Page 54 of Another Lucky Number

The woman finally twigs that I’m talking to her and cranes her neck so she can see me. ‘Yes?’

It’s clear from her expression that she’s irritated by the disturbance.

‘I’m afraid you’re on my lounger,’ I say. ‘That’s my stuff on the ground. I only nipped to the toilets.’

The woman turns over and looks me up and down. ‘It was free when I got here. Not my fault you forgot to put your stuff on it.’

‘No, but that’s the thing… my stuffwason it. You must have removed it.’

‘Excuse me?I didn’t touch anything. As I said, the lounger was free.’

I hesitate, the discomfort of this interaction making me want to give up and walk away. Almost but not quite. She’s clearly stolen my lounger and I want to be next to my friends.

‘Itwasn’tfree though,’ I try again. ‘My towel and clothes were on it.’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’

‘No, of course not.’ I feel my cheeks start to burn. ‘But my stuff was there before I left, so…someonemust have moved it.’

The woman scowls, making it abundantly clear that I’m pissing her off. ‘Well, ifsomeonemoved your stuff, then I suggest you go and have a word with thatsomeone, and leave me in peace.’

Exasperation and a sense of injustice rears within me. She hasobviouslyseen that there are no other loungers available andtaken mine for herself, rudely discarding my things in the process. I glance across at Cat and Amber, hoping for some support, but they’re both lying face down, either asleep or unaware of the scene playing out beside them.

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my sun.’ The woman takes another verbal swipe at me at me, this time in an even more hostile tone.

Cowed by her aggression, I give in and go in search of another lounger. Luckily, a young couple are packing up not too far along the poolside, so I wait until they leave and then set myself up in their spot. I’m annoyed that I’m now separated from my friends, especially because we’re meant to be doing my interview prep shortly. But as there’s little I can do about it, I might as well enjoy what free time I have left.

Once I’m settled again, I take my book out of my beach bag and attempt to lose myself in it, but I find it difficult to relax. Not surprising really, given what has gone down in the last twenty or so minutes.

Discarding my book, I opt for some people watching instead and it’s a good choice. In no time at all, I’m feeling more relaxed from simply drinking in the ‘summery’ scene around me: couples, friends and families frolicking merrily in the pool; people strolling past sipping rainbow-coloured frozen drinks against the luscious backdrop of the azure blue sky, palm trees and other tropical shrubbery. The chill beats floating across the omnipresent sea breeze from the speakers of the outdoor entertainment system also enhance the holiday ambience. It’s a mood lifter all right. An infectious atmosphere of happiness and contentment. In fact, I become so lost in the loveliness of it all that I almost miss the empty lounger next to me being commandeered by a new occupier: a woman around my age with long blonde hair wearing an ankle-length blue beach dress.

I nod politely at her and resume my people watching.However, after a minute or two, I become aware of a sniffing noise coming from her direction. Assuming she’s got allergies or something, I pay her little attention, until she makes a noise that sounds like a hippopotamus choking on its lunch. I glance across and see her lifting her sunglasses and wiping her eyes, which are unmistakably red and puffy. She’s crying.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ I ask, without thinking.

‘Oh… yes… I’m fine. Sorry.’

She seems embarrassed that I’ve clocked her emotional state, and this appears to upset her even more. Her body shudders as she tries and fails to quell her distress.

‘Goodness, you’re not OK at all.’ I sit up and give her my full attention.

‘I’m… s… sorry,’ she stutters, between sobs. ‘This isn’t… me. I’m… being stupid.’

Taking her willingness to engage with me as a positive sign, I decide that it’s safe to offer her some support.

‘I know we’ve never met, but do you want to talk about it? You can tell me to get lost if you want – I won’t be offended at all – but I get the feeling you could do with a friendly ear.’

She stops sobbing momentarily and looks at me. ‘You’re Scottish.’

‘Yes, I am. And you are too.’ I smile kindly at her, understanding the statement: one of relief at having found a ‘kindred spirit’ during her moment of need.

‘I’m from… Aberdeen.’

‘I live in Edinburgh. My name’s Emma. What’s yours?’

‘Fiona.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Fiona. Though I wish it had been under better circumstances.’

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