A Proper Family Holiday (16 page)

‘You never give yourself a break,’ he said. ‘Let Chelsea take the strain.’

‘I wish I could,’ she said.

Mark rolled onto his back and sighed, but then his phone beeped. He had another text. That soon made him sit up. He grabbed his phone with astonishing speed.

Ronnie watched him read the message.

‘You never get texts. Who’s texting you now?’ she asked.

‘Cathy again,’ he said. ‘Wants to know if Fishy has a whole or a half-tin in the morning.’

‘A half-tin,’ said Ronnie. ‘She knows that. I told her three times.’

‘She’s a bit forgetful,’ said Mark. ‘You know what she’s like.’

‘I thought I did,’ said Ronnie.

Ronnie dropped in on Sophie on her way down the corridor. Though she had claimed to be on the point of death the night before, Sophie seemed to be doing all right. She was sitting up in bed with a new gossip magazine on her lap (courtesy of the hotel manager) and her smartphone in her hand. Her texting thumb moved constantly all the time Ronnie was in her room. It was as though her phone were a mere extension of her arm.

‘I’m surprised you’ve got any credit left,’ Ronnie told her.

‘Dad said I could have some extra since I’m stuck in my room being ill.’

‘Of course.’

‘Does Jack have to come back in my room tonight?’ Sophie asked then. ‘Only, if I’m not a hundred per cent better, I think it would be a bit of a risk to expose him to my germs.’

‘You’ll be better by tonight,’ said Ronnie.

‘Oh, Mum, I don’t know if I will.’ Sophie clutched her stomach.

‘You can’t expect your auntie Chelsea to have him in with her again. She doesn’t want to share with a six-year-old.’

‘I bet she would,’ said Sophie, ‘if she knew how ill I am. My stomach still really hurts. Seriously, Mum, I’d be putting Jack in danger.’

Ronnie shook her head.

‘Please, Mum. Honestly. I’m not kidding.’

‘You are just like your father,’ said Ronnie. ‘I’ll nominate you for a BAFTA.’

It was time to rescue Jack.

Ronnie did not rate Sophie’s chances of having her bedroom to herself for another night. Chelsea could not have made it clearer that morning that she did not relish being lumbered with a child.

It hadn’t always been like that. As she walked down to the pool, Ronnie remembered how happily Chelsea had played with Sophie when she was a baby. She had seemed interested enough in her niece, doted on her even. Chelsea was always buying Sophie little presents with the money she made at her Saturday job. She had adored Sophie as a six-year-old, and yet she hadn’t even sent a birthday card on Jack’s all-important birthday. Perhaps she’d got bored of being an aunt. Ronnie’s secret hope that Chelsea might relieve her of some of her burden on this trip had died a death in the hotel lobby when Chelsea had recoiled from Jack’s hug. The sooner Ronnie relieved Chelsea of her emergency childcare duties, the better. Apart from anything, Chelsea seemed so ridiculously scared about looking after Jack. She could only make a hash of it.

Ronnie’s worst fears were confirmed when she found her sister and her son sitting at a corner table in the Jolly Pirate restaurant.

‘What the hell happened?’ Ronnie asked without preamble. She dived on her son and started doing a damage assessment. She examined his chin, his hands and his knees in growing horror. ‘He’s covered in blood.’

‘Not
covered
, exactly.’

‘I fell over in the playground,’ said Jack.

Chelsea concurred. ‘He was pushing the roundabout with a couple of other boys. They were running quite fast. Someone tripped and—’

‘Oh dear God. He looks like he’s scraped his face across the whole Kidz Klub.’

‘Yeah, that’s what happened,’ said Jack, nonchalant as an action hero.

‘Does it hurt?’ Ronnie asked her son.

‘It was worth it,’ said Jack cryptically.

‘What do you mean, it was worth it?’ said Ronnie.

‘What do they ever mean?’ asked Chelsea. ‘If there’s one thing I’m learning very quickly, it’s that you can never know the working of a child’s mind.’

‘He needs some Dettol on those grazes,’ said Ronnie.

‘Not Dettol!’ Jack squealed. ‘I’m OK.’

‘You’re not OK. You’ve got grazes and they might get infected. I still don’t understand how he got in this state,’ Ronnie said again.

Jack was happy to fill her in. ‘Well, first of all, a little girl pushed me off the top of the slide.’

‘What?’

Ronnie’s stomach lurched as she pictured her precious child pitching straight off the top of the ladder onto the tarmac. She glared at Chelsea. ‘He was pushed off the top of the slide?’

