A Proper Family Holiday (23 page)

To make matters worse, it seemed something was going on with Mark. He had looked so guilty when he got that last text. He had practically leapt off his sunlounger to get to his phone before Ronnie had a chance to pick it up and pass it to him. He’d never been so precious about his phone before. Never. Back home, he would usually leave it on the side in the kitchen so that Ronnie could have easily scrolled through his call log and texts had she felt so inclined. She’d never felt so inclined. She’d always trusted him. Ever since they’d been on this trip, though, he hadn’t let that phone out of his sight. What was the reason? Was Ronnie’s fear that Mark was getting fed up with their sex drought and looking elsewhere as a result finally coming true?

Ronnie looked out to sea and took a deep breath. What could she do about it if Mark was having an affair? Should she confront him, or was it better to turn a blind eye and hope that it didn’t last long? Her natural instinct was to confront him, but that might force him into choosing and he might not choose Ronnie. If he didn’t choose her, what then? The children would be devastated. They’d have to sell the house. Ronnie’s imagination soon had her and the kids living in a tenement, while Mark lavished love and attention on a faceless blonde in a penthouse flat overlooking the sea.

She exhaled hard as though to force the image out of her head.

Then her phone chirped. She had a text. It was from Mark.

Quiz by the pool in ten minutes. Prize beer. Can’t do without you.

He meant to put an ‘it’ in there, Ronnie thought, but she tried all the same to be pleased.

Chapter Thirty-One

Bill

Of course, after dinner that night, Bill insisted that he needed a drink. Once again, Mark and Dave were drafted in to make sure he didn’t wander off and end up
in
the drink instead. This time, Gloria and Lesley were waiting for them at the corner table.

‘We wondered when you’d turn up. We’ve saved you some seats,’ said Gloria. ‘And,’ she added, clearly knowing this would make it impossible for them to refuse, ‘we’ve lined up three pints. It is Fosters you drink, isn’t it, boys?’

‘Wahey!’ said Bill. ‘Grassy-arse.’

‘Oooh! He speaks Spanish as well,’ Gloria cooed. ‘You’re a man of culture, you are, Bill. So, what have you boys been up to today? We went to the volcano, didn’t we, Lesley? Lesley is very interested in natural history. I am too, of course, but my thing is more social history. Like the Second World War. You promised to tell us your war stories, Bill.’

‘And so I shall,’ said Bill, ‘and so I shall, but not until I’ve wetted my whistle.’

Mark and Dave shared a worried look.

‘Who is that strange woman who keeps making a beeline for Granddad every time he’s in the bar?’ Ronnie asked, having walked through the bar on her way back from the ladies’ and seen her grandfather’s curious new friends. Gloria had practically been draped across Bill’s lap.

‘God knows,’ said Jacqui, ‘but if she’s keeping him amused, that’s perfectly fine by me.’

‘But what’s in it for her, Mum? Do you think she’s up to something?’

‘Perhaps she just likes his company,’ Chelsea suggested.

Jacqui and Ronnie shared a look.

‘She’s more likely to be trying to talk him into buying a timeshare,’ said Ronnie.

‘Well, she’ll be lucky, won’t she?’ said Jacqui. ‘Seeing as how he hasn’t got a penny to his name.’

‘Do you think we ought to find out what she’s been telling him?’ Ronnie asked. ‘I mean, I saw something about timeshare scams on
Crimewatch
. They target the old and the vulnerable, and I’d say Granddad’s both of those. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve got the money or not. They get you to sign up and then chase you for cash to pay for buildings that haven’t even been put up yet. I heard about one couple who had to sell their detached house in Birmingham to pay for two weeks a year in Tenerife.’

‘I’m sure that kind of contract isn’t legally binding anymore,’ Chelsea chipped in.

‘Oh, and you would know, wouldn’t you?’ said Ronnie. ‘Living in London as you do.’

‘I don’t see what my living in London’s got to do with it.’

‘Girls, I don’t think there’s any reason to worry,’ Jacqui interrupted. ‘Your grandfather is a grown man. I’m sure he won’t get into any trouble. Not least because whoever she is, she’ll be off once she’s heard his Second World War stories a half-dozen times.’

‘I like Granddad Bill’s war stories,’ said Jack. They had forgotten he was listening. He was sitting under the table near Chelsea’s feet, playing with his DS.

