What I Did On My Holidays Read online

  I still wasn’t convinced, but then I was comparing the thought of another five days in my dingy little flat with a lost fortnight in sunny Majorca. Clare was complaining about finding it hard to concentrate on a book because her fiancé wanted to watch Top Gear at full volume in the same room.

  ‘I’ve suggested I go and read in the bedroom while he watches TV, but he likes us to be together . . . Oh, just the thought of five days without Jeremy Clarkson. Or without having to come up with something different for Evan’s supper every night. Five days without having to ask permission to put the flipping heating on in case the electricity bill has gone over budget. A whole double bed to myself! I would swap places with you in a heartbeat.’

  That was when Clare said, ‘In fact, it sounds so good I think I might come on holiday with you.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘I’m not on holiday,’ I pointed out.

  ‘You could be! A holiday at home . . . what bliss.’

  Clare was just trying to make me feel better. Much as she complained about Evan, I knew she didn’t really think five days in my flat would be better than five days in his company. Surely she hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be single, or, worse, recently heartbroken, with no one to snuggle up to at night. No one to warm your cold feet on. Having to watch Top Gear seemed like a very small price to pay to me. I would have watched Top Gear on continual loop if that were what Callum had wanted me to do. If it were what it would take to get him back, I’d wear a Jeremy Clarkson mask in bed. I would go nuts if I had to spend five days in my flat with no one to talk to. Who wouldn’t?

  Clare had a rose-tinted view of time spent alone because she had spent so little of her life without a boyfriend. Even at primary school, Clare was inundated with Valentine’s cards by boys who had previously only been interested in dropping worms down the back of their female classmates’ jumpers. She was beautiful and funny. Truly, she need never worry about being on her own for long.

  Though I knew she didn’t always believe that.

  For most of her twenties, my sister had dated a guy called Jake. They met at university and were joined at the hip from that moment on, moving to London together as soon as they graduated. Within five years they were talking about buying their first flat. It was widely assumed that a wedding would follow, then a dog, then 2.4 children and a happy-ever-after straight out of a romance novel. When Jake announced, the day after his twenty-ninth birthday, that he was too young to settle down and wanted to go travelling instead, Clare was devastated. I knew she had planned their life down to the tiniest detail. Back when she and I weren’t really friends, when she had just graduated and I was only in my first year at uni, I had caught her browsing a John Lewis catalogue, making notes for the wedding list she was sure she would have relatively soon.

  The break-up was slow and painful. Jake kept changing his mind, but the call of the wild got louder and, two months after he first announced his doubts, Jake was booking a ticket to Australia. He tried briefly to persuade Clare to go with him, but she loved being close to her family and her friends and the job she was in at that moment, all of which tied her to London like a web of golden strings. The thought of living out of a rucksack for a year secretly appalled her. Clare was a girl who felt more secure when surrounded by her stuff. She definitely wasn’t going anywhere without her heated rollers. So Jake went off travelling alone.

  After breaking up with Jake for good, Clare went a bit berserk on the dating front. For six months or so she seemed to be out on a date almost every night. She signed up to three online dating sites. She asked everyone she knew to hunt out single men for her to meet. She even agreed to a date with Duncan Egerton, the son of one of Mum’s old friends, despite the fact that he had been the butt of all our childhood jokes for his slightly eccentric ways. After the date, Clare was able to confirm that the poor unfortunate still covered everyone with spit every time he opened his mouth to speak. Even worse, he had become rather more garrulous than she remembered.

  So I was glad for her when those crazy months ended and it seemed as though she might have found someone who measured up to Jake at last. Clare met Evan through one of the dating websites. She said she had a feeling he could be the one the moment she read his profile. At thirty-nine, he was eight years older than Clare (and Jake). He was mature. He was not likely to give up his excellent job to go travelling on a whim. Evan quickly told Clare that he had ticked all the other boxes in his life – he’d seen the world ‘at the right time’, he assured her, in his early twenties. Since then he’d concentrated on building a career, then he’d bought his own place, and now he was looking for someone to share the neat and tidy life he had created.