‘Not
off
the slide. He came down the slide itself,’ Chelsea quickly explained. ‘I think he was shocked more than anything.’

‘What was the girl doing pushing him?’

‘I think she was impatient for her turn.’

‘Then I pushed her really fast on the roundabout until she started screaming really loudly and fell off onto the ground,’ Jack concluded.

‘She didn’t fall off–’ Chelsea interjected.

‘Where were you while all this was happening?’ Ronnie turned to her sister and moved straight to accusation mode. ‘Weren’t you watching him?’

‘That wasn’t what happened and of course I was watching him! I got up and ran over there the minute I realised what was going on.’

‘Then Auntie Chelsea nearly got in an argument with the little girl’s dad,’ said Jack. ‘He was telling me off. I thought he was going to shout at me.’

‘There was
no
shouting,’ said Chelsea. ‘I totally defused it. The girl’s father and I agreed it was an accident. It was just the sort of thing that must happen in playgrounds every day. Everything is fine.’

Ronnie didn’t seem to think so.

‘Was the little girl hurt?’

‘I think she broke her arm,’ said Jack.

‘She did
not
break her arm,’ said Chelsea. ‘He’s exaggerating. She looked all right to me. She’s fine. Everybody’s fine.’

‘For pity’s sake, I can’t even be ill without something going wrong. Couldn’t you just keep an eye on him for one morning without him almost getting killed?’

‘I was watching him all the time.’

‘You let that girl push him off the slide.’

‘How was I to know that psychos come disguised as six-year-old girls wearing fairy wings?’

‘If you had spent any time at all in a school playground, you would know all psychos start out exactly like that,’ Ronnie replied.

She was still checking Jack for cuts and grazes. ‘What’s this?’ She pointed to a graze on his elbow.

‘I did that in the garden on Friday,’ Jack reminded her.

‘You need to be more careful,’ said Ronnie, in what felt like her constant refrain.

‘Can I have some lunch now?’ he asked. ‘I’m starving. I’m going to sit next to Auntie Chelsea. She’s my hero.’

‘Oh right. She let you fall off the slide and scrape half your face off on the roundabout and she’s your hero,’ Ronnie echoed.

‘She protected me from the man.’

‘Who is this man?’ Ronnie asked Chelsea.

‘It’s fine, Ronnie. He’s talking about the girl’s father. I sat next to them on the plane coming out here. He’s all right. He would never have shouted at Jack. He was just a bit stressed about his daughter. I had everything under control.’

‘Why don’t you run over to the buffet and see what there is to eat?’ Ronnie told her son.

‘OK.’ Jack scampered off in search of chips. The two sisters watched him without speaking. They could each tell that the other one was getting ready to blow.

‘Well, thank you, Chelsea,’ Chelsea broke the silence at last, saying the words that Ronnie wouldn’t say. ‘For looking after my son all morning while I lay in bed.’

‘I wasn’t just lazing around, you know. I was
ill
.’

‘I know. I stepped in to help you.’

‘Yes, and I’m very grateful.’

‘You’ve got a great way of showing it.’

‘My son is covered in scrapes and cuts. Another child’s parent verbally abused him. All that happened on your watch. Do you want me to be happy about it?’

‘There was no verbal abuse. I stepped in at once. I did my best.’ Chelsea folded her arms and looked away.

‘You were probably emailing. Your work is the most important thing in life after all.’

‘In
my
life, yes, since it’s all that I have, as you’re always pointing out.’

‘Ah well, better than my boring life as a stay-at-home mum, eh?’

‘It’s not a competition.’

Jack had returned to the table carrying a tray, in the middle of which was a plate piled high with chips. The woman behind the counter had clearly given him a double portion. Jack’s face could make people do that. Both Ronnie and Chelsea turned to smile at him, and both could tell by the watery smile he returned that he somehow knew they’d just been having a disagreement.

‘Those look good,’ said Chelsea, pinching a couple of chips from the top of the pile.

‘Mummy,’ said Jack, ‘you can have some too.’

‘I don’t think I’m quite up to it, sweetheart,’ said Ronnie. ‘My tummy’s still a little bit tender.’

‘Will you be better soon?’ Jack asked her, full of genuine concern.

‘Of course I will. I just need to take it easy this afternoon. No running around for me.’

‘Oh!’ Jack suddenly exclaimed. ‘Tomato sauce! I forgot the tomato sauce.’

He headed back to the buffet at high speed.

