Page 27 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“Erm, no.”
“What about Furry Taco?” Billie added.
“You’re making these up.” I doubted. She knew how naive I was, and she teased me constantly.
“I swear to you; it’s a real thing, so is Bearded Clam.” Billie said all this with a straight face.
“I’ve heard that one,” Sarah chuckled.
“How is it the ‘straight girl’,” I used air quotes because I would never fully be convinced, “knows more bizarre vagina names than I do?”
“Private school, I guess. Thinking of new vagina related names to call my friends was the highlight of my day.” I could picture Billie attending a private school, studying pretentious subjects, putting on a fabricated accent, and trying to immerse herself in the rich Tory culture.
The vagina talk halted out of respect when an older couple set down their towels on the bed next to us. I made eye contact with the gentleman; he smiled back, but I didn’t expect him to spark up a conversation.
“Are you girls Australian?” He asked in his American accent as he adjusted his umbrella for optimum shade.
“No, we’re English.” I smiled.
His wife whacked him on the arm and laughed. “I told you, Bob.” His smile was endearing. I got the impression his wife was often right, and he’d accepted it.
“We overheard you at breakfast, and my wife thought you guys were English. I could’ve sworn you were Australian. The accents are so similar.”
They were vastly different accents, but in the three times I’d visited America, a good portion of the American people I’d met thought I was Australian.
“You’re not the first person to say that. Where are you guys from?”
“We’re from New Jersey,” Bob replied.
“I love the American accent so much.” I sat upright.
“You do?” His wife asked.
“Yes, we could sit and listen to you speak all day.” I gestured towards Sarah. Billie not so much, she’d already complained five times about the American accent being too whiney.
“I could say the same for you,” Bob said.
We took a moment to introduce ourselves properly. I learnt Bob’s wife was Jill. She watched me intently.
“We just love the English accent. It’s so romantic.”
“Really? I think that’s the first time anyone has ever said our accent is romantic,” I joked.
“Oh really? I think it’s because you guys sound so well-educated. We just sound like a bunch of hillbillies,” Jill said the last part in a whisper, not wanting to offend any listening ears.
Well-educated? I had to disagree, but the Mancunian accent was in fact voted the sexiest accent in England. Maybe Jill had a point after all.
Bob had a kind face. His hair was mostly grey, he had nice teeth, and freshly trimmed stubble. He washandsome for an older gentleman. Jill had cropped blonde hair, an abundance of freckles, and such a sweet aura. The more I got talking to her the more I noticed she had this unabashed humility. She would have no problem gaining entry into the inner sanctum of old age cooldom.
Over the next two hours I learnt everything there was to know about the American couple. Bob was an orthopaedic surgeon. Jill was a retired nurse. They lived in a suburban town in New Jersey called Mountain Lakes, which sounded simply stunning.
Question, why did everything in America sound so picturesque? In New Jersey the boroughs are called exotic names like Mountain Lakes, Harrington Park, Berkeley Heights, and River Edge. In Manchester, you had Stockport, Oldham, or Rochdale. They didn’t have the same appeal. The key was to put the name of a large body of liquid before or after the town.
Bob and Jill had three children, two girls and a boy. All were well educated and seemingly thriving in life. I listened intently as Bob talked me through all the features of the hotel; they’d been three times before, and twenty times to Mexico, so they were well informed. He showed me pictures of other hotels they’d visited in Jamaica and Barbados. He pointed out the pros and cons for each in case we decided to visit. I loved every second of the conversation.
Billie indulged for a short period before going off to swim. Sarah had her headphones in; the occasional humming and foot tapping let me know she hadn’t fallen asleep.
We discussed controversial topics like gun laws and LGBTQ+ rights. Bob took the time to inform me of the political system in the US, and I in turn tried to explain the English equivalent. Try was the operative word. I’dnever been emersed in the world of politics. Truth be told, I had a hard time remembering who the Prime Minister was, but I gave it my best shot.
