All Inclusive (25 page)

‘Del, seriously,' he began, taking her arm and leading her away from the table towards the far side of the tamarind tree on the beach, out of range of the string of lamps hung from tree to tree. ‘I want a word.'

‘Why? Now what have I done?'

‘Nothing. At least I hope you haven't, not without being safe.' He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small folded square of foil. For a second she thought he was giving her his spliff supply.

‘Not without using one of these,' he went on, handing it to her and then gazing at the sand. If she didn't know him better she'd have sworn he was actually embarrassed. ‘What's . . . ? Oh!' She hadn't actually seen condoms before, not in their packaged form. Oliver Willis had done the mortifying thing of fumbling about with the crinkly wrapping that time they'd done it at his house (taking so long about it she was surprised he was still in a suitable state to apply it), and at school when they'd had the lesson about putting the condom on the Perspex willy, she'd managed not to have to do hands-on. Probably a mistake, that.

‘Just in case you
do
do something daft. Don't feel you have to, but if you do, then do it safe.'

‘Safe-
ly
,' she corrected him automatically, glancing back at the table where all the grown-ups were getting on the outside of yet more drinks. Were there no responsible adults? No, she decided, seeing Cynthia's hand sliding up her dad's leg and him trying to flick it off again, definitely not.

‘God I felt such a first-class tit!' Bradley was telling them as they all tucked into the barbecued jerk chicken, steaks, swordfish and spiced pork. His hands covered his face in mock shame. ‘But how was I supposed to know? Dolores comes into the treatment room and tells me to get undressed and says, “Take all your clothes off and put this on” and hands me this papery thing.'

‘Oh the paper pants?' Beth cut in. ‘Horrible aren't they? They disintegrate.'

‘Pants. Well I know
now
that they're pants,' Bradley said. ‘But the other time, back on Thursday, when I was in for a facial, she'd put a paper hat over my head, to keep the stuff off my hair, so you know, like, I thought. . . .' He groaned and took a long sip of his wine. ‘Anyway this afternoon, after a few minutes Dolores came back in and I'm lying there face up in all my naked glory and she does this great long shriek and runs out laughing, yelling to the world I've put paper knickers on my head.' Another groan, another slurp of wine. ‘I'll never live it down. I'll be hearing all those Haven harpies howling with laughter in my sleep for years to come!'

‘Sympathies, mate.' Len patted his shoulder and then winked at the others. ‘Mind you, you've got to ask yourself what she found so funny, know what I mean? Couldn't you even have managed to get a semi on just to be polite?'

‘Len!' Lesley prodded him hard, and glanced across at Delilah. ‘There are young folks present!'

‘Oi! It was cold in that room! My blood wasn't up.'

‘Not the only thing that wasn't!' Len hooted.

Beside her, Beth heard Delilah murmur ‘gross', but the girl was smiling. A good thing; she wouldn't expect to have produced a daughter who couldn't enjoy a bit of bawdy fun.

‘It's funny here, all these men getting beauty treatments,' Delilah said to Bradley. ‘I mean, Dad never does when we're at home. Do
you
?'

‘
Me?
' Bradley immediately looked, Beth thought, as if he'd rather saw off his own leg than undergo trial-by-beautician ever again. ‘No, never. It wouldn't occur to me, apart from the odd sports massage down at the gym, and even then only if I'd tweaked a muscle. I suppose we do it here because it comes with the
package, but I'm not likely to start hanging out down at the salon in the high street. Did you see that American guy, by the way?'

‘What, Fred Flintstone? Do you mean his nails?' Delilah said. ‘He's very proud of them! He's had them all done in different colours.'

‘That's OK for here,' Ned commented. ‘But how much do you bet that he doesn't have the nerve to travel home with them all like that?'

Ned shifted in his seat, feeling crowded. Cynthia might have sounded as if she was joking when she'd claimed him to sit beside her, but right now she was being touchy-feely under the tablecloth and making him edgy. How could she think he'd want this? And what if any minute Len, who was only a chair away, saw what she was up to? No way would he keep quiet – he'd make a big daft joke of it, shouting the odds about Cyn mauling the goods that someone else had bought. She was such a cool one – which he should have remembered from all those sessions in the back of the Audi down at Oxshott, especially the times she insisted on parking too close to the dog-walkers' route. ‘Give them something to talk about back home,' she'd joked. Except it probably wasn't a joke. At the same time as managing to carrying on idly chatting to Lesley and Beth, Cyn was kneading Ned's leg like a dough mix and letting her hand drift much too far north for comfort. He tried to move away a little. If she could just for a second loosen her grip, he'd be able to cross his legs and deny her access. Time it wrong and he'd have her hand trapped, smack up against his balls.