‘Is it all right if I leave him with you now?’ Chelsea asked. ‘I mean, you can sit by the pool and watch him, I assume?’

‘Yeah,’ said Ronnie. ‘It’s OK.’

‘Good, because I really do have work to do.’

‘I think it’s probably safer in any case.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

Chelsea headed for her room without looking back.

‘Where’s she going?’ Jack was very disappointed to see his auntie leave.

Chelsea had to walk past the Kidz Klub to get to her room. She pulled her hat down low as she neared the picket fence. She wasn’t sure she was ready to see Adam. What a disappointment. She’d thought Adam was great but after the antics in the playground, she was left thoroughly confused. Lily had definitely shoved Jack. Jack had definitely deliberately pushed the roundabout too hard. Did that make them quits?

Adam was there. He was standing by the picket fence, talking on his phone. Chelsea thought perhaps she could get past without attracting his attention. All she had to do was keep walking. But Chelsea had reckoned without her stupid sun-hat. While she was studiously ignoring Adam, who had spotted her and was actually waving, Chelsea walked straight into the metal post that held the Kidz Klub flag.

If only Chelsea hadn’t been walking so fast, she might have been able to stay on her feet. As it was, the collision knocked her straight to the floor, where she lay spread-eagled to the enormous amusement of at least a dozen other holiday-makers.

Seeing Chelsea wipe out, Adam vaulted the short fence. He helped her into a sitting position.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked her. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

Chelsea assured him she was fine. Her mortification was far more painful than the bump on her head at this point.

‘That hat is bloody lethal,’ said Adam.

‘You’ve got to suffer for your style,’ Chelsea echoed his comment of earlier in the day.

‘Do you need someone to walk you back to your room?’ Adam asked.

‘No,’ Chelsea told him. ‘I can manage on my own. You need to keep an eye on Lily.’

‘Look, I’m really sorry about this morning. Kids just take against each other sometimes. I suppose it’s understandable. I mean, we grown-ups make snap decisions about people too.’

‘I suppose we do,’ said Chelsea.

‘Let me get that.’

Adam helped Chelsea to stand up and then went to pick up her bag, but only got one of the straps so the contents spilled onto the floor again. And there was
From Booty Call to Bride
.

‘You’re really reading that stuff?’

‘Like I said, it’s for work.’

‘Daddyyyyy!’ the cry went up from the playground. ‘Leave that horrible lady alone.’

Chelsea snatched the book up and made as fast as exit as her dizziness would allow.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chelsea

When Chelsea came down to the bar ahead of dinner that evening, with a bruise the size of an egg on her forehead (though thankfully no concussion, according to the hotel doc), she drew a round of applause from the next table, where two of the Kidz Klub dads sat with their grubby brood.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ said Chelsea.

‘It was better entertainment than the club puts on,’ one of the dads explained to his wife. ‘You should have seen it. Straight into the post and flat on her back. I haven’t laughed so much in years.’

‘He’s not got much to laugh about,’ said his wife. She raised her glass at Chelsea.

‘Glad I could brighten your day,’ said Chelsea tightly.

She got a round of applause from her own family too. Having for the most part recovered from their tummy bugs, they were keen to replenish the calories they had lost, starting with a liquid infusion. Chelsea regarded the row of beers set out before the adults. Sophie was drinking a Diet Coke the size of a bucket.

‘The warrior returns,’ said Jacqui. ‘Jack’s told us all about your morning at the Kidz Klub. I think you deserve a drink.’

‘I certainly need one,’ said Chelsea.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Mark.

‘A glass of wine. Rioja if they’ve got it,’ she added, though she knew it was unlikely there was a choice beyond colour. ‘Red.’

Jack touched Chelsea’s bruise tenderly.

‘Does it hurt?’ he asked.

‘I expect Auntie Chelsea’s pride hurts more than her head,’ said Jacqui.

‘No. My head hurts like shit as well.’

Jack’s eyes widened.

‘I mean, my head hurts like billy-o,’ Chelsea corrected herself. ‘I know I mustn’t swear.’

‘Auntie Chelsea swears a lot,’ Jack observed.

‘Auntie Chelsea often feels the need to,’ Chelsea said.

That night, the family Benson ate at Roma Roma, the resort’s Italian-style trattoria, which promised proper pizzas from a proper wood-fired pizza oven. The twenty-four-hour bug was long forgotten as they arranged themselves at a huge circular table covered in a plastic chequered cloth. Jack was delighted at the prospect of pizza. He ordered a twelve-inch Margherita.