Is it?
“You don’tknowthat, though,” I argue back. “You’re just judging them based on appearances, which makes you every bit as bad as you think they are. You don’t know anything about them, really. And anyway, you don’t have to be cynical about absolutelyeverything, you know. Whether you like it or not, some peopledofall in love, and itdoeslast forever. Doesn’t it, Rita?”
I turn to her for backup, but Rita just blinks uncertainly.
“Maybe we should head back to the bus,” she says, clearing her throat nervously. “It looks like it’s getting ready to go. Now where’d that Gerald get to, then?”
She turns and shuffles off, my question unanswered. After a second, Alex shrugs again, then goes after her, leaving me standing there in the dirt, wondering what just happened.
I thought I could have counted on Rita to back me up on the existence of true love. Not that I know much about it, mind you…
Turning dejectedly on my platform heel, I turn and hobble over the rough ground to the bus, wishing more than ever that I’d worn something just a little more appropriate than wedges. Once on board, I find that Alex and Rita have swapped seats, leaving me and Rita together, while Alex sits behind us, fielding comments from Gerald, who appears to be keeping up a fairly constant running commentary on everything we pass.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Rita whispers to me as the bus moves off. “I don’t want that Gerald getting any ideas, you know? He just seems to have latched onto me; a bit like you and young Alex.”
“I haven’t ‘latched onto Alex’,” I whisper back indignantly, resisting the temptation to point out if anyone’s been ‘latching on’ to anyone else, it would be Rita herself. “I just felt sorry for him, that’s all. There’s a sadness about him somehow. I wanted to know what it is.”
I consider telling her about the birthday flowers I saw in Alex’s room, and the bottle of champagne he isn’t going to be sharing with anyone… then I remember the look on his face when I started asking questions about it, and decide against it.
“I’ve changed my mind now, though,” I go on, thinking about the little speech he just gave. “Seriously, what was that all about back there? Him ranting on about people being fake just because they want some nice photos of their big day? It’s so…judgy.”
“Oh, I don’t know, love,” says Rita, surprising me again. “Young folks do seem to set a lot of store by that Instagram these days, don’t they? It weren’t like that in my day, you know. Me and Fred, we got married at the registry office, we did. Quick ceremony, then down the pub for a pint, and home in time forThe Archerson the wireless. It were perfect.”
“I’m sure it was,” I reply doubtfully. “But everyone’s different, you know? When I get married, I think I’d like to have the ceremony on the beach. I have this vision of us sipping champagne as the sun goes down… or, actually, maybe that would be better for the engagement than the wedding? I’m not sure. Anyway, I know there’s got to be a tropical beach involved somehow. And a sunset. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting a nice wedding.”
“My Fred proposed on the beach,” says Rita, effortlessly bringing the subject back to her Fred. “Well,nextto the beach. It were in Skegness, on a bench. He left me waiting there for 20 minutes in the rain, the bugger… then he came back with a bag of fish and chips and a ring he’d found in the pawnshop.”
She sighs happily at the memory.
“See,that’strue love, Summer,” she says, looking wistfully out of the window. “It was wet and windy, and the stupid old sod had forgotten to put vinegar on the chips. But I’d still give an arm and a leg to be back there on that bench, so I would, smellin’ them greasy chips.”
I swallow down the lump that’s somehow risen in my throat at these words, but am saved the trouble of responding to them by the tour guide, who chooses that moment to tell us all that we’re almost at the cable car station. Before long we’re disembarking yet again’ me shivering in my thin shirt as the fresh air hits me, and Rita wondering aloud if they might sell fish and chips in the restaurant, because she’s ‘taken a notion’ for them now.
“Don’t say it,” I groan as Alex brushes past me, casting a smug look at my inappropriate attire as he passes me, wearing a thick hoodie, which he’s presumably produced from his Mary Poppins backpack.
He pauses, and looks back at me, as if he’s considering something. Then he dives back into his bag and pulls out a sweater, which he hands to me.
“Here,” he says gruffly. “It won’t match your outfit, but it’ll keep you warm.”
“Um… thanks,” I say, surprised. “Did you… did you just happen to have an extra sweater in your bag? Were you expecting a knitwear-related emergency?”
“No,” he admits, looking slightly embarrassed. “Well, not for me, anyway. I noticed you weren’t exactly dressed for mountain climbing when you came to my room, though, so I thought I’d better come prepared.”
“Wow, that’s unexpectedly nice of you,” I tell him, putting on the sweater. It smells faintly of the aftershave he always wears, and I have to stop myself from inhaling it as I pull it over my head.
“I’m an unexpectedly nice guy, Summer,” says Alex, watching me. “Great look, by the way.”
I look ruefully down at the sweater, which is so long it reaches past the hem of my shorts, making me look like that’s all I’m wearing.
“Don’t worry about it,” says Alex, doing that mind-reading thing again. “You’re not the only person who didn’t realize it would be cooler up here.”
A quick look at the crowds of people surrounding us as our tour guide leads us up the short hill to the cable car station confirms the truth of this statement. Sure, there’s a handful of smarty-pants hikers in boots and stretchy climbing gear, but there’s also plenty of ‘normal’ people in shorts and flip-flops, which makes me feel a bit better.
“This way, please!”
The tour guide herds our group towards the cable car station at the top of the hill, and my stomach lurches traitorously as I look up to see one of the cars coming towards us, rocking slightly as it docks — or whatever it is that cable cars do — so the passengers can get off.
“It’s a lot smaller than I expected,” I whisper to Alex as we join the end of the long queue of people all waiting for their opportunity to be suspended in midair, relying on what looks to me to be a suspiciously thin cable for survival. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
