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‘What happened? Was it Ed? You two made such a lovely couple, and he was obviously worried. Did you have a row?’
‘What makes you think we were a couple?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Charlotte!’ she exclaims. ‘We didn’t come down in the last shower, you know. You kept saying you were tired and going to bed early, but when we came back from the bar your room was in darkness and the curtains were still open, so you obviously weren’t in it. We heard you when you came back in the mornings. We were pleased that you’d found someone, especially someone as lovely as Ed.’
Of course she knows. Why do I ever bother trying to hide anything from her? She’s like a Rottweiler. I give her the basics, explaining about Dave, and me dashing out, and just needing to be far away. She’s sympathetic, but Dad finds the whole thing uproariously funny for some reason.
‘Oh, Charlotte,’ he breathes through his laughter, ‘all that fuss over some saddo with a camera and a TV programme that only you and Madison watch. What on earth are we going to do with you?’
I’m tempted to tell him that the true viewing figures are actually in the millions, but I decide to take pity on him. There’s nothing he can do about it, and he’ll only worry.
‘Ed also left a note, by the way,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll just get it.’
He disappears into their room, returning a couple of seconds later with my phone, the charger and a piece of paper. I open it and read:
Dear Charley,
I’m SO sorry about this morning. Don’t worry about the TV programme – I’ve sorted it.
If you want to call me when you get back to the UK, my number is below. I’d love to hear from you.
Love
Ed xx
What does he mean, he’s sorted it?
Never mind that, I realise. He’s given me his number.
21
I was very tempted to call Ed as soon as I’d plugged his number into my phone last night, but he obviously wouldn’t have answered on the plane, and I’ll want to talk to him for hours, so I’ve decided to wait until I get back. I also toyed with sending him a WhatsApp, but I have no idea whether he uses it. In the end, I decided to keep it as something to look forward to when I get home. He wants to hear from me again, and that’s enough to buoy me up for now.
After breakfast, I wander down to the beach and head for my usual sunlounger on autopilot. As I get close, I see that it’s already occupied, as is the one next to it. A young couple, obviously very much in love, are lying down and staring into each other’s eyes. They must be the new occupants of the honeymoon suite. I beat a retreat to another sunlounger and pull out my book. I’m finding it difficult to concentrate though, and after a while I walk down to the water sports hut to enquire about some more windsurfing and water-skiing lessons. I’ve got another week of holiday to go, so I reason I might as well make the most of it. I learn that the windsurfing is included in the all-inclusive package, but the water-skiing is not, so I hand over my credit card and book a windsurfing lesson for each morning, and water-skiing every afternoon.
Over the remainder of the holiday, a routine develops. I wake, have a shower, put a bikini on under shorts and a T-shirt and then meet my parents for breakfast. After breakfast, I lie on the beach and read until it’s time for my windsurfing lesson. I meet up with Mum and Dad for lunch, and then head back to the beach for water-skiing. After that I read until it’s time to get changed and go to the bar before dinner. I’m doing my best to enjoy the remainder of the holiday, but I’m aware that I’m also counting down the days until we go home and I can call Ed.
My muscles complain for the first couple of days but, as I grow in confidence and my body gets used to the exertion, the aches subside and I can feel myself making progress. By the third day, I’m able to sail the windsurfer pretty confidently and I’m heading further out into the bay. I’m also feeling much more secure on the water-skis, and don’t fall over at all. The instructors start showing me how to weave from side to side behind the boat, and also how to ski with just one hand on the handle.
For our final evening, Mum and Dad have booked us into the Asian restaurant again. Although I’m now really excited about going home and getting back in touch with Ed, I don’t want to take my last twenty-four hours here for granted. I have no idea when I’m ever going to get to experience another holiday like this, so I’m determined to make the most of my final day here. Mum and Dad are on great form, and we make steady progress through the bottle of white wine Dad has ordered to go with our dinner. By the time the starters have been cleared, the bottle is already empty and I notice the waiter discreetly lift it out of the ice bucket that’s sunk into the middle of the table and replace it with another one. I watch my parents as they talk and it’s clear to me that, even after all these years, they completely adore each other. I grab my phone out of my bag and take a picture to capture the moment; maybe Ed and I will be like that one day.
Over the main course, Mum gently grills me about where I think my relationship with Ed is going, but I’m thankfully just sober enough to head her off. Dad is still guffawing about the whole incident with the film crew. I’m starting to suspect it’s been the high point of his holiday.
‘Right, Christine,’ he announces when the waiter brings the dessert menu, ‘it’s the last night, and you know what that means.’
‘He’s going to order the celebration sundae,’ Mum tells me when I look at her quizzically. ‘It’s not Asian at all, but it is the most ridiculous thing and he seems to think it’s some sort of ritual to end the holiday with.’
Sure enough, when the desserts come out, Dad is presented with a bowl so large that a family of goldfish could happily live in it. It’s filled with various ice creams, sorbets, tropical fruit pieces and, just to make sure your arteries stand no chance, what appears to be the entire contents of a can of squirty cream. There are also the obligatory wafers, but what really draws the eye are the sparklers. It’s the most over-the-top thing I’ve ever seen and I reach for my phone to capture it before the sparklers burn out.
‘Have you seen my phone?’ I ask Mum, as soon as I realise it isn’t on the table where I put it after the last photo.
‘Didn’t you put it back in your bag?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I’m fairly certain it was on the table, but I make a brief check of my bag anyway and, as I expected, it isn’t there. I push back my chair and start peering under the table. The atmospheric lighting doesn’t help, but I’m still able to tell it hasn’t fallen on the floor. I stand up to see if I can get a better view, and my heart sinks when I spot a familiar-looking dark shadow under the bottle of wine in the ice bucket.
‘Fuck!’ I exclaim as I hastily reach into the bucket and pull out the sodden phone. I press the home button but, unsurprisingly, nothing happens.
‘Shit, shit, shit!’ I press the button repeatedly, hoping that my phone will magically burst back into life, but the screen stays dark.
