcie to come up. I saw Marcus tap him on the shoulder. It wasn’t going well.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute,’ I said. Fortunately Julie had
got her second shoe off, so she didn’t topple over when I pulled away.’

  ‘Bella!’ she yelled. ‘I am not going to miss this flight. I’ll go without you.’

  ‘I’ll catch you up,’ I promised and ran back to Marcus and Marcie.

  ‘Come on, little girl,’ the guard was saying, ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘You’re frightening her,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Look, sir, with respect I have a job to do keeping this airport safe. I don’t have time to waste on silly kids that get themselves lost. Come on, girl, let’s be having you.’

  Marcie wiggled further under the seat. The security guard sighed and started speaking into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. ‘Got some kid down here. Won’t come out. May need social services’ assistance.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ I interrupted, ‘her mother’s in the airport. You didn’t need to get her taken off by someone.’ I crouched down. ‘Princess Marcie,’ I said, ‘I’m back. I saw you needed help.’

  ‘He’s an ogre,’ said Marcie. I suppressed a chuckle. I lowered my voice, ‘Yes, he is, but I think two princess and our loyal servant Marcus can take him, don ‘t you?’ Then I added in a more serious tone, ‘If we’re going to get you back to your mummy, Marcie, you will need to come out.’

  ‘OK.’ A small hand slipped into mine. Marcie squirmed out and stood beside me. Despite her size the grip on my hand was vice-like.

  ‘Cancel that,’ said the guard to his shoulder, ‘we’ve got the kid. Right come on, girl. Let’s get you to the office.’ Marcie screamed and hide behind me. She kept her hold on my hand, so I was twisted round. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said the guard.

  ‘Hey!’ said Marcus. ‘You can’t talk in front of the child like that.’

  ‘Mister, I am not paid to be bloody babysitter. Now, come on, kid!’

  Marcus and I exchanged looks. ‘Where does she need to go?’ I asked. ‘I expect she would go with us.’

  ‘Right. Whatever.’ He pointed at a desk in the distance. ‘You can take her there.’ Then he stalked off, muttering into his radio.

  ‘OK, Princess?’ asked Marcus.