  ‘He’s exactly what I need,’ said Clare, when she first started seeing him. ‘Evan is a proper steady bloke.’

  We all approved. Evan was the kind of boyfriend every mother and father wishes for their daughter. The first time he came to meet us all, over Sunday lunch, he helped with the washing-up and then spent a jolly hour helping Dad fix the garden fence. Dad was pleased to hand over the care of Clare’s car (she’d never learned how to check her own tyre pressure) and he was delighted when Evan revealed that he had arranged to exchange the ancient – and dangerous – MG for a nice new Nissan. Always looking out for Clare’s safety, Evan was a man after Dad’s heart. Evan won even more brownie points when he fitted a chain to the front door of my flat and bought Mum a novelty suction mat for the bottom of the bath when she mentioned having slipped on the Jo Malone bath oil Clare had given her for Christmas.

  Evan was thoughtful and serious. He was responsible. It quickly became clear that Evan would never surprise my sister with a bunch of flowers, but neither would he allow her to take to the road with a dangerously low level of screenwash. Evan showed his love in practical ways. He took care of Clare. There was no way he would break my sister’s heart. After the trauma of Jake, we were all very pleased she had such certainty in her life.

  When Evan proposed, Clare was over the moon – as was I – and they’d seemed happy enough since, but while I made us both another cup of tea, Clare began to elaborate on how she might get a few days away to herself. Or a few days with me, at least. Clare was serious. She had quickly developed her throwaway comment into something resembling a proper plan. Soon – as I might have known she would after a whole childhood of experience – she even managed to make it sound as though her crazy idea was in everybody’s best interests.

  ‘Think about it, Sophie. If Mum finds out that you’re in Majorca without Callum, she will go nuts with worry. You on your own in a foreign country and nursing a broken heart on your birthday to boot? She wouldn’t like that one bit. Before you know it, she’d have Dad on a plane and they’d be on their way out there to bring you straight back. Either that or she’d phone the British Embassy, causing a full-scale international incident while they searched the island to bring you home. You don’t want that to happen, do you?’

  I certainly did not. But why would it happen? Clare had just spent ten minutes telling me why it would be perfectly safe for me to remain alone in the flat without fearing detection. I didn’t have to mention anything to Mum and Dad.

  ‘Twitter,’ was all Clare had to say.

  She was right. Hannah or Alison would be bound to let something slip eventually.

  ‘It would be a disaster,’ said Clare, reading the lines of worry that had appeared on my forehead. ‘And I think the best way to circumvent this disaster would be for me to take control of the situation for you first. I’ll phone Mum and tell her that you and Callum have split up but you went abroad anyway because you thought you were feeling up to holidaying alone. However, since then, the reality of the break-up has hit you and now you’re feeling terrible. The best possible thing would be for me to fly out to Majorca and bring you home. After five days in the sun, of course.’ Clare grinned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Genius, eh? I would be surprised if Mum didn’t suggest it herself.
Then I just have to tell Evan what Mum has requested and bingo . . . He won’t want to get on the wrong side of his future mother-in-law. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Clare . . .’ I didn’t know where to start. It all sounded so complicated. I was going to continue to pretend to be on holiday and she was going to join in with the charade? It could only end in disaster. Besides which, I was almost thirty years old. I didn’t need a chaperone.

  ‘You know what Mum says. We’ll always be her little girls.’

  That much was true. Mum had tweeted something along those lines just that afternoon, with reference to my upcoming birthday.

  ‘Do you want her to worry about you?’ Clare laid it on thick.

  ‘Of course I don’t want her to worry.’

  ‘Then I’m going to call Mum right now.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  She was actually going to go for it. Listening to Clare as she made her phone call, I couldn’t help but be slightly horrified by the way in which she managed to make everything she said about my plight sound so very, very convincing. Though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Clare was a plausible liar. When we were children, Clare had me convinced for the best part of three years that strawberry jelly causes mumps, just so she could get at my share. Likewise, raisins were flies with the wings pulled off. No wonder I became a fussy eater.

