Mario wasn’t looking forward to next week. Or the one after that. He’d quietly planned to carry on at work without drawing attention to it, but Jerry had put the kibosh on that. Fat, stubbly-chinned Jerry was now impossibly smug as a result of having found himself a skinny, smooth-chinned girlfriend. Studying the office vacation planner up on the wall yesterday, he’d said over his shoulder, “Blimey, you’ve still got twelve days to use up before the end of the year. Better get on and take them, mate. They won’t let you carry them over.”
Mario, studying his computer screen, had said casually, “I’m not going to bother. Jerry, have you seen last month’s sales figures for—”
“Whoa! Hold your horses just one cotton-pickin’ minute there, boy.” Jerry’s new girlfriend was a huge line-dancing fan and had been dragging him along to classes.
“Jerry, I’m really not bothered about taking time off work.”
“Now that is the saddest thing I ever heard.” Jerry was incredulous. “You and Amber broke up months ago. I can’t believe you haven’t gotten over it yet and found yourself a replacement. I mean, look at me and Pam! She’s changed my life!”
She’d certainly made him an annoyingly cheerful person. Mario wondered if that was a good enough reason to sack someone.
“You need to get yourself a new bird,” Jerry went on confidently. Bird, ugh. “That’ll sort you out. And what kind of loser comes into work when he doesn’t even have to?”
“So I stay at home and do what exactly? Make model airplanes?” Mario gestured out the window at the gray sky and bundled-up passersby hurrying past in hats and scarves. “Because it’s too bloody cold to go out and fly them.”
“You’re depressed, that’s what you are. You ain’t even thinking straight, pardner.” Pointing a chunky index finger at Mario, Jerry said, “Get a grip, man. You don’t have to stay at home! You can buy a plane ticket and fly off to some place where it isn’t cold enough to freeze the whatsits off a brass monkey. Get yourself off to somewhere with a bit of life to it and cast your eye over a few babes in bikinis. Treat yourself to a fortnight of mindless sex, man. Tenerife, that’ll do the trick.”
“No thanks.” Mario suddenly felt incredibly tired. He didn’t want a vacation and a fortnight of mindless sex. He just wanted Amber.
* * *
Amber was wearing a calf-length dark blue velvet dress, neat shoes, and discreet pearl studs in her ears. She looked as if she might be on her way to church.
She was also looking pretty startled.
“Sorry,” said Mario. “Maybe I should have rung first, but I needed to see you. Can I come in?”
It was seven o’clock in the evening, and Jerry’s suggestion had been dancing through his brain all afternoon. Finally he had made up his mind and driven over to Tetbury.
From the expression on Amber’s face he guessed she’d have preferred it if he hadn’t.
“Mario. Actually, I’m on my way out.”
“Just five minutes. It’s important.” God, she had no idea how important.
“Quentin’s going to be here in five minutes.”
“Where’s he taking you? To the Tory Party conference?” As soon as he said it Mario knew he’d made a huge mistake.
Amber’s eyes flashed. “To meet his parents, if you must know. They’re quite elderly. I wanted to make a good impression.”
Mario hated it that making a good impression on Quentin’s parents was important to her. “You don’t need to. Listen, you know how I feel about you. I love you. Come away with me.” Reaching for Amber’s hand he said, “I’ve got two weeks’ vacation to use up, starting from now. Let me take you somewhere amazing. We’ll have the best time ever, I promise.”
Amber said, “Mario, are you mad? I’m not going on vacation with you.”
“Please.”
“I mean, apart from anything else, it’s December.” She emphasized the month as if it might have escaped his notice. “And I have a busy salon to run.”
“The other girls can cover for you. I’ll pay them to do it.” He’d already thought this through. “I’ll pay double.”
Ignoring the offer, Amber raised an eyebrow. “And what would I tell Quentin?”
Recklessly Mario said, “Oh, I don’t know. How about telling him you’re going on vacation with your friend Mandy. That’s what you usually do, isn’t it?”
