Page 12 of Embracing Us

Chapter five

Linda

Three suitcases, two hand luggage, a pram, and a car seat. I’ve never travelled with as much stuff in all my life. Once again, I check off the list of needed items in my head. I’m sure every necessity is packed; if it’s not then hell, there’s no room for it now. Every inch of each case is filled to burst. Yesterday, I spent my afternoon watching YouTube videos on how the maximise space for travelling.

“You do know there are shops in Malaga? They sell everything from clothes to food to baby supplies,” Max says as he walks through the door of our bedroom. He widens his eyes on the words, baby supplies. I narrow mine at him but don’t respond. He’s told me this a few times already, but not being prepared before we go makes me nervous. “Are these ready to be taken downstairs?” he asks, ignoring my bad mood and signalling at the cases. “The taxi will be here in ten minutes.”

“Yes, I think we have everything.” He wanders over to me and kisses the top of my head. His gaze runs over the suitcases at our feet.

“I have every confidence that these bags contain all required baby products for our four-week stay. I’m also pretty damn certain the kitchen sink and the tumble dryer will fall out when I open them.” I swipe at his cheek. He ducks out of my way, raising his eyebrows at me. “Have you included our personal essential items?”

“What items?” I snap. If he’s going to spring something on me now, I may kill him with my bare hands. I’ve asked him multiple times if there was anything he needed specifically. The only response I got was a panty-wetting smile and "I trust you," which is code for, ‘I can’t be arsed doing my own packing, so I’ll survive with whatever you decide to throw in for me.’

“The ones that only we get to play with. Especially the one I wear. Fuck, it feels good, and you’re keen on it as well, I think.” He grins at me. “Well, if last night’s results are anything to go by.”

“Rest assured that all necessary items are packed,” I tell him, blandly. But he’s right, last night I went to pieces beneath him. When he’d appeared home last week with a cock ring, I’d been partially shocked but completely aroused. So far, trials are progressing well.

“I love you, Beautiful. I can’t wait to see what goodies you chose,” he says, then grabs the larger cases and walks out the door. “We’ll need to move the bed away from the wall at the hotel,” he calls over his shoulder.

I reapply another coat of lip gloss in the mirror and run my fingers through my hair. This is it; we’re returning to where our crazy story began. Almost a year ago, I stepped on that plane to Spain with no idea what was around the corner. Now, I’m returning with a new son and partner. Those were two items I certainly didn’t expect to pick up on my excursion last year. To say it’s been a year of change would be an understatement.

“The car is here,” Max shouts up the stairs to me.

“Just coming,” I reply, before glancing at my phone again. No messages. Marina hasn’t contacted me, and she’s not come home this morning. I was hoping to see her before we left. My calls yesterday went unreturned. Late last night I received a simple text message telling me she’d see me when I got back. My relationship with my daughter hasn’t improved at all these past twelve months; if anything, it’s become worse. That plays on my mind.

With a final check of my appearance, I pick up my handbag and walk out the door. The cases are already in the car, and Max is securing Jackson in his car seat. He looks around when he hears me approach, flashing me a breath-taking smile. “You ready?” he asks, and I nod. He double checks the child’s seat is secure, withdraws from the car then closes the door. “Let’s go. I need sunshine. I don’t know about you.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders then walks me around the other side of the car before helping me inside. The hour’s drive is quiet. Max chats to the driver, whilst I watch our son sleep beside me. Hopefully, our journey will continue in the same way.

The airport is heaving with travellers waiting to jet off to warmer climates. Our destination is a hotspot for stag and hen parties. No doubt our plane will be full of drunken partygoers. After extricating all our belongings from the taxi, Max sets up Jackson’s pram, and I lay him down. We make our way towards the gaggle of people at the entrance.

The door is revolving. It’s the type that stops dead if you get too close to it. I watch on as a group of ten men wearing dresses and wigs all try to fit in one pod. The stag is obvious as he’s wearing a full white wedding dress with a train. They all clamber in. The door moves a metre then stops abruptly. Swathes of white organza are caught between the edge of the door and the wall. The men all look at each other dumbly with no clue as to why they are now essentially stuck in a glass box. They all move closer to each other, and the rotation starts again, then immediately stops. All faces gawk in surprise.

One man, who is clearly well-oiled already, starts banging on the glass. “Help!” he shouts. “Help! We’re trapped in here. Police! Police!” I glance at Max who is laughing so hard, there are tears in his eyes. The sound of ripping material returns our attention to the scene. The white skirt of the wedding dress lies discarded on the floor as the man who wore it stalks off in a new mini skirt surrounded by his friends. I can imagine the weekend they’re going to have. It will be liquid and dangerous.

“I hope they’re not on our flight,” I say to Max as we pass through the temperamental entrance.

“There’s a good chance they will be. But it’s also possible that they’ll all pass out before we’re in the air. It’ll be fine, Beautiful.”

The queue for check-in isn’t too long. There are five people ahead of us. Jackson woke up when we lifted him from the car, but he’s been amazingly subdued. His little eyes dart around as he hears th.e eclectic sounds surrounding him. I can’t wait until he’s big enough to sit in his stroller and actually see what is going on in the world. As cute as he looks in his pram, wrapped in hand-knitted blankets, it must be boring for him to stare at the ceiling, only seeing someone’s face if they look in.

Within ten minutes, we arrive at the check-in desk. Max chooses this moment to turn and say, “Did you weigh the cases?” I shake my head, and he rolls his eyes.

“You could have weighed the cases,” I suggest. He ignores my comment.

“Hope you’ve got your credit card handy,” he mutters under his breath.

“I heard that,” I snap. He glances at me and smirks.

“You were meant to. I love it when you look all pissed at me.” He winks. “You look hot. Angry sex with you is fucking awesome,” he says, louder than necessary, then turns to the woman at the counter whose cheeks are now cherry tomato. She heard him. Twat.

He lifts the first case onto the scale and the numbers rise rapidly. Sweat beads on my brow. This part of travelling, I hate. It feels like a bloody game show where you have to guess the weight of something. And the contest scales are rigged to show a different value to the real one. The numbers stop half a kilogram short of our maximum allowance. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“One down, one to go.” Max chuckles. “What’s in this one? The spreader bar?”

“Max!” I hiss. “Bloody hell. Be serious for a moment.” He looks at me, his expression is completely neutral.

“I am, Beautiful,” he replies, unruffled. “I’m serious, did you bring it?” He turns back to the assistant. “She loves it,” he tells her. Her face is now purple rather than red after listening to my errant man relay our sex life to her.

Last call for the flight to Malaga

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