‘Well it seems she’s on the menopause thingy too and turned into a right dragon. Calvin wasn’t getting any action – those were his words not mine, by the way – so he decided to book them into therapy for the sake of their marriage.’
Yeah, right, thought Babs. ‘And did it work?’
‘I don’t know, because he’d just got to the bit about the tennis ball when his phone rang, so I didn’t hear the end, but ever since I’ve been thinking about the Lanzarote idea, and I reckon it’s the perfect solution.’
Babs glanced in his direction and raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’
‘Well, you’re always run off your feet at Christmas so after all that madness, you can have break from the kids and a nice rest in a swanky five-star hotel. No cooking and cleaning and it might take your mind off your mental problems and put a smile on your face at the same time. You know, having some fun in the sun.’
Mental problems. He seriously just said that?
Babs twiddled the cork in her hand and said nothing because she was waiting for the burp to arrive and when it did, she let it out loud and proud. It was a cracker. One that went on for ages and ages, much to the disgust of Pete who grimaced beside her.
It made Babs laugh, not just the burp, which was the perfect response to his stupid idea, but his disgusted expression, and once she started laughing, at him and everything, she couldn’t stop and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks as her body jiggled in the seat.
And as always, Pete read the room wrong. ‘See, I knew it’d cheer you up! It’s what we both need, a bloody good holiday away from the kids. So, shall I tell Calvo we’re in? He’s going to book it tonight and he needs to know, and then I’ll send the deposit over.’
Babs wiped her eyes, and as suddenly as the giggles had arrived, they departed, like guests who’d turned up at the wrong party wearing fancy dress, realising it was actually a wake. Turning to face him, in a surprisingly calm voice, Babs asked Pete a question of her own.
‘Do you honestly think that’s all it will take to fix us, or me for that matter? That a holiday will cure my “mental problems,” as you so kindly put it.’ He opened his mouth but shut it when Babs raised her hand to silence him.
‘Do you really think that going away with four of the most obnoxious people I have ever met will glue you and me back together? Will stop you from feeling the way you described, will ease any of the troubles I’ve just poured out to you. That a suntan and all-you-can-eat buffet will be the miracle that women like me all over the world are waiting for?’ She took another swig.
Pete opened his mouth, then shut it. Babs wondered if he needed to phone a friend. Or go 50/50. She’d have loved him to ask the audience. Instead, spurred on by the demon unleashed inside her, who absolutely loved Prosecco, Babs got her bitch on.
‘Oh,I know,’ she heard the sarcasm in her voice, ‘maybe getting me drunk on cocktails will loosen up all the bits that don’t work anymore. A couple of glasses of sex on the beach will do the trick, I reckon. Actually make that three or four because Lord knows that’s what it’d take to get me into bed with you ever again.’
His head nearly spun off his shoulders, and using his right arm to steady himself in what was clearly a moment of revelation Pete asked, ‘Don’t you fancy me anymore, is that what you’re saying? That you’d have to be drunk to… you know… have sex.’
Babs exploded, unable to contain her frustration any longer. ‘Yes, Pete, I would. I told you last time we did it, that I had to grin and bear it and thought of England the whole way through. It’s painful, no matter what I squirt up there to make it easier. It’s shite, totally, completely, abysmally shite and it gets worse, when I can’t have a wee the next day without grimacing! I told you all this, Pete, but you clearly didn’t listen or care enough to talk about it, with me, your wife not fucking Calvo the stupid knobhead!’
‘Babs, I’m sorry, just calm down, okay.’
Oh, my God, he said it. That’s how stupid he is. He actually told me to calm down.
Babs was on the verge of hysteria and her high pitch reflected that, along with her hot cheeks and watery eyes.
‘So you reckon it’ll work, do you? A holiday. Then let’s go. What have we got to sodding lose? In fact, fuck it. Let’s go right now. Come on. We can nip home, grab the passports and my envelope of cash, leave a note for the kids, and go straight to the airport… come on, smart arse… let’s do it… follow the holy grail to happiness and a NICE BIG SHAG FOR PETE!’
Pete’s eyes were like moons. His voice laced with disgust and a thinly veiled hint of anger. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘And you’re an arsehole.’
‘Jesus, Babs.’ Pete did his wobbly head and raised palms thing. Looking bemused was his go to expression.
But Babs had no intention of answering, she’d had enough. Of being stuck in the car with Pete, stuck in a marriage with Pete, in fact she was sick of just being stuck so reaching for the door handle she yanked and pushed, then grabbed her rucksack and still holding tight to the bottle, got out of the car.
Pete was flummoxed. ‘Babs, what the hell have I said now?’
As she hooked the straps over her shoulders, shouted, ‘You know what, Pete. You might be a boring, self-centred pillock but you never cease to amaze me with your ignorance so if you don’t know, it means you haven’t listened to anything I’ve just said so what’s the bloody point in being here… In fact, what’s the point in any of it anymore?’
Babs saw Pete shuffle round in a panicky flap as he grappled with the door and tried to get out of the car. She couldn’t be bothered to wait or listen to what he had to say when he managed to squeeze his beer belly from between the steering wheel and his seat. Instead she marched off to the strains of his voice, issuing orders and asking questions.
‘Babs, get back here right now! You’re not walking around on your own pissed as a fart.’
Ah, maybe he does care, bless.
‘You’re showing me up!’
