The Longest Holiday

  ‘Slow down, Laura, my heels are killing me!’ Marty shouts a short while later.

  I reluctantly drag my feet.

  ‘You in some kind of rush?’ Rick asks, keeping step with me.

  ‘I’m just tired,’ I reply a touch grumpily as the others erupt into drunken laughter about who knows what. ‘I want my bed. I’ve never wanted to sleep on a horrible single blow-up mattress so much in my life,’ I add, making sure I’m not implying that I’d like him to join me.

  ‘You can’t go to bed yet.’ He brushes me off. ‘It’s not even midnight.’

  ‘Yes, I can. I’m shattered and still feeling jet-lagged.’

  He doesn’t get it. He’s never travelled outside America, so he won’t understand the effect time, distance and travel can have on your body clock. I’ve used small talk as my defence tactic all evening, so I know quite a bit about him: he’s only twenty-five – four years younger than me – and he’s from Connecticut. He went to university in Chicago and learned to jet-ski on the Great Lakes. He’s lived and played there ever since. He doesn’t seem like the type to have had to work hard for a living. But maybe I’m misjudging him.

  ‘Tom and I are just going to go and grab a few beers from his room!’ Marty calls when we reach the hotel. They hurry off, and I can hear Marty trying to stifle her laughter. I doubt she’ll be back anytime soon.

  ‘Come and see inside our apartment,’ Bridget suggests with a raised eyebrow, pulling Carl through the door.

  A moment later I hear the muffled sound of them snogging the faces off each other, only to be replaced by their feet on the spiral staircase.

  I could actually cry. I just want to go to sleep. I turn with dismay to see Rick staring at me in the darkness, a smile playing around his lips.

  Oh, fuck off.

  I stomp to the swinging chair and climb into it, crossing my legs – and my arms. Back off, buster.

  ‘Is there room for a little one?’ He nods at the small space next to me.

  ‘You’re not little,’ I say.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he murmurs in what he thinks is a sexy voice as he ambles closer.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m really tired,’ I say and stretch out before he gets any ideas. I’ve been polite to him all evening, but even a slug would have flirted more. How can he not have got the message?

  His face falls slightly, then he laughs and tries to budge me over. ‘You’re funny,’ he says.

  ‘I’m serious,’ I reply, stiffening up and holding my own. ‘Sit on one of those chairs.’ I point at the two by the coffee table.

  He falters. He still doesn’t know if I’m joking. I hear Bridget gasp from inside and he grins at me. Oh, his confidence. It really is something. Suddenly he scoops me up and collapses down on the swinging chair, pulling me onto his lap.

  ‘That’s better,’ he says laughingly as I feel his erection pressing into my backside. When the hell did he get that? I scramble off him in shock.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ I squawk, my voice going up an octave. ‘I told you, I just want to go to bed!’

  He’ll probably take that the wrong way, too, I think hotly as I storm off towards the steps. I jog down them and hurry around to the pool, which is dimly lit by lights under the palm trees. There’s a gate at the far end and I push through it, finding myself in the car park. I hurry across it and out onto the road. I turn right and walk past a restaurant, which is dark inside, the lights turned off, and then I lean up against the wall and take a deep breath.

  I’ll go back and rest on a sunlounger in a while, but I want to make sure he’s buggered off, first. Why didn’t I simply tell him I wasn’t interested in so many words instead of saying ‘I just want to go to bed’? I may have drunk water for the last couple of hours, but I’m still not thinking straight.

  A dog barks near the fence and I jump. I hear a man call, ‘MAX!’ and whistle to the dog. Out of the blue I realise where I am. Peering through the leaves of a tree, I see the unkempt garden. The sofa and armchairs are empty. The dog continues to bark and I decide to walk on before I’m spotted, but when I turn I bash straight into someone.

  I gasp as two hands steady me, and then I’m looking up into Leo’s dark eyes, my heart pounding wildly.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks accusingly, and I think he recognises me, but I can’t be sure.

  ‘I . . . I . . . I’m staying at the hotel.’

  More barking. I hear the man again shout: ‘Max!’

  ‘It’s okay!’ Leo shouts back. ‘It’s just me!’

