Excess Baggage (25 page)

No-one wanted to risk going out either (‘We don’t advise it’ said the management when asked), in case the hurricane unexpectedly speeded up its progress and hit the island early. Not that there was anywhere to go; Teignmouth, it was reported, was as deserted as central Manchester on Cup Final day. Even the shops in the precinct across the main road from the hotel were now closed. The small supermarket was boarded up and the pizza café had its metal shutters down. The cab drivers who usually touted vociferously for trade outside the hotel had decamped, and even those who had baulked at the idea of handing back their hire cars had changed their minds for fear of ending up liable
for
new bodywork if a tree should happen to fall across the bonnet.

Eerily, there was no clue in the weather that this day would be different from any other: the sky was almost brazenly clear and blue and the only wind came in small sharp provocative bursts, rustling through the leaves and making everyone look up nervously as if they might need suddenly to leap off the sunloungers and race for cover.

Becky was bored and tetchy by mid-morning. If she sat still she felt sticky and hot, even in the shade, and was sure she was becoming a carefully selected target for bugs to bite. Simon offered to play tennis with her but just the thought of hurtling around the court made her feel her breath was running short. And if she felt like that, how much more of a risk was it for her father, whose blue linen shirt was patterned with abstract splodges of sweat? He could end up dead. She wandered along the beach to the furthest headland and thought about swimming out into the ocean beyond the point where she could hear voices wittering on about whether they were all destined to drown, be killed by falling trees or starve to death in the storm’s aftermath. If they’d only all stop going
on
. It was only going to be for a few hours and then they could all get back to normal. She could hardly bloody wait. Glenda wouldn’t let anyone take jet skis or sailing boats out either, because she’d got them all safely stowed away under the big awning next to the dive shop. Luke and Tom had been to see if they could sneak out a couple of pedalos, but Glenda had showed them how securely they were all tied down and told them quite sharply that if anyone was going to be allowed special dispensation, it certainly wouldn’t be them, not with their track record.

‘Bored, sweetie?’ Ethan appeared very close to Becky, silently and unexpectedly as if beamed down from space. She moved away a bit and took a good cool look at him. His eyes were only just above the level of her own but his shoulders were broad enough to block out the sun. She still couldn’t decide if he was really fanciable, though he was decidedly more fanciable than anyone else in the immediate vicinity. And there was nothing to do.

‘You been to that beach round there?’ He indicated the strip of land just beyond the hotel’s boundaries. ‘It’s for nudists.’ He grinned at her. ‘All the Germans like it, and the Swedes and Danes. Never seen no Brits there though.’

It sounded like a challenge. Becky felt confused. Why would he want to see her with her clothes off
now
? He’d had a chance to see her body that other night. The night of the boring, stupid, tedious blow job. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, been so selfish and greedy, he could have had a good look at her all spread out on the sand in the moonlight. He could have flipped her over and back, played around with her, done almost anything he wanted. Perhaps he just wanted the chance to take his own clothes off and do some boastful displaying, especially in front of pasty, under-endowed Europeans.

‘Yeah, all right then, let’s go.’ Even to her own ears, she sounded bored. She wondered vaguely how long it would take for the white bands of her body, where her bikini had guarded her skin, to catch up with the tanned bits, and if the contrast would look silly exposed to the sun.

He grinned even more broadly. ‘
OK!
’ he shouted, punching the air as if he’d won something special.

‘What’s the big deal?’ She was suspicious. Perhaps
he’d
only asked her for some kind of bet, or a dare. She glanced round to see if he’d got a sniggering posse of mates hanging about in the background. She couldn’t see anyone.

Ethan shimmied up close to her and nuzzled her neck. ‘The big deal, baby, is that you’re gorgeous.’

Becky shrugged him off and started to stroll towards the far beach.

‘You mean you’ve got nothing else to do,’ she told him. ‘You should bring more of your stock with you. There’s all these potential buyers hanging around who’d be desperate to part with their cash for your jewellery. You’re wasting a great marketing opportunity.’

His eyes were glinting at her. ‘I ain’t wasting nothing, babe, don’t you worry.’