  ‘Mum,’ she said now, ‘I’ve got some bad news, but I don’t want you to worry . . .’

  It was a phrase guaranteed to make our mother worry.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Sophie. She and Callum have broken up.’ She paused. ‘They were supposed to be on holiday for her birthday, I know, but Callum pulled out at the last minute and Sophie has gone on her own. She sounded OK,’ Clare continued in her serious voice. ‘She’s being very brave. She told me not to tell you because she didn’t want you to be concerned, but I think it would be wrong to keep this from you. She didn’t say she needed anyone with her, but I can’t help thinking that she might. Especially with her turning thirty on Tuesday.’

  Clare nodded and pursed her lips in concern while my mother said something in reply.

  ‘That’s what I thought. I’ll have to ask Evan first, of course, but as it happens, it wouldn’t be too difficult for me right now. My temp contract has just come to an end. I’m sure it won’t hurt if I take a few days off before the next one starts. I can probably get an easyJet flight for a hundred quid, and of course I’ll stay in Sophie’s hotel room, so there won’t be any extra expense there.’

  Mum said something else.

  ‘Oh, Mum, you really mustn’t worry. I promise that everything will be OK. We’re grown-ups now. There’s no need for you to take the plane out there yourself. I just sensed that Sophie needs a little support to get through this time. I can give her that support with hardly any disruption to my life at all.’

  ‘What did Mum say?’ I asked when Clare finished the call.

  ‘She said you’ve always been a terrible worry to her,’ she replied with an annoyingly smug smile.

  ‘I can’t believe that—’

  Clare stopped me. ‘You know she’s going to call you right away, of course.’

  Clare was right. My phone began to ring less than a second later. I snatched it up.

  ‘UK ringtone?’ I said when Mum quizzed me about that. ‘That’s strange. Perhaps it’s because the call has to go through a British exchange first.’ People so rarely called these days, preferring to text or email, I hadn’t even considered I could be undone by a ringtone. I would have to remember to set my calls to divert as soon as I came off this call. I glared at Clare as I began my grand lie in earnest. No longer was it a simple case of a lie of omission. If I lied to Mum too, there was no turning back. I would have to go through with Clare’s crazy fake-holiday idea. I didn’t want to do it, but, really, Clare had left me no choice.

  ‘Yes, I’m in the hotel,’ I said. ‘Yes, it’s very lovely. And yes, Callum and I have split up, and yes, it does seem to be for real. I mean, why else would he have refused to come on holiday? I don’t think I actually did anything, Mum. I just think he decided he was too young for a proper commitment.’

  Clare sat back in her chair with a big grin on her face as I dealt with our worried mother.

  I feigned grateful surprise when Mum informed me that my sister was giving up the opportunity of a ‘very important’ temping job to fly out to Majorca to be with me. Having heard Clare’s conversation moments before, of course I knew that to be rubbish, but I suppose Mum wanted me to be grateful for my big sister’s thoughtful sacrifice. She finished the conversation by asking me if I was certain that I wouldn’t rather she and Dad flew out to look after me. She hated the idea of me being alone and abroad on my birthday, but she wasn’t sure it was right for Clare to go away without Evan. Not now they were engaged to be married. And I would always be Mum’s little girl. A mother’s responsibilities never end. I could hear a sigh in every syllable.

  ‘I promise I’m OK, Mum,’ I responded. ‘It will be nice to have Clare here, but really I think I’ll be over Callum in a couple of days.’

  ‘It’s a pity you’ve split up,’ said Mum. ‘He sounded like such a nice boy. Look after yourself,’ she finished. ‘Stay off the Bacardi Breezers. It may seem like a good idea at the time to drown your sorrows, but you don’t want to end up in a gutter showing your knickers in one of those Brits-behaving-badly shows. Or worse still in the Mail Online.’

