The Birthday That Changed Everything: Perfect summer holiday reading!. Debbie Johnson
won’t you be a wee bit lonely?’ she asked, when we didn’t respond.
It was a semi-serious question, and not one I was prepared to answer honestly. Because yes, I was lonely. And more than a wee bit. I felt it every time I looked at a couple holding hands. I felt it every time I saw a couple bickering. I felt it every time I saw some harassed-looking bloke putting the bins out, and every time I woke up in the morning and every time I went to sleep at night.
I felt it pretty much all of the time, in fact, which I didn’t even want to admit to myself. I’d been married to the same man for seventeen years and had fully expected that to continue until one of us popped our clogs. I was so lonely I might sink in a sea of despair if I even let myself acknowledge it. I was functioning purely on autopilot, and flying straight into turbulence.
‘Of course not,’ I lied, ‘I’ll be too busy to be lonely, and I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with my children.’
Assuming they’d had personality transplants, I added silently.
Right on cue I saw Ollie and Lucy walking towards the restaurant. The need for sustenance must have driven them out into the wild to hunt.
Ollie was wearing those surfer shorts I hadn’t been able to fit into earlier. They hung so low on his bony hips you could see the waistband of his almost-as-low boxers peeping out.
Lucy was in a black bikini top and black shorts. Her dyed hair was swinging loose on her shoulders and most of her face was hidden by huge dark sunglasses. I knew she’d be coated in factor 50 to maintain the ghostly white skin tone she was aiming for.
‘Lucy! Ollie!’ I shouted, standing up and waving my arms frantically.
Ollie grinned and waved back, meandering between the tables towards us. Lucy paused to think about it for a second then followed. She stopped a few feet behind him, facing in the opposite direction to avoid any meaningful social interaction.
‘Hello, darling!’ I said, hugging Ollie tightly to me and holding on so hard he couldn’t pull away. I was totally over-egging the pudding to show Nympho Gnome that, far from being lonely, I was in fact a woman cherished and adored and held precious at the heart of a loving family unit.
‘Do you two want to join us for lunch?’ I asked, praying furiously to whichever god would listen that they needed cash – the only possible reason Lucy would give me the time of day. There was usually a sliding scale of civility depending on how much she needed.
Seconds after the words tumbled out I remembered that Simon had bunged them both a small fortune in guilt money before we left. They probably had more spare cash than I did. I could almost hear the coffin lid slamming shut on my fantasy image of normal family life.
Lucy swivelled her head slowly towards me, propping her shades up on to her hair and staring at me with narrowed, reptilian eyes. She looked like one of those Velociraptors that eats everyone in Jurassic Park. I stayed very still and hoped she wouldn’t hone in on my heat signature.
‘Why the fuck would I want to do that, Nurse Nancy? Does it look like I’ve suffered brain damage in the last hour? Why don’t you give me a real holiday treat, and not speak to me for the next two fucking weeks, all right?’
Following that latest in a long line of humiliations, I retreated to the pool. I was getting used to the feeling now. So my daughter disowned me in public? No big deal. I’d been through worse in the last few weeks and the party wasn’t even over yet.
I probably had a divorce to look forward to, or Simon announcing he was becoming the father of Latvia’s first ever naturally conceived sextuplets. I could picture him now, earnestly discussing his amazing virility on Eastern Europe’s version of Richard and Judy. I was so punch drunk, I didn’t even react when Lucy delivered one of her southpaw specials.
Reverting to my usual coping mechanism, I’d taken a small plate of treats from the lunch buffet to console me. Turkish delight. Yum. That was definitely going to help me lose the extra few pounds I’d gained. Despite the self-loathing, I still couldn’t stop myself eating it. Food had been my only consolation since Simon left, and even though I could see the damage I was doing, I couldn’t stop it. It was as though the carefully contained misery needed to leak out somewhere.
Allie followed over a few minutes later, carrying another round of drinks and apologising for Miss McTavish and her verbal probing, which had continued throughout lunch. I was counting myself lucky the probing was only verbal.
She’d covered such scintillating topics as the places sand could get if you had sex on the beach; the merits of photographing your own vagina, and the shocking price of property in Edinburgh these days. I must admit I did have to raise an eyebrow at the cost of a two-bedroomed flat in the New Town.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said to Allie, ‘she’s not your responsibility. I attract nutters wherever I go. She seems so out of place here, though.’
‘Yep, I know what you mean,’ Allie replied. ‘No kids, no apparent interest in water sports – not that I’d dare say that word around her; who knows what it might unleash? All we know is that she’s a writer, and says she finds being on holiday helpful for her research. Within minutes of meeting us, she’d found out that Mike’s had the snip, and asked him if it’s affected his orgasms. As if! He’s just thrilled to be getting any!’
‘And how did he react to that question?’ I replied.
‘With relish. That man never misses an opportunity to pretend he’s Sid James in a Carry On movie. Bizarrely, it’s one of the things I love most about him.’
We settled down into two sun loungers near the pool. A pool that Nurse Nancy could definitely not enter – my plastic might shrivel up. Allie saw my wistful expression and made a sympathetic clucking noise. She stood up with such purpose, I thought she might just say ‘Alakazam’ and a nice bikini would appear.
Instead, she waved over to a nearby sunbathing couple, motioning for them to join us. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted to another pair on the far side of the pool, who dutifully came over.
Before long, a small coterie of strangers had been assembled around my lounger. They stood smiling down, casting so much communal shadow over me the sun was momentarily eclipsed.
I sat up as straight as I could, almost dropping the plate of Turkish delight on to the concrete. I was sure they came in peace, but the thought crossed my mind that they could also be a lynch party out to tar and feather me under the little-known Obscene Outfits (While Abroad) Act.
‘You see?’ said Allie, waggling her fingers at me in a ‘look, I told you so’ gesture. ‘She can’t wear this all day, can she?’
‘Oh my God no!’ shrieked one of the men, dropping dramatically to his knees by my side, reaching out to finger the PVC hem in distaste.
He was wearing a salmon-pink sarong that not even David Beckham could have carried off. His hair was a suspiciously even shade of black, and his nails were beautifully manicured. Plus, as he continued to bemoan the state of my ‘non-semble’, as he called it, he displayed about as much subtlety as an am-dram performance of Guys and Dolls. Big flaming queen, anyone?
An exceptionally tall older woman with long, wild, steel-grey hair stepped forward. She was grandly preceded by a very large pair of breasts attempting to escape from two scraps of leopard print masquerading as a bikini.
‘Rick! Give her some space, for goodness’ sake – and stop stroking that plastic, you don’t know where it’s been!’ she said. Charming.
I stood up and introduced myself, with a bright smile and as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
‘Nice to meet you, Sally,’ said the woman with the enormous knockers. ‘I’m Marcia, and this is