Page 6 of Hot to Go

I nod. For me it was the kind smile, the floral shirts and the lilting Welsh accent. It certainly beat the interview I had in a North London school where the man started talking to me in French and in a blind panic, I told him I was happy to be his wife.

‘I mean, I got that job on my own merits, yes? Did you put in a good word?’ I ask her.

She scrunches up her face. ‘I may have had a chat but Lee said you were by far the best candidate they’d seen. You were creative, engaging and personable…all the good buzzwords…’ she says.

I kick a bit of water her way and she giggles.

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she says sincerely.

‘Did he mention that I hugged him?’ I ask.

Beth laughs, knocking her head back. ‘No, you hugged him?’

He let on that I had got the job during the interview and, because I didn’t want him to see the tears in my eyes, like an idiot I just reached over and grabbed the man to cross those professional boundaries and give off a far worse impression.

‘I was overwhelmed by his kindness – I couldn’t help myself. And then I jabbered at him about running a French club and promised I wouldn’t be one of those teachers who takes the Fridays off sick before half term.’

‘Hate those teachers…’ Beth adds, laughing. ‘And don’t be the sort who puts little lines on their milk in the staffroom fridge to see if anyone’s stealing it.’ She puts her drink down temporarily to spray some suncream on her exposed thighs. ‘Don’t worry about the hugging. Lee will see it as a genuine show of emotion. And that’s very you.’

I smile for a moment. In low periods of wobbliness, it’s sometimes warming to hear words that raise you up and recognise who you are. Beth is one of five sisters, my cousins, who I grew up with in London in my formative years. And when I ran back here, they helped piece me together, like some sort of group project. Sanity and peace came from their sisterhood, and evenings helping me stalk Paul on social media and write him strongly worded emails about how our sofa was mine even though I knew we’d had sex on it and I didn’t really want to see it ever again.

‘Fancy another Cornetto? I bought a whole box,’ I tell Beth, reaching into the cooler.

‘A whole box just for us?’ she asks.

‘When I said I was making dinner, this is it,’ I say, laughing. I reach inside the box and throw her a strawberry one. Top-tier ice-cream choice, if I do say so myself. I grab one for myself, peeling back the paper and licking the ice cream and strawberry sauce from the card insert. The sheer joy of it makes up for the fact that the soundtrack to this escapade in the sun is a Tesco delivery man who’s blocking the road next to us and angeringmotorists. The sun is out though. We do not care. We’re just going to sit here taking in the drama, sunglasses on, ice creams in hand.I’ll stick them yoghurts up your arsehole in a bit if you don’t move that sodding van. It’s good to be back in London. It really is.

‘Oh! Before I forget…Meg told me to tell you that you’re coming to Mallorca,’ Beth informs me, leaning forward in her seat.

‘Mallorca?’ I ask, glancing over. ‘But that’s Meg’s big fortieth birthday party with all the sisters. I’m not a sister.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘You may as well be. Come with us. The villa she’s rented is massive, apparently. There’s room and the more the merrier. You haven’t got a holiday booked, have you?’

I was supposed to be going away with Paul but I cancelled that without telling him, not really wanting to go on that holiday by myself. ‘No. I was maybe going to stay here, do some tiling work in my bathroom.’

Beth does not look impressed. ‘Well, now you’re coming to Mallorca. We’ll see if we can get you on our flight.’

‘How long for?’ I ask.

‘Five days.’

‘I’ll need to…wax,’ I say, searching for reasons not to go. I’m not sure why. Maybe out of politeness. I will need to wax though.

‘Won’t we all, hun. But look, you’ve already started your prep here, building your patchy base tan with me. Come. It will be fun. And I hate to say this out loud but, out of all of us, you need a bit of fun.’

She says that so sweetly, not in a mean way, but she’s seen all that’s happened to me in the last few months. Now is the time to start putting things right. I laugh. I like how she’s so relaxed about this – just pack a bag, come on holiday. The fact is, I can, right? It’s the summer holidays and I don’t have tothink about Paul or any of the responsibilities of being in a relationship. I can put distance between us and his interminable stream of emails trying to argue with me about how we split our savings accounts. I can just hop on a plane with my cousins and escape, again. For fun. Nothing more. That is a nice feeling.

‘Can I…?’ I mumble.

‘Think about it? I’ll tell her you said yes.’ Beth beams, and I smile back.

I sit back in my seat. Maybe it is that easy. I’ll have to find the bottom half of this bikini though. A holiday. That might be a good thing.

‘There better be space in there for me, girl…’ a voice with a strong West Indian accent rings out, emerging from around the corner. I turn to see my neighbour carrying a white plastic garden chair, wearing a large floral muumuu, a broad-rimmed straw sunhat on her head.

‘You are just in time, Maureen. Come dip your feet in. This is my cousin, Beth, who’s visiting me today. The teacher one I was telling you about…’

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