Lucy quite liked the enforced inactivity. Although sure that she had a lot of major back-home decisions to consider (where to live, how to afford it, and then what to do about Colette’s dull-girly school?) she did feel they could legitimately be postponed at least till after the storm. She and Plum sat side by side on loungers by the pool, reading. Lucy had found a selection of ancient Agatha Christie paperbacks on a shelf in the games room and was savouring the almost sinful indulgence of working her way through a snug country-house murder starring Miss Marple. Plum preferred Hercule Poirot and was deep into
Death on the Nile
.

‘It’s never really the butler who did it, is it?’ Lucy commented.

‘Certainly not. The lower orders knew their place!’ Plum agreed. ‘Though possibly the butler
might
have done it, if he was really the long-lost adopted son in disguise.’

It was an odd, antiquated notion, Lucy thought, ‘knowing one’s place’. It implied you really hadn’t any choice about where it was. That could be comfortable, just as she was now, lazy on a cushioned lounger knowing she couldn’t even leave the hotel area – so
this
, in the literal location sense, had to be her place. It also meant that you had few tricky choices to make in life, less chance to get things completely screwed up by pitching your aim too far outside your allotted circle. Henry had said she should trust her instincts more to choose what she wanted and believe it was for the best. ‘Ask yourself,’ he’d said as she mopped away her embarrassing tears the night before, ‘who is this mythical Other Person you’re trying to please?’ She hadn’t been aware there was anyone, but even as his words were out, she saw, in her mind, her family gathered in a group like a wedding photo, staring and smiling at her, persuading her to Be Like Them.

‘I
do
please myself,’ she’d told Henry. ‘I get positively
accused
of it. I’m told I’m selfish quite often, so I assume I must be. Though,’ she’d paused to think, ‘I don’t know what’s so selfish about raising a child by yourself, or about not getting married to some safe but unlovely man just for the sake of a suburban town-house, or about not giving up a job you like just so you can wear a smart on-the-knee skirt in an office and have your mother proudly tell her neighbours that you’re some old sod’s secretary.’

‘You’re right. We’re the same, I don’t want to wear a skirt either,’ he’d agreed. That was just before he’d kissed her, which she certainly hadn’t expected, not after the night of the unrequired condoms. And of course that had been exactly the moment she’d been reminded that there was more than herself to think about: you couldn’t lose yourself in a moment of
passion
when your child is giggling with her friend in the next room.

‘Trusting my instincts will have to wait,’ she’d said, reluctantly pulling away from Henry.

‘For now maybe, but there’s time.’

‘Not much of it.’

‘Like I said, there’s as much as you make.’

‘Plum,’ Lucy said now, ‘have you ever thought your life might have been completely different from how it is? I mean if you’d made other choices?’

Plum looked at her. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘But do you think it might have been loads better?’

Plum frowned. ‘If you’re trying to get me to tell you I think Simon was one of life’s consolation prizes then you’re going to be disappointed. I rather like him, actually. And I like my job, which I rather think I should have stayed at home and got on with, not lazed about here. Anyway,’ she yawned and stretched to emphasize her point, ‘think of the sheer bloody upheaval of buggering off to start something else. It’d have to be severely worth it.’

‘But suppose it was.’

Plum shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be.’

Lucy closed her eyes. The brightness of the sun left the back of her eyelids shining brilliant pink for a moment. When she opened them again, Shirley was standing in front of her.

‘I’ve just seen Becky wandering off with that beach trader,’ she said to Plum. ‘Don’t you think you should go and see if she’s all right?’

Plum smiled lazily. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll come to any harm,’ she said. ‘After all, she can’t go far.’

‘It depends what you mean by far,’ Shirley said dourly, parking herself on a lounger next to Lucy. ‘Girls
need
watching.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘You wait till it’s Colette.’

Lucy looked up at her and smiled. ‘I will, thank you. I’ll do just that. I’ll wait.’