Bong. If the jibe about her outfit had been wrong, this was worse. A tumbleweed rolled past. Amber’s jaw tightened, and in that moment he knew he’d lost her.
“You shouldn’t have come, Mario. Quentin will be here any minute now. He’s taking me to meet his parents and—”
“That’s why you’re dressed as Margaret Thatcher?”
“What I choose to wear is none of your business,” Amber retorted.
“You don’t even look like you.” He indicated the understated makeup, the neatly tied-back hair. “Did you ever see The Stepford Wives?”
“I’m not going to argue. You live your life the way you want to live it,” said Amber, “and I’ll stick to mine, OK? Now please go.”
“Wait. I’m sorry.” Mario began to panic. “I’m only saying it because I love you.”
“You love everyone. That’s your problem.” Amber was closing the door on him. “Never mind, I’m sure you’ll find someone else to take on vacation. Have a nice time now. Bye.”
* * *
Mario woke up the next morning and groaned. He’d well and truly done it this time. In fact, where the hell was he? Blinking and rolling over in the double bed, he blearily took in pink-and-cream-flowered wallpaper, matching ruffled curtains, and a raspberry-pink satin eiderdown that had slid to the ground. Not while he and whoever had been doing something sexually athletic, he sincerely hoped.
Someone was moving around in the kitchen. He could hear a kettle being boiled, the clinking of tea being made. Shit, he couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this situation again. How could he have been so—
“Jesus!” Mario exclaimed as the bedroom door swung open to reveal a horrible sight.
Jerry, resplendent in rumpled Bart Simpson boxers and carrying a mug of tea, retorted, “Not looking so hot yourself, sonny boy.”
Mario did a lightning rethink. His last memory of yesterday evening was of ringing Jerry and arranging to meet up with him and Cowgirl Pam after their line-dancing class. He ran a bemused hand through his hair.
“Where am I?”
“Spare room.”
“What? Your spare room?” The last time Mario had slept here, the walls had been bare and the only items of furniture had been a never-used exercise bike and an old ironing board.
Jerry looked abashed. “It was a bit of a mess before. Pam persuaded me to redecorate. She chose all the wallpaper and stuff.”
The spare bedroom resembled a giant pair of old ladies’ frilly bloomers. The next time Jerry told him he was a sad bastard, he’d be able to retaliate. Holding out a hand for his tea, Mario said, “Did I have a lot to drink?”
“Put it this way. The bottle of scotch I bought my dad for Christmas is now an empty bottle of scotch. And I had to confiscate your phone.”
Hmm, that rang a distant bell. Mario dimly remembered fighting a losing battle to keep it. “Go on then. Tell me why.”
“You kept ringing Amber. Well, trying to ring her. She had it switched off after the first time.” Jerry grinned and scratched his sizable stomach. “But you left a couple messages for her, something about how you hoped she was enjoying the Tory Party conference.”
“Oh God.”
“That was only the start of it. You had a few things to say about Quentin as well. And his parents. Oh yes, and you told Amber you hadn’t had sex with anyone for months, and you loved her, and she was making the biggest mistake of her life staying with a boring old fart who—”
“Stop it, stop it! Don’t tell me any more!”
Jerry looked pleased with himself. “That’s why we wrestled your phone away from you.”
“Oh fuck.” Mario had his head in his hands. “Fuck, fuck.”
Modestly, Jerry said, “You can say thank you if you like.”
* * *
“Right then! Lovely! And when do you want to go?”
The travel agent was wearing an acid-yellow blouse and an oh-so-perky smile. She spoke in exclamation marks, which was a bit much at nine thirty in the morning when you had a headache the size of Cheltenham Town Hall.
“Today,” said Mario.
“Today! Ooh, how exciting! So, whereabouts in Tenerife? Somewhere quite lively, I’m guessing!”
“How about we just see what’s available and then I’ll decide.” Mario nodded at the computer screen on her desk.