‘I might just go to the bar and get . . .' he began.

‘Oh you don't need to.' Cyn got in fast, looking into his face, all steely-eyed and calculating. ‘Jim's on his way over.'

Defeat. Or possibly not. He slid his hand down to cover hers, twisted her big diamond ring round and squeezed it tight. Very tight. There was a sharp squeak of pain from Cynthia and he let go. She withdrew her hand and rubbed her fingers. Mission, he prayed, accomplished.

Gina was a late arrival. She drifted over to their table carrying a large, ornate cocktail and wearing a floaty white combination of floppy trousers with a top that looked like several silk squares randomly sewn together for maximum drifting effect in the breeze.

‘Dolly is ailing,' she announced, sliding into the seat next to Beth. ‘She says to tell you all goodbye.'

There was a shocked hush for a moment, penetrated only by the insistent chirruping of tree frogs.

‘Oh Gina, I'm so sorry,' Beth said, taking her hand and feeling her eyes beginning to fill.

‘Hey, don't be! She's fine, truly. She's just angry with me because I won't let her call down to room service and demand a Cocksucking Cowboy.'

‘A
what
?' Cynthia spluttered. ‘I didn't see
that
in the brochure!'

‘It's a cocktail, apparently,' Gina explained. ‘But I won't have her talking dirty like that to the bar staff. If she wants to drown herself in booze, I told her, it's gotta be done ladylike. So I've disconnected the phone and come down myself to get her a Sea Breeze.'

‘Don't you want to stay and have some food while you're out?' Beth asked her. ‘It's really good, especially the chicken.'

‘Honey that's sweet of you, but I can't possibly eat barbie food while I'm wearing white! I'll grab something maybe later. Gotta get the drinks in – see you guys in a while!' She got up, flashed a smile round the table and walked over to the bar.

‘Beth, you're so
nice
and so
mumsy
,' Cynthia said. ‘There's her old mother dying alone up in her room and here's you, all concerned that Gina's missing a meal.'

Beth frowned, unsure how to take this. ‘I was only inviting her to join us. And only after she'd told us Dolly was OK. What's so mumsy about that? Gina must get lonely, always by herself.'

‘Gina! Lonely! Never knowingly short of company, I'd say.' Cynthia gave a hollow laugh.

Beth watched as Ned shifted uncomfortably. Sitting beside Cyn, he looked as if he was perched on broken glass; his left leg – closest to Cynthia – was crossed awkwardly away from her over his right. Body language, Beth wondered, how much can you tell from it? If she was the interpreting sort, she'd guess he was reacting negatively to what Cyn had just said. Very supportive of him, if so, very reassuring. It showed he was on her side – whether he was actively conscious of it or not. Nick, on the other hand, was leaning back in his seat with his hands clasped behind his head and gazing across at the bar, where Gina was sharing a joke with Jim the bartender. Beth watched as Nick's eyes narrowed, then, and she could sense the moment he made his decision, he got up from his seat and said casually, ‘If it's OK with you, I think I'll just give Gina a hand. She's got a lot to carry.'

‘That's true, most of it at the front,' Cynthia murmured nastily. Beth looked at her, watching her flick her fuchsia-pink nail up and down on the table. It was sad to see her so tetchy and dissatisfied. Something was bugging her – something to do with that lack of ‘fireworks' in her life that she'd talked about before, perhaps. Whatever it was, it had to be a bigger problem than being married to a very sweet man who mistakenly put paper pants on his head.