‘I don’t,’ said Sophie, without looking up from a text.

‘Chelsea,’ said Jacqui, ‘will you go over and talk to your granddad? Try and find something out about that woman. The men never find out anything useful.’

‘Why me?’ Chelsea asked.

‘Because it won’t look so obvious. Take Jack with you. Her suspicions won’t be raised by a boy wanting to say goodnight to his great-granddad, will they?’

In the bar, Chelsea hovered while Jack clambered onto Bill’s lap to give him a goodnight kiss. She had said hello to the woman, and they’d exchanged names. Now she tried to get her measure without making it obvious that was what she was doing. Gloria was of indeterminate age – either an old fifty or a young sixty. She dressed on the youngish side. Her clothes were tacky, but Chelsea didn’t think that meant they’d been particularly cheap. Chelsea also thought she recognised the telltale signs of Botox. When Gloria smiled, her eyes didn’t crinkle, but she got ‘bunny lines’ radiating from the bridge of her nose. Nothing but Botox caused those bunny lines. She’d obviously had a boob job too. Her breasts were unfeasibly perky even for a woman at the low end of her possible age range. So Gloria was someone who cared about appearances and obviously spent a fair amount of money on preserving them. Why she would choose to accessorise her ageless looks with an octogenarian in a Coventry FC shirt and carpet slippers was anybody’s guess.

At the same time, Gloria was clearly sizing Chelsea up too.

‘That’s a lovely bag,’ said Gloria.

‘Thank you,’ said Chelsea.

‘It’s Louis Vuitton, isn’t it?’ Gloria’s eyes widened. ‘They cost a fortune.’

‘It was a present,’ Chelsea said. Davina had given it to her the previous Christmas. Davina hadn’t actually paid for the bag, of course – as a magazine editor, she was always being showered with fancy freebies – but Chelsea hadn’t complained.

‘Nice present,’ Gloria breathed.

Chelsea saw at once that Gloria knew how to read the markers of money as well as any of her colleagues on
Society
did, but Gloria also knew that her best way to ingratiate herself with the women of the Benson family was not going to be by talking fashion; it was going to be by ingratiating herself with the apple of everybody’s eye: little Jack.

Jack clambered down from Bill’s lap.

‘Now, young man,’ said Gloria, ‘I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m your great-grandpa’s friend Gloria, but you can call me Auntie Gloria if you like.’

‘But you’re not my auntie,’ said Jack.

‘Not technically,’ said Gloria, ‘but I could be your pretend auntie, couldn’t I? While we’re all here in Lanzarote.’

Jack looked doubtful. ‘I’ve already got an auntie,’ he said.

‘There’s always room for another one.’

‘I don’t want another one.’

‘Everybody needs an auntie Gloria.’ She offered Jack a Polo mint.

‘I’m not allowed to take sweets from strangers,’ Jack announced.

‘I’m your great-granddad Bill’s friend. I’m not a stranger.’

‘You are strange!’ Jack exclaimed.

‘Time for bed,’ said Chelsea quickly. ‘Come on, Jack.’

‘Aren’t you going to give me a kiss goodnight as well?’ Gloria asked as Jack tried to get past her. She grabbed him round the waist. Doubtless she thought she would give him a playful tickle, but Jack screamed at the top of his lungs.

‘Help! Help!’

Gloria let go of him at once. Jack ran straight to Chelsea and threw his arms round her legs. He would have jumped straight into her arms had he been able to.

‘Steady on,’ said Chelsea.

Jack looked up at her. His eyes were wide and frightened.

‘I was only trying to be friendly,’ said Gloria.

‘He’s tired,’ said Chelsea, by way of explanation.

‘No, I’m not,’ Jack cut in. ‘I’m not tired at all.’

‘Regardless, it is time for bed.’

‘That’s right, sonny boy,’ said Bill. ‘Off to bed with you.’

For once, Jack didn’t have to be told twice.

‘He’ll get used to me,’ Gloria said confidently.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ronnie

About an hour after dinner, Ronnie wondered whether she should go down to the bar and drag Mark back upstairs. She had been reading an article in a magazine that suggested most relationship breakdown could be averted if you just made the decision to make an effort again. Maybe it was Ronnie who had stopped making the effort first. Perhaps Mark no longer made any moves on her because he assumed she would rebuff them, just as she had taken to assuming that he would rebuff her. The article went on to quote a woman who claimed she had rescued her husband from the clutches of an affair by paying him more attention. Most men didn’t want a new woman; they wanted new affection from the old one. Ronnie still hoped of course that she was wrong about Mark and his secretive texts, but there was no harm in acting as though there was a battle to be won. It couldn’t make things worse.