“Of course! Let’s do that! Now, how many of you are going?”
Mario made an unwise attempt at humor. “How many of me? Just the one. I’m the only me I know.”
“You mean…oh, I’m sorry.” The travel agent looked momentarily surprised. “You’re actually going away on vacation on your own?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m doing.”
Hastily she recovered herself. “Well, that’s great!”
“Not really. My girlfriend and I broke up.” Now why had he even said that?
“Oh, poor you.” Eyeing him flirtatiously the travel agent said, “Actually, I’m single too. So if you ever feel like meeting up when you get back from Tenerife, you know where to find me!”
Mario had no intention of meeting up with her when he got back, but he forced himself to smile. “Thanks for the offer. Now could we—”
“My name’s Trina, by the way!”
“OK. To be honest, Trina, I’m in a bit of a rush here. Could we just get on and find me somewhere to go?”
* * *
“So that’s it,” Mario concluded as Lottie juggled baked potatoes out of the oven and onto a row of plates. “I’m flying out tonight. Everything’s booked. I should have asked you if that’s OK. Sorry, I didn’t think. Seeing Amber again last night just kind of knocked me for six. Am I messing up any plans?”
“Stop making out you’re indispensable. We’re fine.” Slicing the baked potatoes in half, Lottie scalded her fingers yet again. “And the kids’ll understand. You need this break. Who knows,” she added brightly, “you might meet the girl of your dreams!”
Mario’s answering smile was bleak, like a hospital patient attempting to be polite when he hears it’s lamb stew for lunch. Taking a folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket along with his phone, he said, “Right, I’ve written down all the details of where I’m staying. If you need to get hold of me, this is the number of the—”
“Can’t I just ring you?”
“I’m leaving my phone here.” Mario pushed it across the kitchen table toward her. “You can look after it for me. That way it won’t be so easy to make a dick of myself if I have a few drinks and decide to phone Amber again.” Wryly he added, “Well, not more of a dick of myself than I already have.”
“OK.” Lottie nodded as she piled tuna and sweet corn into one bowl and chili with sour cream into another. Then she put down the chili pan, made her way around the kitchen table, and gave Mario a hug because she hated seeing him so down.
“Is dinner ready? Eurgh, they’re hugging. Don’t do that, it’s sexy,” ordered Nat.
“I’ve just realized,” Mario said during dinner, “I’m going to miss your Christmas concerts.”
“I’m not bothered.” Nat shrugged. “I’m only a sheep. I get to look in the manger and say, ‘Look, it’s the Baby Jesus. Baaaa.’”
“You’ll miss my show too.” Past the age of Nativity plays, Ruby’s Christmas concerts were rather jollier affairs. “I’m singing and dancing and everything.”
“Oh, Rubes, I’m sorry.” Stricken, Mario reached for her hand.
“But we’ll be there cheering you on,” Lottie jumped in quickly. “Me and Nat. And we’ll take loads of photos, won’t we?”
Her dark eyes huge, Ruby said, “Will Seb come too? I’d like it if he was there.”
“We’ll ask him.” Lottie experienced a warm glow in her stomach because in her children’s eyes Seb could do no wrong; since his return from Dubai their relationship had gone from strength to strength. “If he doesn’t have to work I’m sure he’ll want to come and see you.”
Ruby gave Mario’s hand a consoling squeeze. “That’s all right then. Don’t worry, Daddy, we’ll have Seb instead. Do they have donkeys in Tenerife?”
Relieved, Mario said, “I’m sure they do.”
“So you’ll be able to ride them on the beach like me and Nat did when we went to Weston.”
“You might find a girlfriend,” Nat added helpfully. “Then you won’t be all on your own.”
Ruby spoke through a mouthful of tuna and baked potato. “Oh, Daddy, you might be lonely. If we didn’t have school we could have come with you to keep you company.”
“And I would’ve lent you my Game Boy.” Nat, ever practical, shook his head regretfully at Mario. “But not for two whole weeks.”