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‘Are you OK, Charlotte? You’re very quiet this morning!’ she remarks after we’ve finished helping ourselves and returned to our table.
No, of course I’m not OK! I heard you two ‘at it’ and I’m mortifyingly embarrassed!‘Yes, I’m fine thanks. Just, you know, taking it all in.’
I force myself to look at her. Immediately an image of her stark-naked and bouncing around on top of Dad comes into my mind and I struggle to push it out again.
‘Well, as long as that’s all it is. Have you thought about what you might like to do today?’
‘I thought I might go and find a spot on the Caribbean side, start working on my tan. What about you two?’
‘We’re going to go to the spa and see if we can get ourselves booked in for a massage. They do fabulous massages here. We thought we’d have one of those couple’s ones, where you both get massaged at the same time.’
We finish our breakfast and, by the end, I’m back on a reasonably even keel. We agree to meet back at the bar in the evening and head back to our rooms to get ready for the day. I change out of the shorts and T-shirt and wrap one of the sarongs around me, before grabbing my book, sun cream, sunglasses (vital for surreptitious people-watching) and hat, and head off to the beach.
There are many more people here than yesterday evening, but still plenty of sunbeds available. I spot a free pair under an umbrella and make a beeline for them. They’re in the first row, nearest the sea so it will only be a few steps to the water when I want to cool down. Plus, if I get a bit hot, I can move myself under the shade of the umbrella. I spread my towel out on the right-hand bed and pop all my other bits and pieces on the other one, within easy reach. Then I lie back and pick up my book once again.
I polish off a few more chapters, with occasional breaks to watch my fellow guests. Some have obviously been here a while; they have deep tans and lie in full sunlight, toasting themselves. Others, like me, are still pale and being careful with the sun. I spot one woman fighting a losing battle with her children. She evidently wants them to keep their shirts on, but they keep taking them off and running away from her, laughing. People are heading out onto the water in kayaks, pedaloes and on windsurf boards. There’s a nice breeze, enough to power the windsurfers along at a reasonable pace. One man is having a water-skiing lesson. I’m guessing he hasn’t done it before as, every time he comes up out of the water, he falls flat on his face back into it. The instructor is encouraging him from the rear of the boat, and a woman I guess is either his wife or girlfriend is also in the boat, taking pictures.
As I’m watching them, I become aware of a shadow falling over me. I look up to see a man standing there, looking at me slightly quizzically.
‘Mrs Wells, I presume?’ he asks.
‘Umm, sorry?’
‘Sorry, bad joke,’ he says, registering my confusion. ‘You probably didn’t notice, but these two sunbeds are reserved for the honeymoon suite. I’m Ed, by the way – Ed Wells.’
‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry!’ I say, hastily gathering my stuff together. ‘I didn’t realise. I didn’t see any sign. Please apologise to your wife for me.’ My embarrassment is making me gabble.
He plonks himself down on the other sunbed. ‘Relax,’ he says. ‘There’s no rush. Please stay as long as you like. I can promise you my wife won’t need the sunbed. To be honest, I’d be glad of the company.’ He makes quotation marks with his fingers when he says the word ‘wife’.
Oh no. They’ve obviously had a massive row and he’s come down here to cool off. If that’s happening on the honeymoon it doesn’t bode well for the rest of the marriage.
I’ve read about couples who split up not long after their honeymoons, and I kind of see how that might happen. You get engaged, you start planning this massive wedding and it kind of takes over to the point where everything is about the wedding. Then it happens, and it’s amazing, and you jet off to somewhere exotic for your honeymoon, and that’s all perfect too, and then you come back to your mundane semi-detached in Croydon, or wherever, and suddenly it’s all very grey and ordinary. Soon, everything about the person who you thought was perfect only a few months ago annoys you. They’re leaving the toilet seat up, or failing to notice that the bin needs emptying. You start sniping at each other, and before long you’re wondering what on earth you saw in each other.
I can understand that, but to be at each other’s throats on honeymoon, when you’re supposed to still be in the loved-up haze of the whole wedding experience? That’s a big, flashing, bright red warning light if you ask me.
He doesn’t look or sound like he’s just had a blazing row with someone though. In fact, I’d call his tone more ‘resigned’. Of course, there could be a different explanation. Maybe she’s gone off to the spa and he’s feeling neglected and a bit pissed off, so he’s decided to use my company to pass the time. It doesn’t exactly give the right impression though, talking to other women the moment his new wife’s back is turned.
I take a moment to study him. He has fair hair, a few laughter lines around his brown eyes, and a wide mouth that reveals even, white teeth when he smiles. His body is, well, male. He’s no bodybuilder, but he’s obviously in pretty good shape. I would estimate him to be in his mid-thirties. Mrs Wells, whoever she is, has bagged herself a pretty good specimen physically, at least.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t know where your wife is or how long she’s planning to be, but I don’t imagine she’d be very pleased to find you chatting to some strange woman that you’ve given her sunbed to, even if she’s not planning to use it herself, do you?’
‘I don’t think she’d mind, actually.’
What kind of wife wouldn’t mind her husband spending time with another woman on her honeymoon? Unless – a thought pops into my head – maybe they’re one of those couples who have an ‘open’ relationship, and he’s free to do what he wants as long as he tells her about it afterwards. Well, if that’s the case, I’m definitely not hanging around. That kind of thing is completely not my scene.
It takes me a moment to realise he’s still speaking.
‘You see, she’s not here. In fact, I have no idea where she is.’
12
‘What do you mean, you have no idea where she is? She must be in the hotel somewhere.’
‘As far as I know she’s still in the UK. Let me start from the beginning, then things might make a bit more sense. Is that OK with you?’
How can I resist? This sounds like it’ll be an interesting story at least, and it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else I need to be. ‘Sure,’ I say, and settle back onto the sunbed.
‘Have you heard of the TV programmeMarried Before We Met?’
