‘Don’t you just want to climb through the TV screen and lick his face?’
‘Can’t say I’ve ever wanted to do that,’ I reply, presuming she’s talking about the guy who plays the lead character. ‘How did we get onto this?’
‘You were saying Charlie is as fit as fuck and I asked—’
‘Stop!’ I cut her off. ‘I didnotsay that! You’re making me feel bad. The poor guy only lost his wife last October.’
‘That really is properly shitty, isn’t it?’
‘I’d say that’s putting it mildly.’ I sigh heavily.
‘Are you all right?’ she asks. ‘You don’t sound like your usual chirpy self. Is it depressing, being there?’
‘Not as depressing as it could be, but I do feel a bit like I’m intruding,’ I admit. ‘Yes, even though he wanted me here,’ I say before she can chip in. ‘He only really talks to me if it’s about his daughter. I’ve tried to make conversation about his work, but he’s not what you’d call chatty. I guess it’s only early days. It’ll be fine. I’ll perk up. Hang on a sec.’ I place the phone down on the grass and crack open a mini-bottle of Prosecco before putting the phone back to my ear. ‘Cheers,’ I say, taking a swig. The bubbles fizz right up my nostrils and make me cough.
‘Are you drinking on your own?’ Marty asks with alarm.
‘No, I’m talking to you. I consider that company.’
‘When you said you were going to perk up, I didn’t realise you meant you were going to get shitfaced on the phone to me.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Marty, do you really have to go on holiday to Greece for two weeks with that boyfriend of yours? Can’t you come and see me instead?’
‘I promise I’ll come and see you when the lovely Ted and I get back,’ she assures me.
‘You really do love him, don’t you?’ I say wistfully.
‘I really, really do,’ she replies even more wistfully.
‘All right, now you’re making me want to throw up.’
We’re still giggling when we ring off.
I take a deep breath of the damp, salty air, inhaling the scent of seawater and long, summer grass. The sun is setting and the sky is a canvas of mauve, orange, rose and blue brush-strokes. I stay up on the hill until the first star comes out and then I return toHermie, climbing into bed without bothering to take off my make-up.
Chapter 7
I’m a bit over it now.
And, yes, I know this does not bode well for the coming weeks.
I had to make a midnight loo stop thanks to my old pal Prosecco, and my stomach muscles were at it all night long because I kept rolling off to one side – obviously the ground is not as level as I thought. I slept terribly, so I’m knackered and I woke up this morning with crusty eyes and clumpy lashes.
I look like hell. And I don’t even care. I’m not even sure I can be bothered to go to the shower block.
I lie there in bed until eight forty before pulling myself together.
Sort it out, Bridget. Charlie is expecting you.
Grabbing my washbag, I climb out of the van. I reallydoneed to wash my hair today. Grease is the word.
The showers work with tokens – it costs 50p for a good five minutes. I got a stack of them when I arrived, but can I find any of the little gold fuckers in my washbag when the shower cuts out halfway through rinsing my hair? No, I cannot.
I wrap my towel around my body and unlock the shower cubicle, hoping to find a sympathetic passer-by. Luckily I see Justin heading away from the toilets, so I call after him.
He comes over, grinning like a loon, his dreadlocks happily piled up under his cheerfully coloured hat.
‘Run out of tokens?’ he asks.