  ‘No, Mum, of course not. Please don’t worry. Whatever happens, I’ll stay out of the Daily Mail.’

  ‘I’ll stop worrying once I know that Clare is with you. She’s always been the sensible one. Now I’m going to let you go because you’re abroad and this phone call must be costing hundreds of pounds.’

  ‘Oh!’ I hung up in a fury. ‘You’re the sensible one, apparently. Has she ever met you?’

  ‘It’s just the way she is,’ said Clare. ‘Tough love. You’ve known her long enough. She’d have said exactly the same to me were the situation reversed. But she is right behind my coming to stay with you.’

  Clare was gleeful.

  ‘You’ve still got to see if Evan agrees,’ I pointed out.

  Clare’s tack with Evan was entirely different. I could tell from the look on her face as she dialled him that she knew he was not going to be anywhere near so easily convinced as Mum. Speaking to Mum, Clare had sounded confident and in charge. With Evan, she would have to make more excuses. She told him she wouldn’t have considered such a thing as going abroad without him but our mother had been so worried and it didn’t seem right to make two elderly people (Mum and Dad, who would have hated to hear themselves described that way) trek halfway across the world on my account. Still Evan had all sorts of reasons why Clare should not be going to Majorca to see me.

  ‘I know we said we wouldn’t go on holiday this year, but this isn’t a real holiday, Evan. I am going to Majorca to look after my baby sister, who has just been dumped by the man that she thought she was going to marry. Heaven knows what she might do.’

  I wasn’t sure I liked this picture of me as someone prone to doing stupid things. Neither did I like the fact that Evan said – at least I think he said from what I could hear – ‘Sophie was dreaming if she ever thought Callum would marry her.’

  Clare continued, ‘I would be more than happy for you to do the same if the situation were reversed and it was your sister who was on her own in Majorca with nothing but a bottle of Bacardi Breezer to keep her company.’

  Evan responded.

  ‘Well, of course your sister would never find herself on her own with nothing but a Bacardi Breezer to keep her company. I do know she’s not that kind of girl. But hypothetically. If Melanie were ever to do anything out of the ordinary, if her perfectly wonderful, well-organised life were ever to come just the slightest bit unravelled, you can bet that I would be right behind you if you wanted to help her sort things out. Sophie is family, Evan. And pretty soon she will be your family
too.’

  Clare frowned at his response to that.

  ‘All right. Well, I am very, very sorry, but you can bet that Sophie will be incredibly grateful and I’m certain that she will understand the magnitude of this gesture in our wedding year.’

  Evan continued for a couple of minutes before Clare was able to put down the phone. Clare held the phone away from her ear as Evan talked, throwing in the odd ‘Yes, dear’ for good measure.

  ‘That didn’t sound good,’ I said when the call was over.

  ‘Well, he wasn’t very happy about it, that’s for sure. It doesn’t fit in with our financial plan. But he has agreed that I can go to Majorca to look after you.’ Clare clenched her fists in a gesture of triumph. ‘Yes!’

  ‘Do you really think you should do this? If Evan isn’t happy.’

  ‘Soph, you know what? After the lecture he’s just given me, there’s no way I’m not going to do this. You have got yourself a holiday companion, starting tomorrow morning!’

  Shortly after that, Clare left to go home. She had to ‘book her flight’ and pack her luggage, after all. She also had to swing by a supermarket and find something to cook that would go some way to making up for the fact that she was going away for five days. Apparently, Evan could usually be placated with a chicken and mushroom pie.

  Still, even with a chicken and mushroom pie at her disposal, I fully expected Clare to have to get back to me later that night, telling me that Evan had put his foot down about their budget and the trip was off. I hadn’t been able to make out most of their conversation, but the tone had not been encouraging. I was wrong, however. Just an hour after she’d left my flat, Clare texted to confirm that Evan had swallowed her tale hook, line and sinker. She had her ‘flight’ and would be with me around breakfast time the following day.