Page 15 of Beautiful Losers

‘So entertainment comes at the cost of the truth?’

I glare at him, hand on hip. It’s infuriating I can’t see his eyes, though I imagine they’re giving off some seriously imperious energy. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a woman nudging a middle-aged man and whispering in his ear. The man’s eyes widen as she points at Jack. He strides over to us, taking his phone out of his back pocket.

‘Is it really you?’ he says, slapping Jack on the back. ‘The missus said, “That’s Jack Hamilton,” but she’s blind as a bat. Left her glasses in the hotel room, didn’t she? She was right, though. For once. Wait til the lads down the pub hear about this. You don’t mind if I take a selfie, do you, mate?’

He puts an arm around Jack’s shoulder and extends his other arm towards the sky, pointing his phone down at the pair of them.

‘Actually, I do mind,’ says Jack coldly, removing the man’s arm. ‘I don’t do selfies. If you’d like an autograph, I’m happy to oblige.’

‘Ah, come on, mate. What use is an autograph? Everyone will think I wrote it meself. Just one quick piccie.’

He extends his arm again. Jack removes it with greater force this time. The man looks stunned as Jack turns hisback to us and walks in the direction of the guesthouse without saying goodbye. The man’s wife appears at his side, lips puckered, and we watch as Jack disappears into the crowd.

‘Told you he was a dickhead,’ she says.

9

‘Hey, Mummy?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Can you show me a photo of President Macron?’

‘Huh?’

‘The president of France. The other day, I told you I didn’t want to go to school and you said it wasn’t up to you and that President Macron said all the boys and girls have to go.’

‘Ah, yes. Well, that’s true, sweetheart. It’s not my call.’

‘So can I see a picture?’

I type ‘Emmanuel Macron’ into the search engine on my phone and scroll through for the most presidential-looking photo I can find, a photo that emanates a strong Stay-in-school-kids message.

‘Here you go,’ I say, holding my screen up to Ari.

Ari furrows his brow.

‘He looks very serious,’ he says.

‘Yeah, well, running a country is a serious business. Or it used to be. I’m not so sure there’s a consensus on that anymore.’

Ari returns to his colouring.

‘Hey, Mummy?’

‘Yes, love.’

‘What are the most dangerous germs in the world?’

‘What’s that, baby?’

I’m distracted this morning by a reply to my latest email to La Maison Bleue’s owners. The first correspondence I’ve had from them since we got here. Also, I’ve been trying to draw a penis on a photo of Jack on my phone, to send to Yiv.

‘The most dangerous germs in thewhole wideworld,’ Ari says.

‘I’m not sure, baby. Samonella maybe? Syphilis is no picnic either, according to a friend from college.’

‘Will you draw me a picture of siflus?’

---