There was no better time to start. Ronnie got out of bed. She stripped off her ancient jersey nightdress and started to run the shower. It took a while for the water to warm up. In the meantime, she examined herself in the mirror. Her body might be a disaster zone, but her face wasn’t bad. A few days in the sun had given her a glow.

She washed carefully, moisturised and finished off with a squirt of the perfume that Mark had bought her for her twenty-fifth birthday. She still had half a bottle left, nearly seven years on. The occasions she deemed special enough to warrant perfume had been few and far between.

Then she arranged herself on the pillows and sent Mark a text.

When are you coming up to bed?

In a minute, was Mark’s response.

As though he would literally be there in a minute, Ronnie watched the seconds tick by on her travel alarm clock. Of course, he wasn’t there in a minute. She hadn’t really expected that, but once five minutes had passed, Ronnie was already finding it hard to hang on to the fluffy feeling of expectation and hope she had gathered around herself in the shower. After ten minutes, she was starting to get annoyed. After half an hour, she got back out of bed to retrieve her nightdress from the chair by the dressing table.

Mark’s ‘minute’ eventually became ‘seventy-two’. To make things worse, Ronnie could tell just from the sound of his struggle to find the keyhole in the door that her plans for a night of passion would not come to fruition even if Mark had been willing. Full of disappointment and on the verge of saying something vile out of anger, Ronnie quickly rolled over so she was facing the wall. The only possible way to deal with this was to pretend she was already asleep.

There were very few pieces of furniture in the room, but Mark managed to ricochet off all of them on his way to the bathroom. Ronnie heard him exclaim in muffled pain as he stubbed his toe against something.

Serves you right, she thought.

She heard him pee. It seemed to go on for ever, another indication of just how much beer he must have put away while he was down in the bar. He made a half-hearted attempt to clean his teeth, and then he was on his way to bed. Ronnie closed her eyes tightly as he weaved his way to her side of the double, which was really two single beds shoved close together. He practically fell on top of her.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Ronnie exploded, ‘how much have you had?’

‘Sorry, love,’ said Mark, crawling over her to get to his side.

‘I was asleep.’

Mark cuddled up to her. ‘You smell really lovely.’

Ronnie shook him off.

‘Is that the perfume I bought you?’

‘Seven years ago? Yes, it is.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t bought you any more since then.’

‘Ah well, it’s only scented alcohol, isn’t it? God knows you’ve bought enough of that.’

‘I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I’m really sorry, love. That woman kept buying us drinks. We had to stay with Bill in case she made a move on him.’

Ronnie pushed Mark away from her.

‘Mark,’ she said, ‘I really couldn’t care less.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chelsea

Somehow, over the family’s evening meal in the Jolly Pirate, Sophie had managed to convince Chelsea that she needed her room to herself again. She’d told Chelsea all about the Berlin trip that hadn’t happened and how her father had promised her a room of her own in Lanzarote to make up for it. Then she explained how the family just couldn’t afford it, and she understood, but—

‘Jack can stay with me,’ said Chelsea before Sophie could finish her sob story.

It was worth it to see him pump the air with delight. Chelsea was surprised at how much it lifted her mood to be appreciated in such a heartfelt and demonstrative way.

But later, in their shared room, Jack grew serious.

‘Are you not going to play with me tomorrow?’ Jack asked.

‘What’s that?’ Chelsea asked.

Jack sat up in bed. ‘I know that you’ve only been looking after me to help Mummy and Daddy get better. Now they’re completely better – Mummy said so. That means you’ve finished looking after me. Does it mean you won’t play with me any more either?’

‘Oh, Jack!’ Chelsea felt her chest ache at the sound of his voice. ‘Of course it doesn’t mean I won’t play with you any more. It just means that perhaps you’ll play with Daddy sometimes too, while I’m doing some work.’

‘I play with him all the time at home. He’s boring. You’re different. I feel like I’m on an adventure with you. Will you be my friend after this holiday?’

‘Well, of course I’ll be your friend.’