I’m slightly out of breath as I race through the lobby, trying not to be seen by the ever-attentive Joe. I don’t want anyone to know I’ve been off-site, or else it might give the game away.
I survey the pool for the right spot to plant myself, before spotting a hammock strung up between two palm trees.
I slip my summer dress off, to reveal my bikini underneath, and kick off my flip-flops. I try to work out the best way to get into a hammock, but fearing that Will’s going to be back any minute, I straddle it and then plonk myself in. It takes me a few minutes to wriggle around getting comfortable.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asks a waitress, swinging by with a tray.
‘I’d love a rum cocktail, actually two, and can I order bar food here?’
She nods.
‘Some of your king prawns, then?’
The waitress walks off and I turn my attention to sorting out my bag. I pull out a book and bend the spine back to make it look like I’ve read more than the first page, and I litter the floor beside me with suntan lotion and magazines.
I let out a deep breath as I try to relax. I’ve made it back here before Will, that’s the main thing. I want him to think I’ve been here for hours. He went off this morning to the cricket, leaving me the perfect window to research my final act of revenge. I’ve got to make it spectacular – I owe it to my new blog fans as well as myself (and Vanessa).
My first thought had been to ‘lose’ the cricket tickets for tomorrow’s match. Only, when I rifled through the few possessions in our safe, they weren’t there. Will obviously took them with him in his rucksack. I then decided that even lost tickets wouldn’t stop a super-fan like Will, as he’d no doubt get his BFF, Joe the concierge, to source us some more.
Thinking I needed to think more creatively, I went for a long walk along the beach, where an idea hit me – literally. I tripped over a large blackboard advertising king prawns. How brilliant would it be to play him at his own game? I could fake my own food poisoning on the way to the game, and keep him waiting for me as I use every toilet from here to Bridgetown on our journey to the ground.
The waitress comes back over and hands me one of my drinks and I practically down it in one.
She raises an eyebrow but says nothing as she places the other glass by my feet.
I make a start on the second cocktail. I’m under no illusions that my boyfriend will come back from the cricket sober, and I want to at least be on a par with him.
I’m scanning the pool to see if the woman from the cricket is here, when I spot Will deep in conversation with Joe. It looks like an intense conversation, and I feel like I should go over and check everything’s OK.
‘There you are,’ says the waitress, handing me a plate of grilled prawns still in their shells.
I smile my thanks, momentarily forgetting about my boyfriend’s plight in the reception until I see Will and Joe walk out of the lobby and stop just before the pool. They shake hands before Joe walks off towards another part of the complex.
‘Will!’ I shout and wave, practically throwing myself out of the hammock, choosing to save the plate of prawns rather than my self-respect as I land on all fours.
‘Hey, you,’ he says, almost taken aback to see me there. ‘I thought you’d have been having a little siesta in the bungalow.’
‘I may have had one in the hammock . . .’ Or I may not . . .
‘Great, well I’m just going to go dump my bag, and then I’ll come and join you while you eat.’
‘Um, OK. Have you eaten? I say, almost protecting my plate with my hands, I can’t let him have the same food as me or else my plan will be ruined.
‘No, I ate, um, earlier. At the, um, cricket. Yes, I ate at the cricket,’ he says nodding.
‘OK,’ I say slowly. There’s something off with Will. He’s all fidgety and twitchy. If anyone should be acting that way, it’s me, I’m the one lying. ‘Are you all right?’
I suddenly remember the concerned look on his face as he was talking to Joe.
‘Yes, fine,’ he says abruptly. ‘I’ll see you in a minute.’
I watch him head towards our bungalow. It’s the way a commuter would walk for the train – head down and at speed. He practically pushes past a family coming towards him, making them veer off into the grass with their pram. Where’s the laidback holiday version of my boyfriend gone?
But I don’t have time to dwell on it. I’ve got to eat these bad boys before Will comes back. I know he said he’s eaten, but if he’s sat here watching me eating, he might just be tempted to try one. And if he shares the prawns, then bang goes my food poisoning plan. I turn my attention back to shelling and eating my prawns. Suddenly ravenous after my busy morning, it seems to take ages for me to top and tail each prawn.
