Clara Meets The Parents (Clara Andrews #2) (3 page)

Three hours into our journey and I am ready for throwing myself out of the emergency exit. After a nightmare delay due to a highly intoxicated couple rowing over the window seat, we finally took off. Squashed between a vastly overweight woman and a screaming child, I pick up the grubby, plastic drinks menu with caution. So much for champagne and canapés, it’s looking like my best bet is warm cava and a packet of dry roasted. I slip the card back into the pocket in front of me, narrowly avoiding a lump of used chewing gum.

To my revulsion, they have put us at the very front of the plane, right next to the toilets and even worse, right next to first class. Every time a stewardess slips through the dividing curtain, I get a glimpse of what should have been ours. I eye up the row after row of crisp suits, champagne glasses and proper cutlery. The balling baby to my left tips a bag of Quavers upside down, making a complete mess of the floor. Seeing cheesy crumbs fall over my handbag, it is all I can do not to cry.

‘Are you alright?’ I squirm around in my seat and look over my shoulder at Oliver, who offers a thin smile in response.

Trying not to laugh, I turn back around. Stuck in the middle of a cackling, mid forties hen party, Oliver definitely pulled the short straw. Jabbing at the tiny TV screen, I flick through the pitiful options for a moment, before giving up and turning it off.

Brushing some crumbs off the armrest, I dig around in my handbag for my earphones. Clicking on my iPod, I hit play and turn the volume up high. Drowning out all noise around me, I let John Legend sing me to sleep and retreat to my very own first class cabin. After a few minutes, I am totally lost in a dream world. I can almost taste the champagne...

‘Can you put your seatbelt on please? We are starting our descent into Cancun.’ The lean, mega tanned air steward shakes my shoulder gently and flashes me an ice white smile.

I open one eye slowly and try to regain some feeling in my legs. My neck is sore and for some inexplicable reason, I have peanuts in my hair. Shooting my neighbouring baby an accusing look, I straighten myself out and turn my attention to the visa forms that have landed in my lap. I am searching my handbag for a pen when I get a tap on my shoulder.

Oliver pops his head over my seat and smiles excitedly. ‘Hey you.’

‘Did you manage to get some sleep?’ I ask, knowing by his messy bed head that he has.

‘I did. I also managed to fill these in.’ He hands me two completed visa forms and kisses my head, before disappearing back into his chair.

Feeling the plane start to rumble beneath my feet, my heart begins to pound as I get a glimpse of teal waters and white sand. As the wheels touch down on Mexican soil, the entire plane jumps to its feet and immediately starts fighting to get off first. Sinking down into my chair, I wait until the herds of sticky fingered children and irate parents bustle down the aisle before attempting to get up. I really don’t fancy my chances against this unruly lot.

Once we are safely through the hectic immigration, we scan the arrivals lounge for our driver. It doesn’t take us long to notice the huge sign bearing Oliver’s name. Scurrying over to the tiny Mexican man holding the board, we hand over our cases and follow him outside into the glorious sunshine.

Wow! The sun is blaring down on my shoulders and there is not a cloud in the sky. Slipping on my sunglasses, I squeeze Oliver’s hand and pass our booking notice to the driver.

‘Mr and Mrs Morgan, welcome to Mexico. My name is Cornelio and I will be your driver today.’ He smiles enthusiastically and holds open the door to a sleek, black Mercedes.

‘Oh, we’re not, I mean, he’s not my...’ I trail off flustered as Oliver laughs and ushers me into the back of the car.

Sliding onto the plush, leather seats, I eye up the frosty champagne bottle with glee. As if reading my mind, Oliver immediately pours out two glasses of icy bubbles and I accept one gladly.

‘Sir, transfer to
playa de mariposa
will be around thirty minutes.’ Cornelio shouts over the radio.

‘No hay problema. Gracias amigo.’ Oliver fires back without missing a beat.

‘You speak Spanish?’ I ask, rather impressed.

‘A little.’ He smiles and throws his arm over my shoulders.

We sit in silence for a while, both watching the millions of palm trees whizzing past. It’s not long before the trees turn to miles and miles of crystal clear waters.

‘Wow!’ I whisper again, taking in the beautiful, blue ocean.

To call it blue isn’t really fair, it’s a colour only Haribo could concoct with the help of a tonne of fairy dust. I watch the teeny people running in and out of the sea and feel an overwhelming urge to dive straight in. Oliver takes my glass and refills it without asking. I clutch the champagne flute tightly and press my nose up against the glass. Any annoyance from the flight fiasco has been blown away and all I am left with is sheer anticipation.

Fighting the urge to do a James Bond roll out of the car and a Baywatch run down the beach, I drain my glass in one swift gulp. Before I can stop it, I let out a tiny squeal as our car pulls up at a beautiful ornate archway. Peering up through the thick trees, I spot a teeny monkey dangling from the pillar.

‘Oliver! Look up there! Quick, get your camera!’ I clap my hands together happily as he snaps away with his phone.

