A Proper Family Holiday (29 page)

First things first, Jack and Chelsea retired to their room and ransacked their cases to see what they already had. Jack had a pair of jogging bottoms that could be pushed up into knickerbockers. The fabric might not have been quite right, but it would give a good silhouette to build on, and Chelsea had a scarf she could tie round his waist to make a jaunty sash.

‘It’s got flowers on it,’ Jack complained.

‘Aladdin was so tough he could get away with wearing flowers,’ Chelsea assured him. ‘Hmm. You need a waistcoat.’

Perhaps the barman could be persuaded to part with his waistcoat for an afternoon? Chelsea suggested. He’d struck up quite a friendship with Granddad Bill. But before they took the step of asking him, they decided that his waistcoat wasn’t really going to be colourful enough.

‘I need something that goes with this scarf,’ said Jack. ‘Something red.’

‘I don’t think we’ve got anything red,’ said Chelsea.

‘This dress has got red in it.’

Jack fingered the Mebus dress Chelsea had worn on the flight out to Lanzarote. The dress that day by day was getting less and less likely to clean up properly, as the blackcurrant stain was well and truly baked in by the heat.

‘This is really colourful,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Chelsea, ‘but Aladdin doesn’t wear a dress. I suppose you could go as Scheherazade …’

‘Is that a girl?’

‘Yes. A very beautiful girl.’

‘I’m not going as a girl,’ said Jack flatly. ‘But you could make the dress into a waistcoat.’

‘How?’

‘With some scissors.’ Jack picked up the dress and made a snipping motion.

‘Jack, I can’t cut up this dress.’

‘Mummy cut up her dress when I had to be a king in the nativity play.’

‘I don’t suppose her dress was by Mebus.’

‘It was
velvet
,’ said Jack.

‘Yeah,’ said Chelsea. ‘That sounds nice, but, Jack, I still can’t cut up that dress. It doesn’t actually belong to me. Your costume will be OK without it. I assure you, it’ll be the best.’

‘It might not be,’ said Jack. ‘I might look rubbish. I look rubbish now.’

Chelsea adjusted Jack’s sash. He had a point. The more Chelsea looked at him, the more he looked as though he was wearing a pair of jogging bottoms with a scarf round his waist and a hand towel round his head. Jack’s face took on the expression of an unhappy spaniel.

‘This is important to you, isn’t it?’ said Chelsea.

‘We’ve got to beat Lily at something!’

‘We will. Her costume will be terrible, especially if her dad makes it. Men can’t sew,’ Chelsea said, though she of all people knew that was far from true. Male designers dominated fashion.

‘Lily’s costume won’t be terrible. I heard her saying that she won last year. Her dad sewed her a fairy costume with actual wings. She said she could fly and everything.’

‘She definitely couldn’t fly, Jack. She made that last bit up.’

‘She said it was true.’

‘Yes. And she said that I cheated in the potato and spoon race.’

‘That was true as well,’ Jack pointed out.

Chelsea picked up the dress from where it lay on the bed. It was a thing of beauty. The person who designed that dress certainly knew how to spin a fairy tale. It was cut so well that a horse would have looked good in it, but it was the fabric itself that was especially wonderful. There was something very exotic about it. Chelsea could see the fabric’s potential as well as Jack could. She fingered the stain, which had stiffened the silk. Chelsea could almost hear the fashion editor scream, ‘What are the chances of that mark coming out?’ She wondered for a moment whether her best tactic might be to say the dress had been stolen from her flat. No one need know that she’d worn it on holiday. The magazine’s insurance would cover it, wouldn’t it?

Jack was looking hopeful. Chelsea knew he thought she was softening.

‘We’ve got to find some scissors,’ he said.

‘I can’t do it, Jack.’

Chelsea replaced the dress on its hanger.

‘Then we’re going to lose,’ said Jack, as he ripped off his makeshift turban and sash. ‘Lily is going to win and then she’ll have won everything.’

‘Jack, that’s not necessarily the case.’

‘I don’t want to be in the competition any more. I don’t want to wear this stupid costume.’ Jack threw himself face down on his bed. ‘We’d only lose and I don’t want to be a loser any more.’

