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At last we arrive at the hotel. The reception area has a roof but no walls, so you can see straight through it to the gardens beyond. We’re offered rum punch while Dad fills in the documentation, and then we are taken to our rooms, which are next door to each other. In comparison to the warmth outside my room is cool. The floor is a sort of marble, and feels cold and smooth under my bare feet. In the middle of the room is a modern, four-poster bed with two very fluffy-looking towels neatly arranged at the end. I discover a fridge, packed with bottles of ice-cold water. The bathroom is covered in marble tiles and has a bath, shower and two separate basins in front of the mirror.
By the time I’ve unpacked, it’s late afternoon and the sun is beginning to set. I bang on my parents’ door and we arrange to meet for drinks at the bar at seven, giving me an hour to kill. I decide to spend it exploring.
The hotel is located at the end of a peninsula and I quickly discover that, as well as a large pool with a swim-up bar, there are two beaches. One faces the Atlantic, and is quite breezy, and the other the much calmer Caribbean. I take off my sandals and curl my toes into the warm sand as I walk along the Caribbean beach. I can’t resist a little paddle, and the water is clear and warm. There are lots of sunbeds, all empty by this time of day. I decide this is where I’ll spend the bulk of my time. Mum and Dad have said I can do whatever excursions I like but, at the moment, the idea of just lying here with a good book and occasionally wandering into the sea for a swim seems perfect. The cicadas are warming up for their evening concert and I can feel my body relaxing as I head back to my room to get ready for dinner.
I meet Mum and Dad at the bar. They’ve both got cocktails, with bits of fruit in and those little umbrellas sticking out of the glass.
‘What are you having, Charlotte?’ Dad asks as I scan the array of bottles.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just have a glass of white wine.’
‘Well, that’s fine if you want, but as you’re in the Caribbean you might want to try something with rum in it. Why not start simple, with a rum and Coke?’
‘You’re right. OK, I’ll have one of those. Thanks, Dad.’
He goes up to the bar to order it, and the barman brings it over to me. It tastes of Coke, but with an undercurrent of heat from the rum. It’s delicious and I drink my way through two before we head off to the restaurant for dinner. The hotel has three restaurants: there’s a self-serve buffet, which is where we’re heading tonight, a restaurant down at the water’s edge that specialises in seafood, and an Asian-style place that seems incongruous in this setting, but is very good, according to Mum and Dad.
‘How many times have you been here?’ I ask over dinner.
‘This is our fifth time. We absolutely love it here, and when Emma and Simon came there was really good childcare and babysitting for the girls, so they were able to spend time together and relax. I love my granddaughters, but they can be pretty full on.’ Mum smiles indulgently.
By the time we’ve finished eating, the jet lag has kicked in properly and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. I head back to my room, crawl into the sumptuous bed and fall into a blissful sleep.
11
The jet lag wakes me very early the next morning. I’ve arranged to meet Mum and Dad for breakfast at eight, but I have two hours to kill before then, so I turn over and close my eyes to see if I can go back to sleep. From the sounds of it Mum and Dad are awake too. I can hear their voices through the wall. It doesn’t sound like conversation though, there’s too much of a rhythm to it. There’s something not right about it, but I’m not quite able to put my finger on what it is. Suddenly it dawns on me, and I sit bolt upright in bed.
OhGodOhGodOhGod… I’m listening to my parents having sex.
Hastily, I reach for the remote control and switch on the TV. It automatically goes to a channel showing some terrible American comedy with canned laughter, but I don’t care. Anything to drown out the noises from the next room. How on earth am I going to be able to face them at breakfast after this? An imaginary conversation plays out in my head:
‘Morning, Mum, morning, Dad. That was some noisy sex you two were having. Was it good?’
‘Very nice, thanks, Charlotte. Would you like tea or coffee?’
Maybe I could sneak out and have breakfast early, in order to avoid them? That might hurt their feelings though, particularly as it’s our first morning here. I have another horrific thought: is this going to be my dawn chorus for the whole two weeks we’re here? I think that would be enough to give any child PTSD. I wonder if they sell earplugs in the shop? I make a mental note to check it out later.
I decide to get up and have a long shower. I’m wide awake now so there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. Also, the noise of the shower will further insulate me from my amorous parents. I grab a towel and pad into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me for extra sound insulation. Obviously, I’m happyin conceptthat my parents are still enjoying an active love life, in the same way that I’m happyin conceptthat some people find oysters delicious. In practice I find both oysters and the stark reality of my parents having sex rather nauseating.
As I stand under the shower, I try to focus on the day ahead and make some sort of a plan. It doesn’t take long, consisting mainly of lying around either dozing or reading a book, swimming in the sea and generally watching the world go by, punctuated by meals. I might wander up to reception at some point and see what excursions are on offer. Oh, and earplugs – mustn’t forget those.
After I’ve showered, washed and conditioned my hair and dried it using the rather under-powered hotel dryer, I slather myself in factor fifty sun cream and put on one of my new bikinis, with a pair of shorts and a T-shirt over the top. Tentatively, I turn down the volume of the TV and I’m reassured to hear what sounds like normal conversation from next door. There’s still well over an hour before we’re due to go for breakfast, so I grab my book and head out onto my balcony to read. It obviously rained overnight, and the grass is sparkling in the morning sunshine. Although it’s still very early, the air is warm and humid, and filled with the sounds of unfamiliar insects and birds. Hotel staff are pulling large trolleys of laundry into position, getting ready for the day’s cleaning. I spot a couple of guests out for an early morning run. It’s a world away from the freezing February we left behind, and it feels slightly unreal.
After I’ve watched the view for a while, I pad back into my room to make a cup of coffee. It’s instant, and not very nice, but it will tide me over until I hopefully get a decent cup at breakfast. As I take it outside, I hear the door of my parents’ room open and someone steps out onto the adjacent balcony. There’s a barrier between us, so I can’t see who it is, but I’m not left wondering for long.
‘Morning, Charlotte,’ Dad’s voice says.
‘Morning!’ I reply. In trying to keep my voice as normal and upbeat as possible, I realise I’m speaking about an octave higher than usual.
‘Did you sleep OK?’ he asks.
Normal voice, Charley, come on. You can do this. It’s a lot easier when you’re not looking at him. ‘Yes, the bed is super-comfy. I woke up pretty early because of the jet lag, but I expect that will settle down.’
‘Yes, give it a couple of days and you’ll be fine. Well, bang on our door at eight and we’ll go and find some breakfast, shall we?’
I pick up my book and make a start. It’s a kind of whodunnit with a bit of romance thrown in. Perfect holiday reading.
At eight o’clock, I knock on Mum and Dad’s door and we set off to the buffet restaurant where breakfast is laid out. There are cereals, pastries, a selection of fruit, a hot buffet and a choice of hot and cold drinks. I help myself to some fruit and yoghurt; the hot buffet looks very tempting but if I’m not going to be doing any exercise I’ll put on loads of weight if I’m not careful. Plus, I’m not sure I’m that hungry after the events of the morning so far. Mum is very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, chatting away about this and that as she puts things on her plate. I try to follow her conversation, but can’t quite bring myself to look her in the eye yet.
