Saying, ‘Well, that was strange,’ Ant centred himself on top of me and started grinding his hips against mine once again.
‘You are joking, right?’ I told him. When he continued, I said, ‘No, Ant. Stop!’ And when still he continued, I whacked the side of his head.
He froze. Time stood still.
It hadn’t been a hard slap by any means, but it was the first time I’d ever hit him, so I wondered if, for the first time ever, he would now hit me back.
Thanks be, he simply rolled off me. ‘Fuck you then,’ he said. And promptly started to masturbate.
In the morning, I was woken by the sound of Sarah crying. Telling Ant, who was also stirring, to sleep on, I pulled my dressing gown around me and went next door to the girls’ room.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, quickly closing the door behind me.
Sarah was red-faced and snotty. ‘She stole Piggy,’ she told me, pointing at Lucy in the bed across the room. Piggy was Sarah’s once-fluffy, now-bald piglet that she’d slept with almost since birth.
‘She gave him to me,’ Lucy said, which, though most unlikely, was not entirely impossible.
‘Give it to me,’ I said, sweeping Sarah up in my arms, then crouching down and extending the other hand to receive the stolen piglet.
Lucy shrugged and produced the toy from beneath the covers. ‘I don’t want her stupid pig anyway,’ she said.
But as the toy changed hands, Sarah, emboldened by my presence, took a swipe at her sister, managing to just about make contact. Lucy, of course, started crying.
‘Oh, stop it, both of you!’ I said. ‘You’ve got your piglet back, and she didn’t hurt you at all.’ That didn’t calm either of them down.
‘Hey, hey, HEY!’ I said, jiggling Sarah, while attempting to stroke Lucy’s head. ‘Hey, how about . . . we go to the beach?’
‘The beach?’ Lucy asked. Sarah’s sobbing had ceased, too.
‘Why not? The rain’s stopped. If you’re really, really quiet and you don’t wake Grandma up, we could have breakfast down on the beach.’
‘What, like a picnic?’ Lucy asked, bright-eyed.
‘Exactly like a picnic,’ I said. ‘A breakfast picnic.’
The girls, motivated by the idea of a picnic on the beach, were as good as gold, creeping around the house and whispering excitedly. I managed to pull everything together before either Marge or Anthony woke up.
Beneath the surface, the sand was still soaked from the previous day’s rain, but the sun was shining and the sea was calm, and we were finally alone on our beach. All was well.
We ate jam sandwiches and drank milk straight from the bottle, and then I stretched out on the already damp towel as the girls ran into the waves.
Blackpool Sands had suddenly become paradise again. I closed my eyes for a moment and let the sunshine warm my face.
About ten, Anthony joined us briefly. ‘I wondered where you’d all gone,’ he said. ‘It was weird waking up in an empty house.’
‘We’re just here,’ I said, thinking about last night and feeling relieved that he seemed to be in a reasonable mood despite it.
‘Where’s Mum?’ he asked, scanning the beach.
I told him I didn’t know and that I’d assumed she was at the house.
‘She must have gone for a wander,’ he said. ‘I hope she doesn’t get lost.’
‘Indeed,’ I replied. It was as much as I could do not to raise an eyebrow.
He wandered off in search of Marge, leaving me alone with the girls once again.
‘Can you help us make a dam?’ Lucy asked.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Of course I can!’
At midday, Ant returned. He hadn’t found Marge and was starting to sound concerned.
‘She’s fine,’ I told him.
‘You don’t know that,’ he said. ‘Anything could have happened.’
I asked if he’d tried calling her, but it seemed she’d left her phone in the bedroom.
‘Well, maybe she wants some time alone,’ I said. ‘It happens.’
He started to leave again, so I asked him if he’d nip up to the café first for sandwiches. When he pulled a face, I offered to do it instead. ‘Just keep an eye on the girls for me. It’ll only take five minutes.’
I picked up my handbag and started to cross to the beach café. But the sand was surprisingly hot, so I returned for my flip-flops and, as an afterthought, pulled on a T-shirt and shorts. I’d have to cross the restaurant, after all.
With it being Saturday and the first sunny day for a week, the beach café was busy, so it wasn’t until I’d almost reached the counter that I spotted Marge. She was seated at a table playing cards with two elderly gentlemen, and she looked like she was having fun. I remember being surprised, because I’d honestly never imagined that she had any capacity for actual enjoyment.
It took a moment before she saw me watching, but when she did, she nodded in my direction and then leaned in to discreetly tell the men some scurrilous snippet.
I didn’t know what she’d said but I could see their reaction clearly enough: one of the men, the one with what was obviously a toupee, laughed, while the bald one sniggered and looked away.
When the man in front of me finished paying and moved away, I stepped forward so that the cashier could ring up my purchases: three sandwiches and a bottle of juice – items I squashed into my handbag.
When I turned to leave, they were still glancing at me, still laughing, and something within me snapped. I marched over to their table to confront them. ‘Morning, Marge. Is something funny?’ I asked.
Marge pulled an expression of fake innocence and shook her head. ‘Not at all, dear,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ wig man said, extending a hand. ‘I’m Billy.’
‘You looked like you were laughing at me,’ I said, ignoring him. I was hearing my own words as I spoke and feeling embarrassed at how childish they sounded. I was also becoming hyperconscious of the fact that people at nearby tables were turning