‘Jack.’ Chelsea put her hand on his back in an attempt to comfort him. She felt utterly helpless in the face of his disappointment. ‘Jack, there are all sorts of things we can do to make your costume better. We’ll go into the town, shall we? We might be able to find you a proper genie’s lamp.’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Jack.

‘We could find you a sword. I bet there’s a shop that sells swords.’

‘I don’t care. I just want to go and see Grandma.’

‘OK,’ Chelsea sighed. ‘Let’s go down to the pool.’

‘You don’t have to stay with me,’ he told her. ‘You can just drop me off. I don’t want to play with you.’

Chelsea’s mouth dropped open. It was the most hurtful thing that anyone had ever said to her. None of the occasions on which she had been dumped came close to this. Chelsea felt hollow to the pit of her stomach. Her darling nephew, Jack, didn’t want to hang out with her any more.

Chapter Forty-Three

Chelsea

Despite Jack’s protestations that he wasn’t interested in entering the competition any more, full stop, Chelsea decided she would find him that genie’s lamp anyway, just in case he changed his mind. The resort was full of gift shops. One of them was bound to stock something that looked like an old-fashioned oil lamp. It was exactly the kind of everyday object that could be fashioned into perfect tourist tat. Stick a scented candle where the oil used to be
et voilà
! Indeed, Chelsea found the perfect genie’s lamp within ten minutes of setting off on her expedition. She handed over her cash and the sales assistant wrapped it up. Chelsea was momentarily buoyed by the thought of Jack’s face when he opened it, but that feeling soon passed.

The holiday was almost over. This time next week, Chelsea would be back at her desk. She would be back in her real life. Despite herself, she had really started to enjoy being in Lanzarote. That was in no small part due to the time she had been spending with Jack, of course. He was so open-hearted, she couldn’t help but be uplifted. He took her mind off the way things were in London. She thought of the nightmare that lay ahead when she got back to Stockwell. She’d still be single and lonely. Her flat would still be too small. Her job would still be too badly paid given the stress that it caused her. She was especially dreading her first day back in the office. What was she going to do about the ruined dress?

As if the gods were out to punish her, at that exact moment, Chelsea received an email from the Carola at work.

Chelsea, have you seen a Mebus dress? Fifties style. Red print. Erica wants to take it on the cover shoot in Venice. She is going ballistic.

Chelsea did the only thing she could do. She pretended her mobile was not working.

She sat down on a bench in the middle of the boulevard and juggled her phone from hand to hand.

‘Hey! What’s a beautiful lady like you doing looking so sad?’

Chelsea looked up and around her. Was the man in the doorway talking to her?

‘Yes, I’m talking to you,’ he said, as if he could read her mind. ‘You can’t look like that in Lanzarote. You are on holiday.’

Chelsea gave him a wan smile, but this was her worst nightmare. Her English urge to be excessively polite even in the face of harassment was going to cause her trouble here. How could she get away quickly without talking to him and not seem chilly or rude? She started to stand up and gave a half-hearted wave that would, she hoped, conclude the interaction.

‘I’m not going to let someone as beautiful as you slip through my fingers so easily,’ the man said. ‘Come and have a Diet Coke with me. It’s cool in here.’ He gestured towards the inside of his shop, which as far as Chelsea could see was an ice-cream stand-cum-money exchange.

‘I’ve got to be somewhere,’ said Chelsea. There was something about this man she really didn’t like. There was definitely a very practised manner to his patter. She wondered how many times a day he trotted it out and how often he succeeded in persuading some poor cow to believe she truly was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. The idea that he thought she might be that gullible made Chelsea feel slightly sick. What with Jack’s disappointment and now this slimeball, this really was turning out to be a bad day.

‘You’re on holiday,’ the man persisted. ‘You don’t need to be anywhere fast.’ As Chelsea tried to walk by, he actually reached out and tried to take her arm.

‘I have to pick up my son from the Kidz Klub,’ Chelsea lied.

The man shrugged, but he did, thank God, seem put off by the idea that Chelsea was a mother. He disappeared into the gloom of his shop without another word, like a lizard slinking back into its hiding place.

Chelsea hurried to the poolside. She felt as though she had walked through a shadow that wouldn’t leave her. She needed the brightness of the pool. She wanted to hear children laughing, even if Jack was still in a sulk and affected not to notice her. Chelsea sat down by Sophie instead.

‘You all right?’ Sophie asked.