I’m making good progress when I see Will walking over. I’ve got three left and I start to panic. I quickly try to clear my plate, but the quicker I try to top and tail them the quicker they slide through my hands. Damn them. I just about finish cracking the last one before Will comes along and I hastily shove it in my mouth. So much for enjoying my delicious prawns – I practically inhaled them.
‘Blimey, you ate them quickly.’
‘Hungry,’ I say, thinking I’m going to be sick. But that’s far too early in the plan. ‘So how was the cricket?’
‘Um, yeah, it was good.’
‘Who won?’
‘I’m sorry . . .?’ he says, distracted.
‘The cricket, who won the cricket?’
‘Um, I think New Zealand won.’
Is it just me, or is my boyfriend acting strangely?
‘You think? Were you not at the match?’
I look at his face as if to find any clues.
‘Of course I was. I mean, New Zealand won. Sorry, it’s the heat getting to me.’
I’m wondering if he’s just had too much to drink, but I can’t smell alcohol on his breath.
‘I’m boiling. I’ve got to go for a dip.’
He walks over to the pool and hastily strips off his T-shirt and shuffles out of his flip-flops before diving in.
Well, that was odd.
The waitress walks over and takes away my plate and after agreeing to another cocktail, I pull my tablet out of my bag. After realising that the only people that love me are ASOS and Debenhams, I bring up my blog dashboard. I have a quick look over at Will to make sure he’s still in the pool. When his head bobs up in the deep end I bring up my blog page.
A slight ripple of naughtiness comes over me, as there’s an excitement that I might get caught. I scan the comments on my latest blog and it’s heart-warming to hear that I’m not alone in my sporting widow status. I click on the stats and I’m amazed to see I’ve had over seven thousand views. I feel my cheeks start to burn and it’s nothing to do with the midday heat.
I log out of my blog, chuffed to pieces at my almost famous status, and pull up my Facebook page. I take a look at my notifications to see what people have written on mine and Will’s cricket selfie. Mostly people telling us how great we look. I’m just congratulating myself on the wise decision to pack the hair straighteners, when I see there’s a comment from Robin. I’d managed to block out thoughts of work while I was away, but seeing his name immediately makes me think about my job and what he’s written about it in his report.
Robin Cassidy
Hope you’re fitting in the sightseeing amongst the cricket!
From anyone else, I’d read that with a hint of sarcasm, but that’s not really his style. I realise that it is a bit of a wake-up call, though, as in amongst all the sand, sea and, of course, sex, we haven’t actually seen a whole lot of the island. Apart from on the taxi ride from the airport and the bus to the cricket. I’ll be a bit embarrassed to go back to work and admit we didn’t see anything.
I’ve still got time to put that right. It’s only lunchtime – we still have the whole of the rest of today.
I go to get off the grass and I stagger slightly. These rum cocktails are a little stronger than I thought. I try to style it out, but as I look round everyone’s too occupied with headphones in their ears or swiping away at their phones to notice.
‘Hello,’ I say, wading into the shallow end and swimming over to Will.
I give him an enormous smile and put my arms around his neck. He loops his hands around my waist, and taking full advantage of the buoyancy of the water, I wrap my legs around his waist.
‘Well, hello yourself,’ he says, giving me a kiss.
He playfully pushes me around in the water and for a minute I forget all the watchful, or perhaps not so watchful, eyes around the swimming pool. If only we were in our own private villa – I think this romantic interlude would have ended a bit differently.
‘So what do you want to do for the rest of the day?’
‘I don’t mind,’ says Will. ‘But I feel like being busy.’
‘Excellent. Why don’t we go back to the bungalow, get dressed and head out,’ I say, wondering if heading back to the bungalow is a good idea when we’re clearly feeling frisky and I desperately want to go sightseeing.
I pull away from him and he takes my hand and leads me out of the pool.
‘I’m so glad we came here,’ I say to him.
‘I know, me too.’
We wrap ourselves in our towels and I collect up my things before we pad back to our bungalow, dripping all the way. The maid is just leaving our place as we walk in.
‘Ah, Mr Talbot,’ she says before winking at him with a large smile on her face.
I look up at Will as she walks away.
‘Why did she just wink at you?’ I say, slightly outraged and suddenly protective of my boyfriend. Was she flirting with him? In front of me?
‘I didn’t notice,’ he says, clearly lying. His cheeks are redder than my sunburnt nose.
