My Dating Disasters Diary (14 page)

We had just been joined by some pals of the boys, one
of whom was older and really good looking, when Liz
nudged me. 'Look, Kelly Ann.'

I glanced over and saw a very tall, well-built woman in
a short white dress and straw hat walking towards us.
She had the hairiest legs I'd ever seen. 'God, yeah. I
mean, she really should wax her legs.'

I started chatting to the boys again about Liverpool's
chances in the Premier League when I heard a familiar
voice say, 'So, girls, enjoying yourselves?'

I looked up. Dad! Oh my God. The 'woman' in the
white dress was actually my dad in the very long T–shirt,
which reached to mid thigh.

Dad gave the boys a hard, suspicious stare, which
looked stupid rather than menacing, given his outfit, but
luckily didn't say anything to them or ask who they were.
Instead he just said, 'I'm off to get a beer. Want me to
bring you two back an ice cream?'

'No thanks!' I said quickly, which drew an annoyed
look from Liz but I didn't care. Just wanted Dad to go
away quickly and not come back.

'Fair enough,' he said and mercifully sauntered
off.

As I sighed with relief the hot Liverpool guy asked,
'Who was that?'

Oh my God, what to say?
'No idea.'

He looked at my dad's retreating back with disgust.
'Pervert.'

'Oh God, Liz,' I whispered later, 'I've publicly disowned
my own dad. What kind of a person am I?'

Liz shrugged. 'A totally realistic one. He was wearing
a dress
, Kelly Ann. Bloody hell, what else could you say?'

Finally my parents agreed to go to the beach today,
although Mum moaned about how she couldn't stand the
sodding sand, which went sodding everywhere – even in
unmentionable places which, in fact, she did mention.
The good news, though, is that Dad was wearing a
normal T-shirt as Mum had told him she wasn't going
anywhere with him 'dressed in sodding drag'. He was
also wearing his old, decent, navy blue trunks as she also
said, 'I bought you those red ones for a laugh when I was
drunk, you eejit. Can't you take a joke? Now cover yourself
up and don't affront me. You're no James sodding
Bond.'

The brochure had said the beach was a 'stone's throw'
from our hotel. Yeah, right. It took us nearly twenty
minutes to walk there. Not even an Olympic discus
champion could throw a stone that far. It also took us ages
to find a shady spot for Dad as Mum refused to spend
thirty euros on a 'jumped-up umbrella' and Dad doesn't
like the sun. Don't know why my parents booked a beach
holiday in Spain when they don't like sand or sun,
but there's no understanding adult thinking sometimes.

Still, Liz and I had a great time there – well, we did after
Liz had finished working on her tan, which meant when
her skin changed from pink to red and started to peel.

After we'd had lunch Liz wanted to sunbathe again so
I wandered off down the beach by myself. Suddenly
found myself thinking about Chris, of all people, and
how great it would be if we were friends again and he
was here with me and Liz. While she sunbathed Chris
and I could have kicked a ball about. Or maybe swum
over to those rocks down the beach to look for crabs.

I shook my head and sighed. He's probably too grown
up now to look for crabs. Most likely he'd have spent the
whole time looking for girls and ignoring me.

Oh well, I supposed I could just investigate the rocks
on my own. I put my hand above my eyes and squinted
over to get a clearer view. Spotted a group of Spanish
boys a bit older than me, who were diving off a large flat
rock which jutted out into the sea. Decided to walk
towards the rocks to get a closer look.

Unlike most Scottish guys, the Spanish boys all had
dark brown skin and looked strong and muscular as they
competed with each other to see who could jump from
the highest rock or stay under the water the longest.

Mmm. Must say I really enjoyed looking at those boys.
Especially the tallest one, who was also the best swimmer.
Wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend like
that . . .

Later, they moved onto the beach near me and started
to kick a football around. The ball rolled towards me at
one point. I kicked it back to the tallest guy, who smiled
and said, '
Gracias
.'

I watched them play for a while. After a few minutes
the ball rolled in my direction again. Was going to kick it
back to them but this time, for a laugh, I decided to make
off with it.

