The middle-aged couple are already on their feet, their flight cases blocking the aisle. The rep ticks their names off the list, then beams at Jody as she leads Grace forward.
‘Happy holidays! Don’t forget the welcome meeting this evening!’
Once they’ve assembled on the pavement, Sam heads round to fetch the cases. Dylan wants to go with him and has to be restrained. His frustrated cry draws a wince from the middle-aged woman. Her husband appears, wheeling his cases, and sneaks a glance at Jody’s body. Sam comes up behind them, wearing a sheepish grin meant only for her: Look who we’ve been lumbered with.
As the coach moves away, the woman’s gaze drifts from her husband to Jody as she says, ‘Are we set? Got all your stuff?’
The questions are delivered as if they’re together in a single group, and the woman is treating her like a child. But Jody makes the effort to smile politely. After all, it’s not this woman’s fault that she and Sam had kids too young, or that they still react badly to any suggestion that they can’t cope.
Jody is well aware that they’re both far too prickly about it, the result of feeling for years that they have been unfairly judged, looked down on, for the bad luck and mistakes of their youth.
Right this second, Sam doesn’t care what the hotel’s like – he just wants to get to their room and crash out for a while – but first there’s the check-in to survive.
Trevor nods in the direction of the departing coach. ‘Didn’t tip him, I hope?’ Sam shakes his head but Trevor carries on complaining: ‘Outrageous, the way everyone expects something for nothing these days.’
Sam hesitates at the entrance, only for Trevor to wave him through. Ironically, this is one occasion when Sam would have preferred to let the other man go first and watch what he did; now he has no choice but to approach the reception desk and introduce himself.
He’s dreading the thought that the staff will speak no English, or that their accents will be too strong for Sam to understand. But as it turns out, the man who greets him has very good English. He’s young, dark-haired, and looks a bit like an Italian footballer, Schelotto.
Sam has to fill in a form, and fights off his usual panic, thankful that it’s all simple stuff: name, address, nationality. He puts ‘English’, then adds ‘British’ as well. He can never remember which one you’re supposed to use.
There’s some confusion when the man refers to Jody as ‘Mrs Berry.’ Sam has to explain that she’s Jody Lamb, not Berry, and the man turns away to check the booking details on a computer. Feeling vaguely ashamed, Sam wants to explain why they’re not married. It’s partly the expense of a wedding when there are so many other priorities, partly a ridiculous problem over surnames. Sam knows she doesn’t like how ‘Jody Berry’ sounds, and ‘Jody Lamb-Berry’ is even worse: A very peculiar flavour of jam, as she’s often joked.
It doesn’t cause a problem, but there’s another worry when the man requests their passports. Luckily they’re in Jody’s handbag, meaning Sam has to ask for them. The Smugs are within earshot and don’t react, so Sam has to assume it’s not some kind of scam. He hands them over and is told they’ll be kept safe until they check out.
A couple more minutes and it’s done. Each of them has a white plastic wristband fitted: proof they’re entitled to the all-inclusive package. Then Sam is given tokens to exchange for beach towels, as well as two plastic key cards which not only open the door but also operate the electricity in the room.
Taking a case each, and a child each, Sam and Jody head across the lobby and through a set of double doors which lead outside. Another blast of that stunning heat, like someone’s turned a blowtorch in their direction. Feels pretty good now he’s adjusting to it.
This side of the hotel is a different world; everything nicely laid out, lots of well-watered grass and flowers. A network of pale stone paths run through the gardens, leading to a pool and a large patio area filled with sun loungers, paired off beneath huge white umbrellas. There’s a pool bar with a thatched bamboo roof, half a dozen people sitting on stools and sipping drinks.
As they trundle the cases along the path, Sam feels the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. Several people have glanced up from their sun loungers; one or two in the pool are turning in their direction as well.
‘We’re getting eyeballed,’ he mutters, feeling sweat pour from his face. In his experience, coming to someone’s notice usually means trouble, but Jody only laughs.
‘Because we’re the newbies, all pale and sickly. A few days and we’ll be doing it too, checking out the latest arrivals and staring in pity at the leavers.’
Dylan can hardly contain his eagerness to explore, so they end up making all sorts of promises just to hurry him past the pool and into a separate accommodation block. Their room is on the ground floor, along a wide corridor with tiled floors and unglazed windows. The air feels surprisingly cool, the walls throwing clever shadows that prevent the heat from building.
Room 109: they’re here at last, at the end of a long, hard journey – planning it, saving for it, then the travelling itself – and Sam is nervous. Nearly three grand.
He fumbles with the card and finally has it. The door opens with a click but it’s heavy. A fire door. The room is dark, warm and stuffy. Sam leaves the cases and walks in, as if he needs to make sure it’s safe for his family – and there’s a man in the corner, completely still–
What the hell?
‘Here,’ Jody calls. Sam missed the slot by the door. She places her own card into it and a couple of lights come on. The man who just scared the shit out of him is actually a big old-fashioned standing lamp. Sam laughs, feeling like a fool.
The room is gloomy because the blinds are shut. There’s a low grinding noise and the air begins to stir as the aircon gets to work. Now that he can see the room clearly, his first thought is that it’s a mistake. This can’t be theirs.
It’s larger than some of the flats they rented as teenage parents, and the furniture and decoration are a hell of a lot smarter. Tiled floors, and deep maroon walls with a kind of gold flecked pattern where a dado rail would be. Pale oak-effect furniture, but solid looking: not self-assembled.
There’s a big double bed with a silky cream-coloured bedspread, and some kind of fancy arrangement of towels lying on it, shaped to look like a swan. A couple of chairs and a table, a low unit with a small TV, then a wide open space and an alcove off to the side with two single beds for the kids. There are even curtains to pull across for some privacy.
He glances at Jody, who is pinching her nostrils together and blinking a lot. For a second, she won’t look in his direction.
‘So, kids,’ he says, ‘what do you reckon?’
‘It’s really cool!’ Grace inspects the alcove and points to the right-hand bed. ‘I’ll have that one.’
Dylan immediately flings himself on that bed. ‘I want it!’
‘Oh, I’ll have this one then.’ Grace sneaks a sly look at her parents: Outwitted!
Jody chuckles. Her hand goes out to Sam, her fingers curling between his. He’s still struggling to find the word that describes how he feels, but settles on delight. It’s a sensation like being wrapped in a thick, warm towel, and his thinking is suddenly clear and straightforward.