Page 32 of Hot to Go

‘I’m paying her a compliment,’ Andy says. ‘It’s not that deep.’

I frown and lower my voice. ‘Well, it is. You’re making her feel uncomfortable and that she’s there solely for your gaze. How are the wife and kids?’ I snap.

The table goes quiet except for the waitress who can’t seem to stop smiling. She nods at me, thankfully.

‘Oh, lighten up, you wanker. It’s just jokes. At least I get some. Maybe you should do the same?’ he replies.

I did, this morning, three and a half times to be exact. Around the same time that he apparently tried going down a water slide standing up and split his calf open. Remind me to get some saltwater on that.

‘Actually, Charlie did hook up with someone today,’ Max pipes up from the end of the table. I stare down at him. Not information I really wanted to broadcast but I can see that look on his face that says he can see I am going to rain down on Andy in a second and ruin the mood. We haven’t even got our nachos yet. ‘How did it go, Carlos?’ he winks.

‘Very well.’ I mean, I think I might be suffering from severe dehydration and I had to stand in a lukewarm shower for ten minutes just to calm down afterwards but I’ve got that feeling in my legs like they might give way and that to me is a sign of good sex.

‘You’re not marking a report now, Charlie? Details?’ Max shouts from the end of the table.

‘She’s French. Her name is Aurelie.’

‘Oo là là. Oui oui, baguette,’ Andy says. I’m immediately riled he gets to comment on this.

‘I’ll see her tomorrow at some point between the boat party and the quad biking,’ I tell them.

‘Ooooooh…’ the stags all coo in unison, taking the piss.

‘Oh, shut up. It’s just a thing. I don’t know where it will go.’

‘Holiday fling, innit?’ one of Max’s mates, Wrighty, pipes up as he sups on his pint.

I take a sip of my drink too, but I’ll admit, it makes me feel a little sad that today was just that: a bit of freeing incognito sex, a hook up, a one-night type of liaison that I’ll remember fondly in years to come but really doesn’t have much substance beyond this week. She’s French. The geography is way off. It feels like such a waste of good chemistry.

‘My mate Steve had a fling with a girl when he was in Greece. Brought her over and tried to make a thing of it. Married her and everything,’ Wrighty says. I marvel at how he can tell this story but also down his pint at the same time.

‘So it worked out then?’ I ask him.

‘God no. They had mad sex but she was a bit of a loon. She set fire to his car once so he couldn’t come down the pub.’

‘Oh,’ I reply.

‘Yeah, holiday romances rarely have happy endings. Most of the time, it’s someone wanting a green card, gold diggers, or the passion fizzles. It don’t translate to reality,’ Wrighty continues. ‘It’s sun, sea and unlimited sex versus grey, bills and who’s going to take out the bins for the rest of your lives.’ If I ever needed a reality check, I think I may have just got one here from Wrighty who’s at least three pints deep. He looks up from his drink, a worried expression on his face. ‘You didn’t give her any money, did you?’

‘I bought her a hooded towel and some ten-euro flip flops,’ I recount.

‘That’s a shit gift. And she still slept with you?’ Wrighty laughs.

The problem is I don’t think she’s like that at all. I hate to think I’m the exception but there seemed to be something there, maybe even beyond the sex.

‘French birds too. They blow hot and cold, you know? I wouldn’t go there myself. Hard work, mate,’ Andy adds.

I nod, disbelievingly given all his obvious worldly experience with women.

‘But…you know…if it is something then I am sure you could make it work,’ Max says, coming to sit at my end of the table to hear more. Little Max who’s getting married soon so he’s loved up, and in a space to think anything is possible. I like hearing his comments. Maybe there might be something worth exploring at the end of all this. I think about the feeling of her lips pressed against mine. I really hope there might be. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find out.

‘RIGHT, COWBOYS! YEE-HAW!’ a DJ’s voice booms over the loudspeakers. ‘WE NEED OUR STAGS AND OUR HENS AND OUR COWBOYS AND COWGIRLS TO COME AND TAKE ON THE CHALLENGE OF THE BULL. WHO WANTS TO GO FOR A RIDE?’

Christ alive, we’ve not even eaten yet. This restaurant is full of parties like ours and a roar fills the room as everyone seems to be here for the meat and to get tossed off. A mechanical bull, that is. Andy being Andy starts rattling the tables and then gradually starts a chant of Max’s name that reverbs around the room. Max, Max, Max. He’s in a T-shirt and shorts so hardly dressed for the occasion but he stands to his chair, firing fake guns. I have to laugh. Maybe after such a poor start to his stag do yesterday, the man has to have his moment.

‘We have a young man there? Stella! Head to that man over there!’ A woman rocks up with a cowboy hat and a microphone so he can make a fool of himself in front of the whole restaurant. ‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m Max.’

---