They chased me, but though they soon caught up with
me, I managed to keep the ball away from them for a
while. They were impressed with my football skills, I
think, so they let me join in their kickabout.

I was having a great time until three really posey girls
arrived on the beach. They were all wearing totally
ridiculous bikinis, which hardly covered anything and
looked as though they'd dissolve if water touched them.
Their sandals had heels (on the beach – I ask you!) and
they all wore loads of make-up. I suppose they would
have been really nice looking if they hadn't looked so
stupid – especially the way they walked, sort of wrapping
one ankle round the other, which made their bums wiggle
stupidly. No wonder one of them tripped and fell. Idiot.

But instead of laughing at how daft their get-ups were,
the Spanish boys stopped playing and rushed over to see
if the girl who'd tripped needed any help. I mean, she'd
only fallen on sand, for God's sake – how hard can that
be? But the tallest guy made a huge fuss of her and
rubbed her ankle while his friends got chatting to the
other two girls. They were all smiles, the football and me
forgotten.

I kicked the ball over to them, none too gently, but they
didn't even notice so I wandered off to find Liz, who had
now fallen asleep.

I nudged her awake. She rubbed her eyes and
grumbled, 'What's wrong?'

I said, 'Do you think I'm ugly, Liz?'

'Of course not.' She sat up. 'Bloody annoying waking
me up but not ugly, no.'

'So would you say I was, well, quite nice looking
then?'

'Yeah, but that doesn't mean I fancy you. What's up
with you anyway?'

'God. I've just seen the most gorgeous Spanish guys on
the beach. I think maybe you're right about the sex-drive
stuff. It is really, really important.'

'Erm, Kelly Ann—' Liz said, looking over my shoulder.

'You can't see them from here,' I interrupted. Then I
continued, 'But really. You're definitely right. I mean' – I
giggled – 'I wouldn't shag a headless person like a praying
mantis but I wouldn't mind sucking the faces off
those Spanish boys. Mmmm.'

Heard a voice behind me say grimly, 'Glad to see
you've got some standards, Kelly Ann. Now put on your
T-shirt and let's get back to the hotel.'

Dad.

There was a pool party tonight for adults and older kids
with a free buffet and cheap drinks. Everyone went.

Had a great time until two of the reps announced the
start of the karaoke.

Oh my God. Not karaoke. Please, God, don't let my
parents volunteer.

They were first up. Dad sang 'Sex Bomb' while thrusting
his hips back and forth energetically. Mum didn't
sing. Instead, she circled round him, writhing about
suggestively and waving her sarong.

I am never, ever going on holiday with my parents
again. Even if social services have to take me into care for
two weeks and I'm beaten to a bloody pulp every night
by the other kids because my mum isn't on methadone
and I know my dad's name. Never.

I am also never going to drink alcohol. Not after witnessing
my parents making yet another total public spectacle
of themselves.

Started out fine last night when we went to a really
classy restaurant, with proper tablecloths and candles on
the table, plus polite waiters who held out our chairs for
us and called me
señorita
. So nice.

We ordered a fish and rice dish called paella, which
was delicious, and everything was fine until Mum, after
drinking several glasses of red wine the size of buckets,
complained about the soft guitar music being boring –
didn't they have something a bit livelier?

Next thing I knew she and Dad were screeching along
to some stupid 'Viva España' song; then, oh my God,
Mum got up on the table to dance. Oh God. Not again.

I begged her to stop but she just laughed at me and
continued stamping her high heels and flailing her arms
about in what was supposed to be an imitation of Spanish
flamenco dancing but looked more like she'd trodden on
an invisible wasps' nest and was trying to fight them off.

Finally she tripped and tumbled face first into a large
plate of paella.

Thank God we'll be leaving the country next week.
Obviously none of our family will ever be able to show
our faces in Spain again.

Last day and we went to the beach. Saw the Spanish boys
again. They were with the posey girls and it was obvious
they'd all paired up already. None of them noticed me.
Like I was invisible or something.

