‘OK, OK, don’t need the details,’ Judith sighed, regretting the question.
‘I dunno, there was just something about him … Y’know, like when a guy is confident and funny and … it’s a real turn-on, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ asked Catrin, confused.
‘And he had this Northern Irish accent. And he was really fit – he’s a builder. Did you see his pecs?’
‘Lana!’ Judith scolded her. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend.’
‘I know. I know, all right?’ Lana looked down.
Silence descended and the three of them fell into deep thought. The waiter was chatting with some customers nearby, laughing, clearing plates and glasses, unaware of the tension on table five.
‘Oh my God,’ Lana said, breaking the mood as a sudden memory reared its shameful head. ‘I’ve just remembered something …’
‘What?’ said Catrin, intrigued.
‘When he was … y’know …’
‘What?’ asked Catrin, eyes wide open.
‘Oh shut up, Lana,’ said Judith. She was always a step ahead of Catrin and knew that Lana was about to say something gross.
‘At the end, when he … y’know …’
‘Go on,’ said Catrin naïvely.
‘Well, I remember every time he … “finished”, he’d say …’ and she adopted a spectacular Belfast accent, ‘he’d say, “The Irish are comin’, the Irish are comin’!” and then do a sort of Yee-hah! like a cowboy!’
Thankfully the waiter interrupted Lana’s recollection by replacing their ashtray and asking if they wanted more tea. They didn’t. ‘Just the bill, please,’ said Judith.
‘I think it was because I was missing him,’ Lana said mournfully.
‘Who? Gareth?’ Catrin was having trouble keeping up.
‘Oh that’s nice,’ said Judith. ‘“Sorry, Gareth, I was really missing you, so I went and shagged a builder from Dublin.”’
‘Belfast, actually,’ Lana mumbled.
‘Well, that makes all the difference!’ Judith said sarcastically.
More silence.
Judith knew exactly why she felt annoyed with Lana. For starters, it wasn’t meant to be that kind of trip. They’d all agreed before they left that this was about them, the three amigos Catrin-Kelly-Judith-Harris-Lana-Lloyd having a good laugh, and seeing things, and discovering things, and spending time in each other’s company. Because they may never get the chance to do it again! Before they knew it they’d be back home, then off to uni, and the life they’d been accustomed to for all these years – seeing each other almost every day, like they had done since they were five – would come to an end. And now, not only had Catrin fallen in love with some random guy on a daytrip, but Lana had had a one-night stand with some bloke in a bar. Was she jealous? She didn’t think so. Just disappointed.
Because this trip was meant to be about friendship. It wasn’t meant to be a sex fest or a quest for holiday romance. If they’d wanted that kind of trip they could have just booked a fortnight in Shagaluf like Becky Williams and her gang. But they were better than that. At least, she’d thought they were.
‘He had a massive—’
‘Stop it!’ Judith interrupted. ‘I seriously do not want to know.’
Catrin looked like she did. But knew better than to ask.
‘Look, girls. I’ve messed up, OK? I will hold my hands up and say I’ve been a complete and utter twat. I shouldn’t have drunk so much, and if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have done it, OK? I wouldn’t have shagged Danny or Donny or whatever the fuck he’s called. So if you want me to feel bad, well, I do, OK? And I’m sorry.’
There was a pause, then Catrin said, ‘It’s not us you should say sorry to, though, is it?’
‘Hey, hang on a minute, I’m hardly gonna tell Gareth, am I?’
‘No, come to think of it, that would be a really bad idea,’ said Catrin.
‘Obviously,’ snapped Judith and Lana together. Catrin wasn’t always the full ticket.
‘But please, girls …’ Lana continued. ‘Promise me that you will not tell a soul about what I did – and in exchange, I will give you my word that I will never, ever let it happen again.’
Judith sighed and begrudgingly nodded.
‘Of course,’ said Catrin, and she picked up an empty red Marlboro packet from the table. ‘Let’s swear,’ she said.
‘What you doing?’ asked Judith, still irritated.
‘Like we did when we were kids. When we swore on the Curly Wurly wrapper to always be friends, remember? Let’s swear on this fag packet never to tell. I know it isn’t a Curly Wurly, but it will have to do. Say after me …’
‘Sorry, but I’m not in the mood,’ said Judith with a sigh, softer now. ‘You’re right, Larn, you were an idiot, but we all make mistakes.’ She put her arms around Lana. ‘So let’s just forget it, yeah?’
‘Not too tight, Jude, I might be sick down your back,’ Lana mumbled.
The waiter handed them the bill and Catrin reached into her rucksack for her purse. Lana threw a handful of drachmas from her pocket on to the table, and Judith followed suit.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked Catrin, who had now begun emptying the contents of her rucksack on to the table.
‘It always ends up right at the bottom,’ she said, smiling, as she took out a pair of sunglasses, a book and a bottle of insect repellent. But the more she took out, the more her smile faded, until panic crossed her face. ‘It’s gone!’ she said. ‘My purse! I had it with me less than an hour ago!’
Judith emptied the rucksack, systematically checking the pockets again before fruitlessly searching under the table and the surrounding area. But no joy. They had to admit defeat: Catrin’s purse was definitely gone.
‘What a bummer,’ said Lana, trying her best to sound supportive whilst battling the urge to throw up.
‘Who’d have bloody nicked it?’ said Judith sympathetically.
‘From right under our noses. Bastards,’ added Lana unhelpfully, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘Look, don’t worry,’ said Jude. ‘At least today’s our last day, and me and Larn can pay for your omelette.’
‘I don’t care about the sodding omelette!!’ Catrin screeched, hysterical now. Other customers turned and stared. ‘My purse,’ she wept. ‘It had Sol’s number in it, didn’t it?’
12
Catrin
Huw had been there to greet them at the airport and Catrin wept when she saw him.
‘Hey now, look at the three of you!’ he declared, fighting his emotions at the sight of his little girl. ‘Browner than your Uncle Tim when he’s been on the sunbed!’
The journey home had been a mixture of hysterical laughter and pensive silence. They’d all belted out ‘MAE HEN WLAD FY NHADAU’ as they crossed the border into Wales, and shared with Huw some of the more sanitized stories from their trip, carefully avoiding subjects such as the Cyprus Scandal, the Builder from Belfast and, of course, the sorry tale of Solomon Blythe. And they’d tentatively discussed the A-level results awaiting them the next day – a subject they’d successfully banned for the entire holiday, but which now couldn’t be avoided.