Becky didn’t mind stripping off her bikini, or at least she wasn’t going to let Ethan think it was any kind of big deal. They’d chosen a secluded spot high up the beach in a patch of sun between clumps of trees. There were quite a lot of people below them closer to the shore, though as they’d walked past she hadn’t heard any English voices. Ethan didn’t seem to be about to remove any clothes. Becky was surprised but didn’t comment, determined not to express anything other than mild blasé boredom. She put on her sunglasses, spread out her sarong on the sand and sat on it, staring at the naked bodies down by the sea. It seemed strange how different they could look, simply by discarding a few square inches of swimwear. There were a few prune-fleshed elderly folk, but most of the beach’s occupants looked as if they spent a lot of leisure time in the gym. There was a predominance of fair-haired men with extra-long limbs and torsos, giving the impression that their heads had stopped growing quite a long time before the rest of them. They reminded Becky of professional tennis players. Even the young women seemed to be built like Steffi Graf, all muscle and sinew. But then, she supposed, no-one would want to show off a mottled, dimpled backside, even if you did think a tan would improve things. A group of the more active people were playing volleyball which, she thought, involved a rather unnecessary amount of stretching and leaping and rolling about. Perhaps, for some people, being naked brought on an attack of true exhibitionism. As far as she was concerned they might
at
least have the manners to keep their flesh still. She lay down on the sand and closed her eyes.

‘You want me to rub on some lotion?’ Ethan’s shadow was blocking out the sun.

‘If you want to. It’s in the bag.’

She rolled over onto her front. Ethan knelt across her and started massaging the factor 10 into her shoulders. ‘No-one can see us up here by the trees,’ he said as he smoothed the lotion into her body. He was good at it. Becky felt as if her insides were melting away like a warmed choc ice. If he’d only done some of this the other night …

‘Hello Becky. Didn’t expect to see you here.’ She hauled herself up instantly, throwing Ethan onto the sand. Mark was standing above them, carrying a bottle of Carib beer and still wearing shorts and a shirt, which, she felt, was definitely cheating. He was grinning down at her and she pulled the sarong across her body.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ she spat at him.

‘Same as you. Enjoying the beach. Some nice views here, some not so.’

‘You’re overdressed,’ she snapped. ‘And where’s Theresa?’

‘Who knows or cares?’ He started to remove his shirt. ‘Can I join you?’

‘No! Stop! Mark, this isn’t … Just go away will you?’ He was drunk.

‘Yeah, man. We need, like, some privacy.’ Ethan lit a spliff and Becky glared.

‘Oh, great. Pass that round.’ Mark sat down next to Becky. Ethan handed him the joint and he inhaled deeply. ‘Haven’t had any of this for a while. Should do it more.’

‘No you shouldn’t. You’re old and you’ve got kids and stuff.’ If he’d just go
away
, Becky thought. Go away and not tell anyone.

‘Oh and that means I’m banned from all the fun?’ His head wheeled round to face her. It moved, she thought, as if it wasn’t really in control, as if it might loll off his neck.
That
drunk. That was good. It meant he wouldn’t tell anyone he’d seen her, in case she told as well.

‘So you’re the guy who sells narcotics and necklaces. I’ve heard about you.’

Ethan grinned. ‘You’ve heard good things?’

Mark thought for a moment and frowned. ‘Depends which way you look at it. I’ve heard you collect women by nationalities.’

‘Mark, what are you on about?’ Becky interrupted.

‘Yeah, you’ll like this, Becks. He has …’ Mark waved the joint in the direction of Ethan and then took another deep drag. ‘This bloke, your
boyfriend
here, has like one English girl and then, say, a Dane, then another English girl and then maybe a German and so on. English girls in between because they’re just so easy.’

‘Perhaps there’s just more of them,’ Becky suggested. She could see where this was leading. From her father she expected lectures to keep her in line. From Theresa, even, she wouldn’t be surprised at the odd criticism, but from Mark she expected only a stranger’s detachment. What she got up to simply wasn’t of any concern to him.

‘I never had an Italian one,’ Ethan cut in with a low laugh. ‘Been wanting Italian, would make almost a full set.’

Mark chuckled. Becky scowled: how sordid were these two?

‘So you see, Becky, you want to be careful.’ Mark was back on the theme. ‘Bloke puts it about like the supply of women’s about to run short, well, you could catch something.’

‘Not from me, man, I’m clean.’

Becky climbed back into her bikini, not looking at Mark in case he was looking at her. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of condoms, Mark? They’re what careful people use. Makes everything safe.’