Wondered if I could get their attention if I lined my lips,
put on three coats of mascara and wore a nearly–not-there bikini with
high heels. Hmm. Probably have to grow breasts first.

Have refused to go out to a restaurant with my parents
tonight as I just can't bear the mortification. Mum and
Dad have said we can stay at the hotel provided we
'behave ourselves'.

Bloody nerve. Like Liz and I were the ones making
arses of ourselves every night!

It's the last night for a lot of other people too and the
holiday reps have organized an under-sixteens disco
from eight o'clock until ten thirty. Mum says it's fine for
us to go but Dad was more worried. 'Will there be young
lads at this do?'

I mean, duh. 'No, Dad, it's a gay club. They're very
broad-minded in Europe.'

'Aye, right, don't give me any of your snash, young
lady. You can go, but don't be having anything to do with
any boys, mind. Just you and Liz stick together.'

Hmmm, Dad seems to think that every boy in Europe
is just dying to get his hands on me.
As if.
Honestly, if only
he knew how little he had to worry about. Most of the
boys my age are totally so not hot, and the very few who
are remotely fanciable wouldn't notice me if I danced
starkers in front of them. OK, well, not quite true. I guess
they would notice me but probably not in good way.

Rather than attempt to explain all this to Dad, I sighed
and promised to behave myself.

Mum screeched on her way out, 'Right, have fun, you
two, but don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

Yeah, right. Suppose Liz and I won't be able to go
ahead with the bank heist or international terrorism we'd
planned – but hey, just about anything else was still
possible.

Then she added, 'And don't do anything I
would
do
either.'

Hilarious. She cackled loudly at her own joke and
made for the door. Dad just said, 'Mind what I said now.
No boys. Any problems, just call us at the restaurant.
You've got the number.'

Then they left. Finally.

Liz and I got ready for the disco. She suggested I wear
my one skirt (the pink one) so I'd look a bit more girly just
in case a miracle happened and there were nice-looking
available boys there. Even though it's our last night, Liz
hasn't quite given up on the idea of me losing my virgin
lips status on this holiday. She wore a low-cut white top
(to show off her tan and other things) and a red skirt.

As usual at parties like that, there were twice as many
girls as boys, and none of the boys were remotely
fanciable except for two, who were OK looking and of
course already surrounded by a large group of girls. So,
just as I thought, there was nothing for Dad to worry
about. Unfortunately.

But the music was good and I like dancing. I'm good
at it too, probably because Mum used to send me to ballet
classes for ages in an attempt to make me less boyish. I'd
hated the naff dresses and stupid shoes but I loved the
music and dance, though I prefer modern stuff now.

Tonight, as usual, none of the boys were dancing so Liz
and I just got started on our own.

I was having a good time but Liz was disappointed
that there wasn't any food at the party, just cans of Coke
and fruit juice, so after about an hour she suggested we
go off to our room and finish off the chocolate we'd
stashed there, then come back.

We were just passing the boys' toilets, which had a
large OUT OF ORDER sign on it, when two of the Liverpool
boys came out and invited us to join them inside for an
alternative party. Yeah, right.

'It's OK,' the smallest, freckliest one called Charlie told
us. 'There's other girls here already. Look.' He opened the
door wide so we could see inside, and sure enough, there
were four girls and two boys standing around talking and
giggling while drinking something from white paper
cups.

The place didn't smell bad like the boys' toilet at
school so Liz and I decided to check it out.

Charlie handed us each an empty cup then ushered us
into one of the cubicles. Liz and I looked at each other
worriedly. He didn't expect us to drink loo water, did he?
I'd thought these Liverpool boys were quite normal
before but maybe they weren't. Maybe they were really
weird English people – members of some disgusting cult
who all drank from toilets as a kind of initiation thing.
Well, they could forget it.

Was ready to run out when he surprised me by opening
the cistern top to reveal a large jug of reddish liquid
with bits of fruit mixed in, sitting in the water. 'Great
place to keep it cool,' he explained. He pulled the jug out
with a flourish. 'Sangria. Give us your cups here.'