couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Increasingly of late, however, Ronnie felt as though they were just lodgers in the same house. Ronnie worried that Mark would get fed up and start to look elsewhere, but she herself would never initiate sex any more for fear of being actively rejected. She couldn’t bear that on top of everything else.
Mark rolled onto his back. In just a few moments he would start to snore. Tonight would be worse than usual because he had had at least four pints of lager with dinner and those were just the ones Ronnie had counted. He’d been drinking by the pool since eleven. Ronnie had told him before that his snoring got worse the more he drank, and she was the one who had to suffer – he slept through it, after all – but he still had not tried to cut down his intake in any way. If it didn’t matter to him that she lay awake all night, then why should she be surprised that he didn’t seem to want to make love to her any more?
She looked at Mark’s profile, silhouetted by the light coming in from the pool outside. Even when his snoring was as loud as a Jumbo coming in to land, he seemed so utterly at peace. In sleep, he looked somehow younger too, as though the cares of the past few years had fallen away and he was once again the cheeky teenage apprentice she had fallen so deeply in love with. Ronnie felt a sudden stab of affection for him. She remembered the young man – still a teenager himself – who had thrown himself into parenthood so fully and so lovingly when Ronnie herself was finding it such a struggle. Just then he gave a snort and rolled over, taking the whole of the thin cotton sheet with him so that Ronnie was left naked but for the enormous jersey nightshirt she always wore to bed these days. Her mum-wear. Her camouflage. Ronnie shook her head. This was not the life she had signed up for. She wanted her life to be like Chelsea’s.
But what was a life like Chelsea’s really like? Alone in her room, Chelsea knelt over the toilet that wouldn’t take toilet paper and flushed away that disgustingly carb-heavy dinner at last.
Chapter Fourteen
Ronnie
Monday
As it happened, Chelsea was not the only member of the Benson family who would spend part of that night at the Hotel Volcan throwing up. Having finally managed to drop off, Ronnie woke again just half an hour later with tremendous stomach cramps. They were almost as bad as being in labour. Each violent contraction of her bowels knocked the breath right out of her body. Something was obviously going very badly wrong.
Ronnie hauled herself out of bed in a panic. Her stomach hurt so much she could hardly see straight. It could only be appendicitis. When she blundered to the bathroom, however, she discovered that Mark was already in there, kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, groaning like a wounded bull elephant. He refused to give up his position for his wife.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I just can’t.’
‘But I need to …’
Mark waved her away.
Ronnie had no choice but to throw up in the basin. She was both impressed and frightened by the amount that came out in one go. Had she really eaten that much? What was going on? Mark was having a similarly awful time of it. Whenever he tried to get up from the cold white floor tiles, he had to sit straight back down again.
‘At least it isn’t coming from both ends,’ he managed to joke during a brief moment of respite.
And then it was …
‘For heaven’s sake, Mark,’ Ronnie begged him as he went from kneeling in front of the toilet to sitting on it, eyes scrunched tightly shut as his intestines rebelled. ‘I need to use that thing too.’
‘Use the basin,’ Mark instructed her.
‘I can’t … You’ve got to—’
‘I’m not moving.’
Ronnie sank down on the bidet in defeat.
‘You utter, utter—’
Worse was to come. It wasn’t long before Ronnie heard a faint knocking on the door.
‘You get it,’ she said.
‘I can’t move,’
Mark rolled onto his back. In just a few moments he would start to snore. Tonight would be worse than usual because he had had at least four pints of lager with dinner and those were just the ones Ronnie had counted. He’d been drinking by the pool since eleven. Ronnie had told him before that his snoring got worse the more he drank, and she was the one who had to suffer – he slept through it, after all – but he still had not tried to cut down his intake in any way. If it didn’t matter to him that she lay awake all night, then why should she be surprised that he didn’t seem to want to make love to her any more?
She looked at Mark’s profile, silhouetted by the light coming in from the pool outside. Even when his snoring was as loud as a Jumbo coming in to land, he seemed so utterly at peace. In sleep, he looked somehow younger too, as though the cares of the past few years had fallen away and he was once again the cheeky teenage apprentice she had fallen so deeply in love with. Ronnie felt a sudden stab of affection for him. She remembered the young man – still a teenager himself – who had thrown himself into parenthood so fully and so lovingly when Ronnie herself was finding it such a struggle. Just then he gave a snort and rolled over, taking the whole of the thin cotton sheet with him so that Ronnie was left naked but for the enormous jersey nightshirt she always wore to bed these days. Her mum-wear. Her camouflage. Ronnie shook her head. This was not the life she had signed up for. She wanted her life to be like Chelsea’s.
But what was a life like Chelsea’s really like? Alone in her room, Chelsea knelt over the toilet that wouldn’t take toilet paper and flushed away that disgustingly carb-heavy dinner at last.
Chapter Fourteen
Ronnie
Monday
As it happened, Chelsea was not the only member of the Benson family who would spend part of that night at the Hotel Volcan throwing up. Having finally managed to drop off, Ronnie woke again just half an hour later with tremendous stomach cramps. They were almost as bad as being in labour. Each violent contraction of her bowels knocked the breath right out of her body. Something was obviously going very badly wrong.
Ronnie hauled herself out of bed in a panic. Her stomach hurt so much she could hardly see straight. It could only be appendicitis. When she blundered to the bathroom, however, she discovered that Mark was already in there, kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, groaning like a wounded bull elephant. He refused to give up his position for his wife.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I just can’t.’
‘But I need to …’
Mark waved her away.
Ronnie had no choice but to throw up in the basin. She was both impressed and frightened by the amount that came out in one go. Had she really eaten that much? What was going on? Mark was having a similarly awful time of it. Whenever he tried to get up from the cold white floor tiles, he had to sit straight back down again.
‘At least it isn’t coming from both ends,’ he managed to joke during a brief moment of respite.
And then it was …
‘For heaven’s sake, Mark,’ Ronnie begged him as he went from kneeling in front of the toilet to sitting on it, eyes scrunched tightly shut as his intestines rebelled. ‘I need to use that thing too.’
‘Use the basin,’ Mark instructed her.
‘I can’t … You’ve got to—’
‘I’m not moving.’
Ronnie sank down on the bidet in defeat.
‘You utter, utter—’
Worse was to come. It wasn’t long before Ronnie heard a faint knocking on the door.
‘You get it,’ she said.
‘I can’t move,’
Similar Books
