The Birthday That Changed Everything: Perfect summer holiday reading!. Debbie JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
a holiday lothario on the prowl for sex on the beach. He was gorgeous – but not for me. Even if he was sparking off some delicious feelings in places I’d forgotten existed.
I’d been fighting off complete breakdown since Simon left. My life consisted of either crying, or mindless tasks to distract me from the pain. The house had never been so clean, and the dog had started to hide in the broom cupboard when he saw me approaching with the lead. I’d assumed that that was it for me and men: game over.
My reaction to James suggested otherwise, but still…it would end in tears. Mine. Whatever was causing me to notice James – backside and the rest – was a momentary blip. I was barely holding myself together surrounded by all these new people; coming to terms with my new status as a singleton. Any more stress would be too much – I’d be like that donkey in Buckaroo! and do a complete flip-out.
No. I was middle-aged, free and single – surely a cause for celebration, I’d decided, reaching for the rosé and topping up my glass.
I got so busy celebrating, in fact, that I spent my first night in Turkey completely pickled. I’d woken up half an hour ago, still dressed and desperate for the loo. Now I was popping paracetamol with my croissants as the kids bickered across the table.
‘So, are you just going to lie on your fat arse all day and get shitfaced again?’ asked Lucy. Ollie, the traitor, laughed out loud.
‘Of course not!’ I said. ‘I’m getting stuck in to the activity programme today. And don’t talk to me like that.’
‘Yeah, right, whatever,’ she said, implying, ‘I know you’re lying’ and ‘I don’t give a fuck’ at the same time. ‘Maybe you’ll try some extreme sunbathing. Or the gin Olympics.’
‘No, come on, Luce, let’s go and sign up for something together now, it’ll be fun,’ I said, standing up and dusting myself down. Today’s ensemble was a very interesting combo of Jenny’s shorts, which were too tight, and Marcia’s bikini, which was slightly too big. Not haute couture, but circus clowns wouldn’t stop on the street to point and laugh either.
Lucy didn’t even bother to reply, so I walked off without her. I marched over to one of the reps, full of indignant outrage and determination to find the New Me.
‘Hi! How are you?’ said the rep – a scruffy-haired surfer dude with wide blue eyes and an accent like Prince William’s.
‘I’m keen,’ I said, ‘but I can’t do anything and I’m really unfit. What do you suggest?’
He laughed. As though he thought I was joking and I’d said something really funny.
‘I’m not joking,’ I said, just to be clear.
‘No, of course not,’ he replied, busying himself looking through the piles of papers and timetables on the desk.
‘What about windsurfing for beginners? That’s on this afternoon, should be a nice day for it as well.’
‘Yes, great, sign me up for that – what else? What about tomorrow?’
‘Ummm…tennis? There’s an assessment session first thing if you’re interested?’
‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘put me down for that. Sally Summers. But I don’t need to bother with the assessment thingy. I’m rubbish, so put me in the lowest group possible. And have you got the times for yoga and Pilates and Boxercise there as well?’
Fully armed with notes, class times and a set of safety instructions which I’d never look at, I wandered back to our breakfast table, planning to wave them in Lucy’s face. I’d show her what a super-fit super-mum I really was.
When I got there Ollie had already left. He’d mentioned something about snorkelling earlier and said he’d see me for lunch.
Lucy, however, was still there – sitting with a terribly good-looking teenaged boy. He had beautiful brown hair that caught auburn glints in the sun, and gorgeous green eyes.
Sylvia Plath was lying forgotten on the table. Lucy’s iPod was no longer attached to her ears. She was listening to him, talking to him, and even issuing the occasional girlie giggle. I almost fainted from the shock.
‘Hi!’ I said as I joined them. Lucy gave me a look that made me feel about as welcome as raw sewage, but the junior hottie returned my smile and actually stood up to greet me. Good looks, and manners too. What on earth was he doing talking to Lucy?
‘Hi, you must be Sally,’ he said. ‘I’m Max – Allie and Mike’s son. I thought I’d come and see how Lucy was doing, and whether she fancied coming swimming with me later – if that’s all right with you, Sally?’
I was momentarily flummoxed by the thought of Lucy requiring my permission to do anything, and apparently so was she. ‘Yeah,’ she said quickly, ‘that sounds great! I love swimming. I’ll go and get changed and meet you back downstairs, okay?’
And off she went. She started running, then remembered her cool and slowed down to a saunter. I swear there was an extra waggle in her hips as she went, like she knew she was being watched.
Weird, weird, weird. Especially as she hadn’t been swimming of her own free will for the last two years.
Windsurfing wasn’t for another few hours, so I followed the extreme sunbathing route. I needed to rest now, in advance, as I’d be using up a lot of energy later on. Preventative napping – I’m sure it made perfect scientific sense.
Once I was creamed up, hydrated and reclining, the sun started to heat all the tension out of my bones, and I relaxed completely into a state of woozy wellbeing.
All I could hear was the gentle slapping of the water at the pool’s edge, occasional laughter floating up from the beach, and the low-pitched singing of the cicadas in the palm trees. The haunting sounds of the call to prayer from the local mosque echoed around for a minute or two, reminding me that I was somewhere really quite exotic.
Perfect.
So perfect, I may possibly have drifted off to sleep for a little while. Or ‘rested my eyes’, as my gran used to say when she nodded off in the armchair.
I jerked roughly awake when I heard Ollie shouting ‘Mum!’ in a tone that implied it wasn’t the first time. I leaped up, opening my eyes to be confronted by his plastic face inches from my nose.
He pulled off his snorkelling mask, laughing away at his little joke, and said: ‘You were dribbling. And mumbling,’ then did a running jump into the swimming pool.
I investigated my face for slobber, slapped on some more cream and turned over. I tan easily, but cooked on one side and not the other is never a good look.
I was just drifting off again when a feeling of discontent started to swirl around me. I knew Lucy was standing there before she said a word – I could sense her dark aura chilling the air.
I turned round, reluctantly, and looked up into the eye of the storm. Her black hair was wet and dripping round her shoulders. She seemed less tough without a coating of hairspray – like a tortoise without its shell.
Her stance, though, was pure street fighter. Hands on hips, glaring down at me.
‘Yes?’ I asked cautiously, racking my brain for something I’d done to annoy her recently. Other than breathe.
‘You know it’s all your fault I don’t fit in here, don’t you?’ she said, in a quietly furious voice. From bitter experience I knew she’d get louder and louder from this point onwards. I should have dispensed earplugs to all my fellow hotel guests as soon as we’d arrived, out of common courtesy.
‘Erm…if I just say yes, can we leave it there?’ I asked, hopefully.
‘I