  I glance through the leaves to see Jorge on the other side of the garden, near the house. He whistles once more and this time I see the sleek brown figure of a dog run towards him. He bends down and pats the dog. ‘Where are you?’ he calls to Leo.

  ‘Out here,’ he calls back, and then he looks down at me and I realise that his hands are still on my arms. He lets go abruptly, leaving a searing heat behind.

  ‘Go back to your hotel,’ he says firmly. ‘You shouldn’t be out here alone.’

  He turns to walk away, but I find myself blurting out: ‘I can’t!’

  His brow is furrowed with annoyance. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t go back there,’ I mutter with embarrassment.

  ‘Why not?’ he repeats, more insistently this time. I have a feeling he doesn’t suffer fools lightly.

  ‘My friends are . . .’ My voice trails off.

  ‘Where’s your boyfriend?’ he asks bluntly.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t . . . He’s not my boyfriend,’ I tell him.

  He holds my stare, his body partly turned towards the gate, half staying, half going.

  ‘I . . . I’m trying to avoid him.’

  Now he looks interested. ‘Why?’

  ‘He wants . . .’ Again I let my words trail off. ‘But I don’t want to.’

  ‘Aah.’ The way he says it, so knowing. He turns his body back to face me, crossing his arms. ‘So you’re hiding from him.’

  I don’t reply, but he knows.

  ‘Leo! Where are you, man?’

  Jorge.

  ‘I’m coming!’ he snaps back sharply. ‘This way,’ he says to me, jerking his head in the direction of the garden.

  My foot instinctively lifts to step towards him. What the hell am I doing? ‘Where?’ I ask, faltering slightly on the pavement.

  ‘You can’t hide out here,’ he calls over his shoulder, reaching down for the gate. He holds it open for me, and, taken aback by my own willingness to follow him, I find myself stepping through. Marty would kill me if she knew where I was right now. She’d think I’d lost my mind. Maybe I have. But I don’t care. She has other things on her mind, after all.

  I pause by the gate as Leo closes it, and then I follow him into the garden. It looks even more of a mess from down here, with its broken statues and rubbish claimed by overgrown grass.

  ‘There you are!’ Jorge exclaims from the porch, and then his mouth falls open when I step out from behind Leo. His brow furrows as he scrutinises me, trying to place me.

  ‘Take a seat.’ Leo directs me to the beaten-up sofa. ‘You want a beer?’ he asks, heading towards the house.

  ‘Sure,’ I reply uncertainly. So much for not drinking tonight. I sit down on the sofa, trying not to pay attention to Jorge’s confused look as he mouths, ‘What the . . .?’ to his friend. Out of the corner of my eye I see Leo shrug and bend down to flick on a switch. I’m instantly bathed in a glow of light as the lanterns and rope lights come on.

  Leo soon returns, cracking open a bottle of beer and handing it to me. He slumps in the armchair opposite and lights up a cigar. Jorge appears a moment later.

  ‘So . . .’ Jorge says. ‘You’re hiding from your boyfriend?’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I reiterate.

  He grins and collapses onto the other armchair, leaving me alone on the sofa. I wonder where the girl and the other man are tonight.

  ‘It was you snorkelling yesterday, wasn’
t it?’ he checks.

  ‘Yes, that was me,’ I reply.

  ‘You’re doing the course on Monday, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I confirm with a nod. I’m wearing a tight black top and skinny white jeans. I applied quite heavy make-up tonight, and I hope my eyes are still looking smoky and not smudged to hell. I certainly look different to the hungover, bare-faced girl who went snorkelling. No wonder he couldn’t place me at first. ‘I wouldn’t have come in here if I didn’t know who you were,’ I add pointedly, but I’m not actually convinced. I’d follow Mr Beautiful anywhere, I think with a smirk to myself, knowing I’m being ridiculous.

  ‘So what happened with your guy?’ Jorge asks with amusement, settling back into his chair and crossing one knee over the other. Leo watches me through the trail of his cigar smoke and I have to focus on concentrating.

  ‘He was getting a little too amorous for my liking,’ I reply, and Jorge chuckles and flashes his mate a look. Leo raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t take his eyes from mine. I feel myself flushing. I really need to learn to control my reactions to this man before I start my scuba-diving course next week.