‘Some awful creepy guy tried to chat me up,’ said Chelsea.

Sophie nodded in sympathy.

‘What have you been up to today?’ Chelsea asked.

‘I was hanging out with a friend from the amusement arcade this morning. He asked me to go clubbing with him tonight, but Mum said I couldn’t. She says I’m too young.’

Chelsea clucked in sympathy. ‘I’m sure she’s only thinking of your safety.’

‘I’d be safe. I’d be with my friend. Plus, I can handle myself,’ said Sophie.

‘I bet you can,’ Chelsea agreed.

Nevertheless, the degree to which that man in the currency booth had unnerved her came back so vividly she felt her stomach lurch. Was this the time to tell Sophie that it can be far harder to get a man to back off than you imagine? Even in broad daylight, that slimeball had succeeded in making Chelsea feel vulnerable. It was as though a shark had brushed her leg in the children’s pool. Chelsea could only hope that Sophie did not attract the same kind of idiots. She was probably in some way safeguarded by the fact that she thought anyone over the age of eighteen was ancient and to be avoided in any case.

‘You know, your mum is only looking out for your best interests.’

‘Yes,’ Sophie sighed. ‘I get it. I understand.’

‘You could hang out with me tonight instead. Maybe your mum would let us go and have a drink together after dinner in one of the bars in town? How about that?’

‘All right,’ said Sophie. ‘You’re on.’

‘You can’t have any alcohol, though.’

‘I know,’ Sophie sighed.

‘You look very pretty in that dress,’ Chelsea said then. ‘It looks great with a bit of a tan.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Yes. The blue brings out the colour of your eyes. You should wear lighter colours more often. You look very grown-up and sophisticated.’

Sophie beamed. ‘Really?’

Chelsea knew that her compliments probably carried slightly more weight than they should do because of what she did for a living.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Sophie said then.

‘Of course,’ Chelsea replied.

‘Do you think I’ve got what it takes to be a model?’

Chelsea took a deep breath before she answered. ‘I think you are beautiful,’ she said, ‘but the last thing I would ever want you to be is a model. They are all more neurotic than racehorses, and for the most part they stink of puke.’

Sophie looked confused.

‘From throwing up every single thing they eat,’ Chelsea clarified, recognising the irony as she said it. ‘So, yes, I think you’re every bit as beautiful as any model I’ve met, but I think you’d hate it if you did it as a job.’

Sophie seemed happy with that.

‘Can I borrow one of your lipsticks?’ she asked her aunt.

Chelsea delved into her bag and brought out three.

‘Take your pick.’

‘Which one suits me?’

Chelsea handed Sophie a Chanel Coco Rouge Shine in ‘
Fétiche
’. Despite the racy name, it was a natural-looking shade of pink. Hopefully Ronnie wouldn’t go too bonkers if she saw Sophie wearing it.

‘So, come on, what’s he like?’ Chelsea asked. ‘This local friend of yours.’

Sophie blushed.

‘He’s really nice. He’s mature, you know. Not like the idiot I was going out with at school. He pays me lots of compliments. He makes me feel good about myself.’

‘That’s great,’ said Chelsea. ‘A boy should know how to pay a girl compliments.’ So long as he didn’t grow up to be like the jerk in the currency booth, dishing them out like fish food. ‘You just have to remember that compliments are free and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to in return.’

‘Auntie Chelsea,’ said Sophie, ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’

Chapter Forty-Four

Ronnie

Ronnie felt she was on the verge of doing something foolish. She was certain now that Mark was shagging their neighbour. It would serve him right if she did the same. One of the barmen had given her the eye. She could easily get him into bed if she wanted to. And yet, wasn’t the grown-up thing to do to confront Mark first and talk things through before she started an affair of her own? At one point, Jack saved her from herself by asking if he could play a game on her phone. Ronnie let him sit with her on her sunlounger and have a go at BrickBreaker. She was glad to have him next to her, but she was surprised that he didn’t want to play with Chelsea any more.

Jack got bored of playing BrickBreaker after a while, though, and followed his dad to the snooker room for a couple of frames. Sophie was sunbathing alongside Chelsea. Granddad Bill was in the bar with Gloria.

Ronnie decided to go indoors to get a magazine. As she crossed the lobby, she saw her mum, newly returned from her coach trip.