Purring through the hotel grounds, I take in the stunning greenery and winding sand pathways, each one leading to a different restaurant, luxury spa or beach bar. If there was ever a Disney land for adults, this was most definitely it and I was beyond ready to see the Cinderella Castle.

‘Well? What do you wanna do first?’ Oliver slips his arms around my waist and nuzzles his face into my neck.

‘Not that!’ I push him away gently and make a run for the balcony, not wanting to waste a minute of sunshine.

With Oliver running after me, I try not to slip on the sparkling quartz tiles. The three glasses of champagne on the drive here are beginning to work their magic. Throwing open the double French doors, I flop down onto the huge, plush lounger and look out at the miles of golden sand. Watching the water crash softly against the shore, I can almost taste the salt on my lips. How is this on the same planet as cold, dreary England? As amazing as our suite is, there is only one place I want to be.

‘I want to get in there!’ I announce suddenly, jumping to my feet.

A frisson of excitement tingles down my spine as I run across the room.  Throwing my case down onto the enormous bed, I create a tornado of beach towels and sarongs in the search for my swimsuit.

‘Aren’t you tired?’ Oliver laughs and tosses a pair of fringed sandals back into my case.

‘Hell no!’ I retort, wiggling into my costume like a fish out of water.

I drop a couple of books into my ever so pretty beach bag and fasten the buckles on my new Biba sandals, smiling appreciatively at the beautiful shoes. Once I have twisted my frizzy locks into a messy plait, I tie a mosquito band around my wrist and look at Oliver expectantly.

‘All ready?’ I ask, grabbing the sleek, white room key like a hyper toddler.

Oliver slips on his Ray Bans and I pretend not to notice as he checks himself out in the mirror. With a quick ruffle of his curls, he tugs a Ralph Lauren polo shirt over his head and makes for the door.

‘You betcha.’

‘Oh my God, I could get used to this.’ I take a sip of margarita and lean back in my lounger, enjoying the feeling of the sun baking my skin.

I am on my second cocktail and the tequila is giving me a lovely fuzzy sensation in my stomach. The beach is practically empty. Apart from the odd couple getting rather amorous in the sea, we are pretty much alone. I roll over onto my stomach and feel around on the sand for the sun cream.  Drenching my legs in factor 15, I catch Oliver shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

‘What?’ I ask, rubbing the shiny lotion into my skin.

‘You’re going to burn.’ He throws me a bottle of thick, chalky cream.

I stare at the factor 50 with revulsion. ‘No chance. I am going home bronzed if it kills me.’

‘Well, if you use that, it just might.’

Carrying on regardless, I take a quick snap of my glistening hot dog legs on my phone and send it to Lianna. Why do you get so much pleasure from knowing someone is turning green with envy? Popping my phone back into my beach bag, I drain my glass and roll off the lounger.

‘Fancy a dip?’ I ask, not waiting for an answer as I run towards the sea.

Despite my head start, Oliver soon catches up to me and dives head first into the water. I watch him splashing around and enjoy the waves washing over my feet.  We might have only been here for a few hours, but I already feel sad at the thought of having to leave. I am about to wade in when a flash of silver catches my attention. Taking a few steps forward, I notice that we are surrounded by stunning, metallic fish.

Lifting my sunnies to get a closer look, I am shocked to see that there are hundreds of them. Not knowing quite how I feel about being mad dogged by a shoal of tropical fish, I decide to go back to the safety of my lounger when the world biggest wave knocks me off my feet. Flailing around trying to regain my balance, my heart almost stops when I feel a flapping between my legs. I attempt to scream, but succeed only in swallowing a mouthful of salty sea water. Just as I am convinced that I am going to die, I am lifted out of the water and dropped down in a heap on the sand.

‘What the hell just happened? Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?’ Oliver moves my hair off my face and smiles sympathetically.

Coughing and spluttering, I try to find my voice. ‘Of course I can swim! It was the fish!’

‘What about the fish?’ He stares at me incredulously.

‘I just didn’t know they would be there.’ I push myself to my feet and readjust my swimsuit to avoid an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction.

‘Wait a minute. You didn’t know there are fish in the sea?’ He laughs loudly and I try not to be offended.

Suddenly feeling rather stupid, I brush myself down and slip on my sunglasses. Spotting the beach waiter carrying a tray of yummy looking cocktails, I decide there is only one thing for it.

‘Another margarita?’ 

By the time the sun goes down, we have drank our weight in tequila, got acquainted with the fish (sort of) and booked dinner reservations for Gee Gee’s, a dainty restaurant on the sea front. After a tour of the many, many beach bars, we tumble back into our room and collapse onto the bed in a ball of laughter. Pulling off his shirt, Oliver flicks on the TV and stretches out onto the soft sheets.

‘How about we forget the reservation and call for room service?’ He sinks down into the feather pillows and lets out a big yawn.

‘No chance, Mr!’ I peel off my damp swimsuit and toss it on the floor. ‘You’ve got one hour.’

