indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
Ronnie
While Bill was terrorising the ladies in the bar, Ronnie lay awake in bed. Though she had felt so tired towards the end of dinner she could barely keep her head out of her plate, now she could not sleep at all. The events of the past two days were buzzing round in her head. Sophie’s stroppiness about the food and the palaver over the bedrooms. Mark starting drinking at eleven in the morning. Granddad Bill’s embarrassing behaviour. Her own humiliation when it was time to put her swimming costume on. Chelsea’s arrival …
Ronnie might have known what it would be like when Chelsea finally deigned to show up, wafting in like she was Jackie Kennedy with her ballet flats and her big sunglasses and her posh designer handbag dangling from her elbow. She was the prodigal daughter. Josephine in a Technicolor sundress. Ronnie knew from Jacqui that Chelsea hadn’t been to Coventry in over a year but having finally shown her face, she was the favourite child once more and Ronnie was left on the sidelines, feeling and looking like the fatted calf.
How aloof Chelsea had been. She had looked pained from the moment Ronnie first saw her standing in the lobby, regarding the other holidaymakers as though they were on day release from prison. Ronnie half expected Chelsea to clutch a handkerchief to her nose to avoid breathing in their chavvy germs. The way she tried to shake hands with Jack was excruciating. Any normal woman would have given the poor boy a cuddle. It didn’t get any better. It had broken Ronnie’s heart to see Jack try and fail to engage Chelsea in conversation all afternoon and evening. She hadn’t even looked up from her iPhone to see him do his ‘best ever’ dive. And how about the way she had just raised an eyebrow when Sophie went into meltdown over the menu in the Jolly Pirate? Any caring aunt would have backed Ronnie up when she insisted Sophie had to eat more than just chips. Not that Chelsea was much better than Sophie. She had picked at her food as though it was poison. Ronnie knew their mother had noticed and would take it personally. The food at the Hotel Volcan was not good enough for someone like Chelsea, whose body wasn’t just a temple; it was the fricking Taj Mahal.
As Ronnie had feared, Chelsea did not look as though she had just turned thirty. Chelsea was as slim as a breadstick. Her hair looked expensively coloured. Her skin was perfectly smooth and entirely unlined, though maybe that was down to Botox. In the edition of Society Ronnie had flicked through in the doctor’s waiting room, she’d found an article written by her sister saying you should start doing Botox in your mid-twenties to ensure that lines never formed in the first place. Ronnie had no doubt that Chelsea would be taking her own advice. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t raise a smile for poor Jack. And how about Chelsea’s holiday wardrobe? In that blue bikini, Chelsea knew she had a better body than any other guest at the hotel. There was absolutely no chance Ronnie would take her sarong off once Chelsea had arrived.
It was agony to sit by that pool and be unable to jump in, but it wasn’t just Chelsea that Ronnie felt like hiding from. Ronnie had heard two young guys in the bar talking about a ‘whale’ who had almost emptied the pool of water when she dived in. She did not want them to say the same about her. She just wanted to stay out of their line of sight. Under the radar. Safe.
Did Mark fancy Chelsea? Earlier that evening, when Ronnie had commented that her sister was in ‘good shape’, Mark had said, ‘She’s a bit thin,’ but did he really mean that? It wasn’t possible to be too thin, was it? Whatever he thought of Chelsea, Mark certainly didn’t seem to fancy Ronnie any more. Within minutes of getting back to their room that night he was asleep. Or pretending to be. Ronnie had forgotten the last time he had cuddled up to her in bed. There had been times when he
Chapter Thirteen
Ronnie
While Bill was terrorising the ladies in the bar, Ronnie lay awake in bed. Though she had felt so tired towards the end of dinner she could barely keep her head out of her plate, now she could not sleep at all. The events of the past two days were buzzing round in her head. Sophie’s stroppiness about the food and the palaver over the bedrooms. Mark starting drinking at eleven in the morning. Granddad Bill’s embarrassing behaviour. Her own humiliation when it was time to put her swimming costume on. Chelsea’s arrival …
Ronnie might have known what it would be like when Chelsea finally deigned to show up, wafting in like she was Jackie Kennedy with her ballet flats and her big sunglasses and her posh designer handbag dangling from her elbow. She was the prodigal daughter. Josephine in a Technicolor sundress. Ronnie knew from Jacqui that Chelsea hadn’t been to Coventry in over a year but having finally shown her face, she was the favourite child once more and Ronnie was left on the sidelines, feeling and looking like the fatted calf.
How aloof Chelsea had been. She had looked pained from the moment Ronnie first saw her standing in the lobby, regarding the other holidaymakers as though they were on day release from prison. Ronnie half expected Chelsea to clutch a handkerchief to her nose to avoid breathing in their chavvy germs. The way she tried to shake hands with Jack was excruciating. Any normal woman would have given the poor boy a cuddle. It didn’t get any better. It had broken Ronnie’s heart to see Jack try and fail to engage Chelsea in conversation all afternoon and evening. She hadn’t even looked up from her iPhone to see him do his ‘best ever’ dive. And how about the way she had just raised an eyebrow when Sophie went into meltdown over the menu in the Jolly Pirate? Any caring aunt would have backed Ronnie up when she insisted Sophie had to eat more than just chips. Not that Chelsea was much better than Sophie. She had picked at her food as though it was poison. Ronnie knew their mother had noticed and would take it personally. The food at the Hotel Volcan was not good enough for someone like Chelsea, whose body wasn’t just a temple; it was the fricking Taj Mahal.
As Ronnie had feared, Chelsea did not look as though she had just turned thirty. Chelsea was as slim as a breadstick. Her hair looked expensively coloured. Her skin was perfectly smooth and entirely unlined, though maybe that was down to Botox. In the edition of Society Ronnie had flicked through in the doctor’s waiting room, she’d found an article written by her sister saying you should start doing Botox in your mid-twenties to ensure that lines never formed in the first place. Ronnie had no doubt that Chelsea would be taking her own advice. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t raise a smile for poor Jack. And how about Chelsea’s holiday wardrobe? In that blue bikini, Chelsea knew she had a better body than any other guest at the hotel. There was absolutely no chance Ronnie would take her sarong off once Chelsea had arrived.
It was agony to sit by that pool and be unable to jump in, but it wasn’t just Chelsea that Ronnie felt like hiding from. Ronnie had heard two young guys in the bar talking about a ‘whale’ who had almost emptied the pool of water when she dived in. She did not want them to say the same about her. She just wanted to stay out of their line of sight. Under the radar. Safe.
Did Mark fancy Chelsea? Earlier that evening, when Ronnie had commented that her sister was in ‘good shape’, Mark had said, ‘She’s a bit thin,’ but did he really mean that? It wasn’t possible to be too thin, was it? Whatever he thought of Chelsea, Mark certainly didn’t seem to fancy Ronnie any more. Within minutes of getting back to their room that night he was asleep. Or pretending to be. Ronnie had forgotten the last time he had cuddled up to her in bed. There had been times when he
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