  ‘I’m Laura,’ I find myself telling them.

  ‘Jorge,’ Jorge replies. ‘And Leo,’ he adds, pointing at his friend.

  ‘I know.’ I take a sip of my beer and glance at Leo’s legs. They’re long and tanned, the hairs on them dark. He’s wearing shorts again, navy blue this time, with a white T-shirt.

  I hear the clunk of the gate latch and Leo lazily turns around. I follow the line of his sight to see the girl from the other night, followed by the third man, wander into the garden.

  ‘Who’s she?’ Those are her first words. And she doesn’t sound pleased. All my hackles rise.

  ‘Laura,’ Leo tells her calmly, puffing on his cigar before unhurriedly stubbing it out in an ashtray.

  ‘Laura, this is Carmen,’ Jorge says more affably. ‘Carmen’s my sister,’ he explains to me.

  ‘Hi,’ I say warily, because her expression is far from friendly.

  ‘And that’s Eric,’ Jorge adds, nodding at the shaved-headed man behind her. He nods at me, but doesn’t say anything. He’s lighter-skinned than the others, not of Latin or Hispanic heritage, at a guess.

  ‘Laura is staying at the hotel next door,’ Jorge explains.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ the girl bites back. She looks older than she did from the sundeck, in her late thirties perhaps. She’s wearing a white vest and a colourful flowing skirt, and her long dark hair comes to halfway down her back. Up close, she’s not as beautiful, her face more lined and weather-burned, but you can tell she was a stunner once.

  ‘Chill, Carmen,’ Jorge says calmly. ‘She’s doing a PADI course on Monday.’

  ‘That still hasn’t answered my question.’

  ‘I should probably get going, anyway,’ I say edgily, standing up and ignoring Leo’s eyes on me.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Jorge asks. ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I think the coast will be clear. Thanks for hiding me,’ I add, Carmen’s angry stance making my smile waver.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I mutter as I walk past her. She doesn’t step aside for me, so I have to squeeze past yet another scratchy palm tree.

  ‘Rude.’ I hear Jorge berating her with this single word as I exit the gate. I don’t hear her reply – maybe she doesn’t even bother to give him one.

  I’m back within the hotel grounds before I remember Rick. I haven’t been gone long and he might still be lingering. I don’t want to risk bumping into him again. I despondently eye the sun-loungers, wondering which one will do for my bed tonight.

  By the time Monday rolls around, Marty and Bridget are back to their normal perky selves. Friday and Saturday were a washout – they were feeling so flat about Tom and Carl leaving that they didn’t even notice that I was annoyed with them for failing to consider me while they got their rocks off. Last night we went to a movie, and now we’re feeling refreshed and ready to learn how to dive. I’m so excited I can barely breathe.

  Matthew has tried to call me, but I diverted his call. I’m becoming quite efficient at putting him out of my mind. My head is still full of a certain someone, and for now I intend to embrace that distraction, thank you very much.

  Leo . . . Where’s he from? He has an American accent, but is olive-skinned like Jorge. Is he Spanish? Mexican? Cuban? I remember his dark eyes regarding me through the trail of his cigar smoke and I sigh and look out of the window.

  We pass a church with a billboard out in front. The message reads:

  God says, don’t wait for

  the storm to pass;

  learn to dance in the rain.

  I’m not overly religious, but I like the sentiment. I’m not learning to dance, but I wonder if scuba-diving counts.

  Three hours later, I’m feeling substantially less enthusiastic. We’ve been sitting in a muggy classroom, and Leo is nowhere to be seen. I daren’t ask Jorge about him, and I’m certainly not going to ask Tegan, the redhead in the office, who seems to be helping out. The promise of a dive in the swimming pool after lunch has been dangled in front of us all morning, but even Marty and Bridget seem a bit fed up.

  We head to the Tiki Bar for lunch, and my heart sinks when there’s still no sign of Leo. I feel pathetic as I repeatedly scan the joint.