It was all going off on the stage. The drums were pounding away, building up an atmosphere of anticipation. The lights were dimmed, leaving only a red spotlight, flickering in time to the throbbing beat. Delilah threaded her way through the candlelit tables on her way back from the loo and waited behind a pillar to get a good view of the team of limbo dancers. There were six of them – five girls and one man – dressed in green and scarlet glittery costumes, barely more than strips of fabric edged with feathers and beads. The bare-chested man had a tall headdress of feathers trimmed with horn, and he wore a kind of raggy loincloth made of bead-trimmed chamois leather, reminding Delilah of the window-cleaner back home who always sneaked silently as a cat up his ladder early in the morning in the hope of catching her getting dressed. Not a picture you wanted with you when you're anticipating the sight of an exotic dance act, she decided, not fat Bill heavy-breathing at the top of his ladder, all sweaty and grinning through the glass, leering as he splattered sickeningly symbolic soapy water all over her windows.

‘You think you'd be any good at that? You should try it.' the voice of Sam was so close she could feel his soft breath on her neck and the swish of his beaded hair against her.

‘I couldn't do that. I don't have the muscles for it!' Delilah laughed, watching the taut-thighed lead dancer flexing herself gracefully beneath the bar. Behind her, Sam edged his hand hard up the length of her leg. ‘You feel fine to me, girl,' he said. ‘
Niiiiice
and tight.'

Delilah caught her breath. Suppose her parents saw? Her mum would go mental. Right on lousy cue, her
mosquito bites started to itch, exactly where Sam's hand had been. It was a sign – he'd definitely warmed her blood.

On the stage the drumbeat speeded up to frenzy level and the male dancer emerged from behind a screen, holding flaming torches. The limbo bar was now only inches from the floor, and, touched by the flames, had become a line of fire.

‘Is he mad?' she murmured to Sam. ‘It's too low!'

‘No – he does it every day. Don't you worry about him. Do you want to stay and watch?'

Or what? That was the question. Or go and have sex on the beach? Had to be. And did she want to? Yes and no, well yes and maybe.

‘I'll stay for a few minutes. 'Til this bit's over.' Delilah wondered what she was hesitating about. She touched the little foil square that was sharp-edged in her pocket. Maybe it was something to do with not wanting to look like a slag, like she was gagging for it. Boys, Kelly said, didn't like that really – they wanted to think you might not be quite in the mood, but that when you were (like twenty seconds into them snogging you, you were supposed to be gasping and squealing), it was all down to their stunning powers of sexual persuasion. ‘Makes them work at it' she'd said. Like she'd know.

‘Honey, I can wait. But not too long.' Sam stroked the bare flesh beneath the edge of her top and she felt her skin tingle. ‘See you later? I'll be waiting for you – just along the beach?'

And he'd gone. Off to do his job, mingling with the punters and jollying them along. He was good at it – every time he stopped to chat to someone he had them smiling, had the women give small touches to a piece of his sheeny skin, making each of them feel special,
like if he could choose any of them it would be
her
.

The dancer made it safely under the bar – of course he did. From the crazed applause, as Delilah made her way back towards the lamp-lit terrace and her parents' table, anyone would imagine he was a complete beginner and had never done it before. Ridiculous.

The music slowed and the feathered dancer invited volunteers to try their own luck with the limbo bar. Delilah stopped and watched as Lesley, cheered on by the others, leapt to her feet and started pushing her way between the tables towards the stage.

‘What about you, Delilah? Come on girl, give it a go with me!' Lesley called as she approached, reaching out to grab her hand. Other people around made encouraging noises. There was a danger of being kidnapped and hustled onto the stage, however much she protested. Absolutely not.

‘Um no – can't, sorry,' she said, wriggling out of Lesley's grasp. ‘I have to be somewhere. Meeting Nick,' she mumbled, turning and fleeing into the night.

‘Lesley? Are you all right?' Beth found Lesley halfway along the beach. Lesley was lying in the dark, flat out on a lounger to which she'd fled from the stage. Her hands were hiding her face and someone's abandoned beach towel was round her shoulders.

Beth pulled up another seat and sat beside her. ‘Don't take any notice of Cynthia, she's being a real bitch tonight. I don't know what's got into her this year. I do know it's something from home bugging her, nothing to do with you.'

‘I've never felt so fucking
humiliated
,' Lesley spluttered, wiping her tears with a corner of the Mango Experience tee shirt she'd just won for her limbo efforts, and blowing her nose on it noisily. ‘Why
did she have to say that? I know I made a twat of myself, falling over like that, but . . .'