He’s gone all fidgety again, like he was earlier when he came back from the cricket.
My mind races, trying to connect the dots. The hotel concierge, the maid, him not remembering who won the cricket. But unfortunately no picture is forming in my mind.
‘So the cricket today . . .’ I say.
‘I’m going to jump in the shower and get this chlorine off. I’ll be out in a minute. And when I get back let’s not talk about the cricket. After all, we said we weren’t going to let it spoil our perfect holiday.’
I’d usually say amen to that, but far from thinking that my boyfriend has been converted, I’m wondering what’s wrong. Perhaps he never went to the cricket, perhaps he’s having an affair with the maid and they were off in some hotel room somewhere, doing the wild thing, and Joe caught them. That would explain him being fidgety, the need to jump in the pool and now the shower (washing off the smell of infidelity), and the desire to go out for the day (to get away from those who know his secret) and to not talk about cricket (his shame).
It makes sense for all of a second, before I realise that it’s not really Will. We all know how difficult it is to get him away from sport.
I’m clearly reading too much into Will’s behaviour. I try to switch my mind into holiday mode again. If I want this trip to be some all singing, all dancing romance, then I should be making it happen.
I hear the sound of the shower and I wonder what I’m doing when I could be in the nice warm wet room. I walk into the bathroom, pulling my bikini off as I go.
‘Hello, again,’ says Will. And the bathroom gets a whole lot steamier.
*
So we didn’t actually see any more of Barbados today than we had already. Thanks to the shower incident, followed by the cuddle and unexpected siesta in the bed. We surfaced from our bungalow at five. Not many daylight hours left for exploring. Instead we headed to the shop, bought a bottle of Cava and plonked ourselves on the beach to watch the sunset before later going to one of the little restaurants dotted along the sea.
‘Do you think we could stay here?’ whispers Will into my ear.
‘I wish.’
Our life in Hampshire seems worlds away from where we are now. It’s so blissful here, without the daily grind, the pollution of television and our smartphones, which we’re keeping mostly locked up in the safe in our bungalow.
‘We could move here. I’m sure Barbados needs data analysts, and I bet there’s an arts body you could work for. Or, you could work on becoming a bestselling author?’
‘That would be a dream come true.’
‘I couldn’t think of a better place to inspire you. I mean, isn’t this the perfect setting for a romance novel?’
I shift my bum in the sand. I’m feeling slightly uneasy about my writing at the moment, as my blog’s such a central part of it. With Will being so sweet, I’m beginning to regret the villain that I’ve made him out to be.
I sink back into his chest and he squeezes his arms around me.
‘Let’s do it. Let’s move away,’ he says.
‘But how would you cope without Southampton FC?’ I say, giggling.
‘Ah, I can’t believe I forgot them.’
‘You’d lose your number one fan status.’
‘Yeah, we can’t have that. Sorry, Lex, looks like we won’t be moving here after all.’
‘Ah, shucks. God damn the Saints,’ I say, clicking my fingers and shaking my head.
Even without the move to Barbados, right now, my life feels perfect. OK, so Will still loves sports, but this trip has been proof that it doesn’t have to take over our lives. We’ve only watched a tiny bit of cricket, leaving us ample of time to spend together. That’s what matters, right?
I know I said I was going to confront Will when I got back, but what if I’m wrong about how he’ll react to me knowing his lie? What if he doesn’t just apologise and instead we have some massive row? This trip has proved more than ever that Will is my soulmate. I couldn’t imagine losing him.
I shake my head.
‘What’s wrong,’ asks Will, looking at me strangely.
‘Just stretching?’ I say, twisting my neck with exaggeration. But really I’m shaking my head to silence what’s going on inside it.
My heart’s telling me to let it go, that I’ve got even with Will already and now it’s time to talk to him about it and move on. Our relationship seems stronger than ever and I shouldn’t be putting the needs of strangers reading my blog first, but I don’t think I can help myself. I feel like I need some big conclusion for the blog, and tomorrow’s revenge I hope will make a good enough final farewell.
‘Do you want to sit here a bit longer, or do you want to get some food?’
‘Sit here,’ I say. ‘Just for another few minutes.’
I want to remember this moment forever, the moment I realised how wonderfully content I am with my boyfriend and my life.