  Afterwards, we go into the dive centre to try on wetsuits. Tegan has a good eye, and manages to choose each of us a perfectly fitting wetsuit, first time. We carry our equipment out to the swimming pool and sit on the edge, with our feet dangling in the water to keep cool. Thankfully, the wetsuits are short-sleeved, because full-length wetsuits would be pretty unbearable in this heat. Jorge appears after a little while and instructs us to put on all our equipment. He gave me a knowing wink when we arrived this morning, but hasn’t mentioned the other night. I still haven’t told Marty and Bridget about it. I was sure they’d give me hell for going into some strangers’ garden, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with it, even though I knew I could give it back tenfold.

  Jorge watches me connect my air tank to my jacket, to make sure I’m doing it right, but he seems pre-occupied, looking over his shoulder.

  I can stand the suspense no longer. ‘Is Leo still coming?’

  ‘He’d better be,’ he mutters, and steps away from me, his shoulders slumping.

  Just then a battered-up old white hatchback pulls off the road into the car park.

  ‘Right on cue,’ he says under his breath, as Leo climbs out of the car. ‘No rush!’ Jorge shouts with sarcasm. Leo gives him a dark look, but doesn’t reply as he gets a black bag out of the boot and heads into the dive centre. Jorge moves on to help Bridget with her equipment, and I try to look busy for when Leo comes back. My mind is racing and I inwardly berate myself. Get a grip. I know I need a distraction, but this is silly.

  I shrug on my jacket – otherwise known as my BCD: Buoyance Control Device. The air tank is attached to it. I thought my weight belt was heavy . . .

  ‘Check your buddy’s equipment,’ Jorge instructs us.

  Marty, Bridget and I turn to each other.

  Scuba-diving operates under a buddy system, which means ideally a pair of divers – sometimes three – of similar experience diving together, looking out for each other, and staying close by underwater so they can offer assistance if someone’s air runs out or anything else goes wrong. There’s another couple on the course with us – a guy and a girl in their early twenties called Ted and Monica – so naturally they’re buddying each other, which leaves the three of us. Bridget, Marty and I take turns to check that each other’s scuba tank is securely fitted to their BCD, and then we scrutinise the air gauges to make sure our tanks are full. Jorge barks out instructions so we don’t forget anything.

  ‘When you’re ready, you can get in the water,’ Jorge says, moving past us to the steps. ‘I hope you’ve remembered to inflate your BCDs!’

  I press the button to in
flate my jacket, then pull my mask down over my eyes and breathe through my mouthpiece. At that moment I see Leo sauntering out of the dive centre in a black half-body wetsuit, carrying his BCD and fins.

  One thing’s for sure: he looks a darn sight better than I do. I force myself to stop gawking and try to concentrate on the steps.

  ‘Laura, you’re using up your air. Breathe through your snorkel until you’re ready to go under,’ Jorge commands.

  By now I’m in the water, and my BCD is acting like a life jacket. The cool water of the pool seeps into my wetsuit and it’s a welcome relief, although I know the trapped water will soon warm up.

  I swap my snorkel again for my mouthpiece and tentatively deflate my BCD. My breathing quickens as I sink underwater. It’s such a weird sensation being able to breathe like this. We’re given time to practise and get used to our equipment. I attempt to go into deeper water, but sink too quickly and forget to pinch my nose to expel the air from my ears. The sharp pain takes me by surprise. I panic slightly, trying to find the button to re-inflate my jacket, and then Leo appears in front of me. He re-inflates my jacket and the pain disappears.

  ‘Okay?’ he asks as I resurface.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply with embarrassment. ‘I forgot to equalise my ears.’

  ‘Try again.’

  This time I go more slowly, pinching my nose and blowing to force the air out of my ear canal as I sink to the depths of the pool. I kneel on the bottom and Leo kneels opposite, giving me the okay sign. It’s the sign scuba-divers use most often as part of the buddy system. I return it and try not to smile. This is so cool, resting here on the bottom of the pool. I look around and see my friends experimenting with their buoyancy. Leo makes the sign with his hands to encourage me to level out. Jorge has told us we need to find the point where we’re not sinking to the bottom, but rather hovering above it. We don’t want to be damaging the coral when we’re out in open water. I push the button to inflate my air, but start to rise too quickly. I deflate again and sink back down. Leo pinches his nose to remind me to equalise. I keep leaning slightly to my left, my weights pulling me that way, and it’s awkward. He notices and points towards the shallow end. We swim side by side before resurfacing.