I instinctively recoiled in my chair, jolted by his movements. Embarrassed then, I squinted at the book,
“Sorry, what?” I asked.
“You English?” he asked in a thick accent that I couldn’t place, “Which one you choose?”
“No, I’m from Northern Ireland.”
He looked perplexed.
“I’m from the UK, I’m Irish.”
“Ireland in Unite Kingdom now?” he asked, his bushy brow still furrowed.
“Never-mind,” I said, trying to remain polite and turned my eyes down to the index page.
1. Religion is but one name for Truth
2. Jesus is for everyone
3. How lost do you think you are?
4. Where will you find the Kingdom?
“Which one you be interested in?” he asked again.
I flicked the book over to where there was a bright glossy front cover with an illustrated cross, a star of David and The Koran amongst others symbols.
“I’m not really interested in any of them I’m afraid. What is this – like Bahai or something?”
“Yes, it like that,” he said, still with enthusiasm.
“Not for me though, thanks anyway,” I said, trying one last smile. “Where are you from?” I asked, changing the subject.
I wondered if he was local. What would the nationality be then – Lazerian? Canarian – or just Spanish? I had no idea. He wasn’t anyway.
“I from Slovakia, a little like her,” he said gesturing after the girl who had served us, “She Czech, we used to be all one – I Slovac now.”
“Yeah, aha,” I said nodding,” I’ve been to Prague. It was lovely.”
This was uncomfortable.
“Yes, it Czech.”
“Yeah.”
I squirmed in my seat, preparing to make my exit.
He took a hard draw on his cigarette,
“But you must find Jesus one way or other,” he said, pointing out his finger, “You are lost.”
“Alright then,” I replied flatly.
I sunk the rest of my coffee and left.
I set off at pace, heading further along the harbour; irritated by all the recent events and irritated that I was feeling like this in such beautiful surroundings. This was meant to be my holiday retreat. I drew on another smoke and felt irritated by that too – simultaneously that I was smoking and also that it wasn’t a joint. I thought of Richard and Ivan. I had done a shitty thing – having sex with Richard - obviously. But then, I also had robbed them.
Jesus, I’m a horrible person.
Their house had been one of the first ones. I always convinced myself it was a victimless crime or maybe Mike had convinced me of that. But I knew it wasn’t – not really. Nobody held a gun to my head. Yes – maybe they could afford it and maybe they’d claim it back on insurance. But I had no right to rip them off and fuck about with their stuff. No right at all.
Maybe I had it coming.
15
I couldn’t settle the next day at all. I went through the motions, but I was too distracted by the thought of the impending meal. Okay, so the luxury suite, exquisite breakfast and breathtaking views did help. I lay by the pool and sunk a few sangrias, and that was just the morning.
It was busier by the pool than the day before and I turned up my headphones, trying some soul jazz, stretching out on my lounger. The water-bombing kids and some semi-drunk limeys were too noisy, and I switched to some ‘hard bopping’ Lee Morgan to drown them out. I caught some rays out on the recliner for a while (covering my bum carefully with a towel when on my front!) and flicked about on Facebook. I replied to a few messages from friends. I do have friends by the way, just not all that many close ones. I wondered about telling Mike who I had bumped into, but I didn’t want to freak him out further after recent events.
After another sangria was brought over to me, I found myself indulging in Facebook stalking. I found Richard and Ivan’s respective pages and had a creep. There were pictures of them at various dinners and awards ceremonies, and Ulster Tatler Magazine type stuff. Ivan was clearly the boss of the businesses, Richard the charismatic and charming partner in both senses; The Clare Underwood to his Francis. It was stifling hot and by two in the afternoon, I was frazzled all in all. I decided to cool off in my apartment with a can of coke and a lie down. I was too warm to be hungry and didn’t have any energy for much else. It was hard graft this lying by the pool malarkey!
After an hour or so I forced myself to go for a dip. I did a few lengths, then floated around for a while. I only managed half an hour and wanted for the indoors again, and a cup of tea. Once my key card had popped open the lock, I strode in, kicked off my sandals and unhooked my swim suit. I peeled it off, checking in the full length mirror for any signs of burning, sticking my tongue out and mouthing ‘yuck’ as I regarded myself. It took me a few minutes to find a kettle, hidden away in a cupboard – and by that time I decided I wanted a coffee after all. It took me a few more minutes and several attempts with the aid of You Tube to work out my espresso machine, but then I was all set. That’s when someone banged on the door.
“Just a second,” I hollered, scrambling up and praying that a maid wouldn’t bust in and see me buck naked. “Coming.”
I grabbed a fresh towel and threw it around me, glanced in the mirror, then unlocked the door.
“Richard,” I said, confused and feeling very underdressed.
“Hi Vicky, I just wanted to check in with you – see if you were really okay with later on,” he said, looking concerned. He was in a white and blue striped polo neck, with dark green shorts. He was looking
