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At this Admiral Darcy lurched over, clutching his poem.
"My dear, my dear, my darling!" he said, lunging at Elaine. "Oh here's what's-her-name," he said,
peering at me. "Lovely! Mark's arrived, that's my boy! Come to pick us up, sober as a judge. All
on his own. I don't know!" he said.
They both turned to look at Mark who was sitting at Una's threepenny-bit occasional table,
scribbling something, watched over by a blue-glass dolphin.
"Writing my will for me at a party I don't know. Work, work, work" roared the Admiral. "Brought
this bit of totty along, what was 'er name, m'dear, Rachel, was it? Betty?"
"Rebecca," Elaine said tartly.
"And the next thing she's nowhere to be seen. Ask him what's happened to her, and he mumbles!
Can't stand a mumbler Never could."
"Well, I don't think she was really...," murmured Elaine.
"Why not? Why not? Perfectly good! I don't know! Fussing about this, that and the other! I hope
you young ladies are not always flitting hither and thither like these young fellers seem to be!"
"No," I said ruefully. "In fact if we love someone it's pretty hard to get them out of our system
when they bugger off."
There was a crash behind. I turned to see that Mark Darcy had knocked over the blue-glass dolphin,
which in turn had dislodged a vase of chrysanthemums and a photo frame, creating a melee of
shattered glass, flowers and bits of paper, the hideous dolphin itself remaining miraculously
intact.
There was a commotion as Mum and Elaine and Admiral Darcy all rushed at the scene, the Admiral
striding around and bellowing, Dad trying to bounce the dolphin on to the floor saying, "Get rid
of the bloody thing," and Mark grabbing at his papers and offering to pay for everything.
"Are you ready to go, Dad?" muttered Mark, looking deeply embarrassed.
"No, no, in your own time, I've been in very good company, with Brenda here. Get me another port,
will you, son?"
There was an awkward pause as Mark and I looked at each other.
"Hello, Bridget," Mark said abruptly. "Come on, Dad, I really think we should go."
"Yes, come along, Malcolm," said Elaine, taking his arm affectionately. "Or you'll be widdling on
the carpet."
"Oh, widdling, widdling, I don't know."
The three of them made their goodbyes, Mark and Elaine easing the Admiral out of the door. I
watched, feeling empty and flat, then suddenly Mark reappeared and headed towards me.
"Ah, forgot my pen," he said, picking up his Mont Blanc from the occasional table. "When are you
going to Thailand?"
"Tomorrow morning." For a split second I could swear he looked disappointed.
"How did you know I was going to Thailand?"
"Grafton Underwood speaks of nothing else. Have you packed?"
"What do you think?'
"Not a single pant," he said wryly.
"Mark," bellowed his father. "Come on, boy, thought it was you who was keen to be off."
"Coming," said Mark, glancing over his shoulder. "This is for you." He handed me a scrumpled piece
of paper, flashed me a ... er ... penetrating look, then left.
I waited till no one was watching then unfolded the sheet with shaking hands. It was just a copy
of Dad and Admiral Darcy's poem. What did he give me that for?
Saturday 2 August
9st 2 (huh, total pre-holiday diet failure), alcohol units 5, cigarettes 42, calories 4,45 7
(total despair), items packed 0, ideas as to whereabouts of passport 6, passport whereabout ideas
proved to have any substance whatsoever 0.
5 a.m. Why oh why am I going on holiday? I will spend the entire holiday wishing Sharon were Mark
Darcy, and she that I were Simon. It's 5 o'clock in the morning. My entire bedroom is covered in
wet washing, biros, and Polythene bags. I do not know how many bras to take, I cannot find my
little black Jigsaw dress without which I cannot go or my other pink jelly mule, I haven't got any
traveller's cheques yet and do not think my credit card is working. There are now only 1.5 hours
left till I have to leave the house and everything will not fit into the suitcase. Maybe will have
cigarette and look at brochure for calming few minutes.
Mmm. Will be lovely just to lie and sunbathe to get all brown on beach. Sunshine and swimming and
... Oooh. Answerphone light is flashing. How come did not notice?
5.10 a.m. Pressed ANSWER PLAY.
"Oh Bridget, it's Mark. Just wondered. You do realize it's the rainy season in Thailand? Maybe you
should pack an umbrella."
11 Thai Takeaway
Sunday 3 August
Weightless (in air), alcohol units 8 (but in-flight so cancelled out by altitude), cigarettes 0
(desperate: no-smoking seat), calories I million (entirely made up of things would never have
dreamt of putting in self's mouth were they not on inflight tray), farts from travelling companion
38 (so far), variations in fart aroma 0.
4 p.m. English time. In aeroplane in sky. Having to pretend to be very busy wearing walkman and
writing as ghastly man next to self in pale brown synthetic-type suit keeps trying to talk to me
in between silent but deadly farting. Tried pretending to have fallen asleep whilst holding nose
but after a few minutes ghastly man tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Do you have any hobbies?"
"Yes, napping," I replied but even that didn't put him off and within seconds I was plunged into
the murky world of early Etruscan coinage.
Sharon and I are separated as we were so late for plane that there were only separate seats left
and Shazzer was in complete grump with me. She seems, however, to have unaccountably got over it,
which has clearly nothing to do with fact that she is sitting next to Harrison Fordstyle stranger
with jeans and crumpled khaki shirt, laughing like drain (weird expression, surely?) at everything
he says. This, in spite of the fact that Shaz hates all men for losing their roles and turning to
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