Fuelled by alcohol, I make my way into the bathroom and jump into the ridiculous double shower, marvelling at the many mini toiletries. As the water pummels into my back, I wince at the sting. Ouch. Maybe I have caught the sun a little. Once I have washed the sand and seaweed out of my hair and gave my face a good steam, I wrap myself in a teeny towel and wipe the condensation from the mirror.

‘Um, Oliver?’ I shout, peering at my red or rather purple reflection.

‘What is it?’ His voice sounds sleepy and I pray to God that he hasn’t fallen asleep.

‘Could you please bring me the aloe vera?’ Convincing myself that it is just the bad lighting, I grab a hand mirror and shuffle out onto the balcony.

OK, so it definitely is not the lighting. Not wanting to get a big ‘I told you so’ from Oliver, I try sneaking back into the bedroom without him noticing.

‘Jesus Christ, Clara!’ Oliver stops me dead in my tracks and I spin around to face him.

‘It’s not that bad.’ I insist, trying to play it down. ‘And anyway, I always go red before I go brown.’ Taking the aloe vera from him, I stomp into the bedroom and slam the door.

‘That’s gonna hurt in the morning.’ Oliver’s voice comes through the wall and I choose to ignore him.

After using almost the entire tub, I whack up the air conditioning in the hope that the cold air will reduce the redness. Slipping on a simple, royal blue maxi dress, I apply the teeniest amount of mascara and lip gloss, before finishing with a quick spray of DKNY. Not having to wear a full face of make-up is one of the best things about a beach holiday. Foundation and eye liner do not mix well with thirty degree heat. I first discovered this on a girls break to Ibiza with Lianna, when three hours worth of make-up melted in less than five minutes, leaving us more Freddie Kruger than Holly Valance.

In all of today’s excitement, I have totally forgotten why we are out here - the big meet the parents. I don’t really know much about Oliver’s parents. All he has said is that his mother, Janie works at an estate agent and his father, Randy is a used car salesman. I am actually really looking forward to meeting them. I have five whole days of spa treatments and lunches booked to win over his mum and I am sure his dad will be easy enough to impress. Right now, however, my sole concern is a romantic sea front meal with my very handsome boyfriend.

‘Are you ready?’ I yell, poking my head into the living area, half expecting him to be snoring.

‘Yes, I am.’ Oliver holds open the door and ushers me out into the hallway.

‘I thought we could try the Martini Lounge first, is that OK?’

‘It most certainly is.’

Two espresso Martinis and a delicious mahi mahi appetiser later, I am patiently waiting for my main course when Oliver first brings it up.

‘Just so you know, my mom can be a bit of a handful.’ He laughs and dips a nacho into the mound of guacamole.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, trying not to give in to the nachos.

‘She’s just not the stereotypical, cookie cutter mom, that’s all.’ Oliver’s eyes crease into a smile and I try to not to be too concerned. ‘Don’t be worried.’

Not quite knowing how to respond, I sip my drink quietly. The momentum of today’s activities is beginning to dawn on me and I am feeling rather sleepy.

‘Hola!’ Brenda, our very happy waitress presents us with our meals, along with the obligatory shot of tequila.

As Oliver talks animatedly with the waitress, I can’t help but wonder what he meant about his mum. Not having the energy to delve into the subject right now, I decide to push it to the back of my mind. Anyway, there’s no point worrying about it now. Monster in law or not, she will be here in forty eight hours and there isn’t anything I can do about it.

‘To us.’ Oliver’s voice snaps me out of my daydream.

Holding up the glittery, gold liquid, he gives me gives me a little wink and motions to my shot glass.

‘Haven’t we had enough tequila for one day?’ I ask, picking it up reluctantly.

‘We’re in Mexico! You can never have too much tequila in Mexico.’

We happily clink our glasses together and I down it in one, spluttering as Oliver chokes at the industrial strength alcohol.

‘Oh, I thought you could never have too much tequila?’ I tease and tuck into my enchiladas.

He stares at me for a moment and takes a sip of water. ‘How amazing is this?’

‘The enchiladas? Really amazing.’ I nod in approval and take another huge mouthful.

‘I’m not talking about the enchiladas.’ Oliver takes my hand in his. ‘I’m talking about this.’ He motions to the beach.

Putting down my fork, I have a look around and for the first time that night, really take in my surroundings. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the restaurant, we are totally secluded from the rest of the guests. A tiny, flickering candle in the centre of the table provides the only light and the gentle sound of the waves lapping softly against the shore makes me feel a million miles from home. I try to take a mental photograph. In just a matter of days, this will all be a mere memory.

‘Pretty amazing and this is only day one. We have many more to fill with sun, sea and sand.’ Not being able to reach him over the table, I blow him a kiss and turn my attention back to my food.

‘Sun, sea and sand?’ Oliver’s eyes glint wickedly as he picks up his glass. ‘You sure about that last one?’