Read Online A Proper Family Holiday by Chrissie Manby - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chrissie Manby
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her face when she looked at Lily did not quite match the levity of her pronouncement.
‘I’m scared of that lady,’ said Lily suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger.
Chelsea gave a stiff grin.
‘She’s frightening me!’ Lily continued.
‘Lily,’ said Adam. ‘Just sit still and be quiet, please. You’ve caused enough trouble already.’ He turned to Chelsea. ‘I am so, so sorry. I usually take a sip out of the carton first to make sure that doesn’t happen, but–’
‘It’s OK,’ said Chelsea.
‘She scared me,’ Lily insisted from her seat by the window. ‘She looked at me like a witch.’
‘Lily,’ Adam laughed but without much conviction. ‘Please don’t be silly.’
Within seconds, Lily was howling as though Chelsea had pinched her. As Adam employed every trick in the book to quieten his daughter down – even going so far as to stick two crayons up his nose, which seemed risky – it became clear that there was no chance that he and Chelsea would resume their conversation. Chelsea escaped to the loo to examine the borrowed dress for damage. She couldn’t see much in the fluorescent light but she feared the worst.
Alone in the cubicle, Chelsea knuckled her forehead in frustration. She might have known her one chance at a flirtation in months would end in sticky disaster. But cruel fate wasn’t quite finished with her yet.
At last the flight landed. Chelsea got to her feet to grab her handbag from the overhead locker as soon as the seatbelt lights were switched off. Adam jumped up too and practically wrestled the bag from her hands in an attempt to be chivalrous. As he did so, the unzippered bag went flying and the contents of Chelsea’s hand luggage spewed half-way down the aisle. Adam picked up Chelsea’s copy of From Booty Call to Bride and handed it back to her. But not without taking a quizzical look first. Self help. A very bad sign.
‘Research,’ she said. ‘I work for a women’s magazine.’
Adam nodded but he didn’t look convinced.
That was it, Chelsea told herself. The flirtation was officially done. She stuffed the book back into her bag.
Lily waved Chelsea off.
According to Jacqui, Chelsea should wait for the hotel bus to take her to the resort – a free transfer was included in the price of the holiday. But after such a fraught ending to the flight, there was no way Chelsea was going to wait around while the tour rep did ten head counts, got a different number every time and had to make a tannoy announcement for a pair of pensioners lost in baggage reclaim. Chelsea was going to take a taxi. Her shins were still sticky with blackcurrant juice, despite her having tried to wipe them clean with her ridiculously expensive Chanel eye make-up remover pads. The dress, too, needed to go straight to a dry-cleaner.
Oh, the dress. As she stood in the taxi queue, Chelsea was able to examine the skirt of the Mebus extravaganza more closely. Thankfully, the dress had a pattern, so the stain wasn’t as obvious as it might have been had the fabric been plain, but Chelsea knew there was no way she would be able to sneak it back into the fashion cupboard as though nothing had happened. Apart from anything else, the spillage had left Chelsea smelling like some cheap bath foam: sweet and cloying as a jelly baby. She was actually starting to attract flies. And it was so hot in this place! Chelsea felt her make-up melting. Please let the cab have air-conditioning.
Chelsea texted her mother and sister as the taxi with no air-conditioning sped towards Playa Brava. The countryside rolled past in a relentless ribbon of dust, punctuated by the odd low white house and what seemed like hundreds of petrol stations. They passed a field where a group of forlorn-looking camels waited to be loaded with tourists after the Lawrence of Arabia experience. According to the taxi driver, who simply would not shut up, a camel ride was on every visitor to Lanzarote’s list of ‘must-dos’.
‘Camels
‘I’m scared of that lady,’ said Lily suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger.
Chelsea gave a stiff grin.
‘She’s frightening me!’ Lily continued.
‘Lily,’ said Adam. ‘Just sit still and be quiet, please. You’ve caused enough trouble already.’ He turned to Chelsea. ‘I am so, so sorry. I usually take a sip out of the carton first to make sure that doesn’t happen, but–’
‘It’s OK,’ said Chelsea.
‘She scared me,’ Lily insisted from her seat by the window. ‘She looked at me like a witch.’
‘Lily,’ Adam laughed but without much conviction. ‘Please don’t be silly.’
Within seconds, Lily was howling as though Chelsea had pinched her. As Adam employed every trick in the book to quieten his daughter down – even going so far as to stick two crayons up his nose, which seemed risky – it became clear that there was no chance that he and Chelsea would resume their conversation. Chelsea escaped to the loo to examine the borrowed dress for damage. She couldn’t see much in the fluorescent light but she feared the worst.
Alone in the cubicle, Chelsea knuckled her forehead in frustration. She might have known her one chance at a flirtation in months would end in sticky disaster. But cruel fate wasn’t quite finished with her yet.
At last the flight landed. Chelsea got to her feet to grab her handbag from the overhead locker as soon as the seatbelt lights were switched off. Adam jumped up too and practically wrestled the bag from her hands in an attempt to be chivalrous. As he did so, the unzippered bag went flying and the contents of Chelsea’s hand luggage spewed half-way down the aisle. Adam picked up Chelsea’s copy of From Booty Call to Bride and handed it back to her. But not without taking a quizzical look first. Self help. A very bad sign.
‘Research,’ she said. ‘I work for a women’s magazine.’
Adam nodded but he didn’t look convinced.
That was it, Chelsea told herself. The flirtation was officially done. She stuffed the book back into her bag.
Lily waved Chelsea off.
According to Jacqui, Chelsea should wait for the hotel bus to take her to the resort – a free transfer was included in the price of the holiday. But after such a fraught ending to the flight, there was no way Chelsea was going to wait around while the tour rep did ten head counts, got a different number every time and had to make a tannoy announcement for a pair of pensioners lost in baggage reclaim. Chelsea was going to take a taxi. Her shins were still sticky with blackcurrant juice, despite her having tried to wipe them clean with her ridiculously expensive Chanel eye make-up remover pads. The dress, too, needed to go straight to a dry-cleaner.
Oh, the dress. As she stood in the taxi queue, Chelsea was able to examine the skirt of the Mebus extravaganza more closely. Thankfully, the dress had a pattern, so the stain wasn’t as obvious as it might have been had the fabric been plain, but Chelsea knew there was no way she would be able to sneak it back into the fashion cupboard as though nothing had happened. Apart from anything else, the spillage had left Chelsea smelling like some cheap bath foam: sweet and cloying as a jelly baby. She was actually starting to attract flies. And it was so hot in this place! Chelsea felt her make-up melting. Please let the cab have air-conditioning.
Chelsea texted her mother and sister as the taxi with no air-conditioning sped towards Playa Brava. The countryside rolled past in a relentless ribbon of dust, punctuated by the odd low white house and what seemed like hundreds of petrol stations. They passed a field where a group of forlorn-looking camels waited to be loaded with tourists after the Lawrence of Arabia experience. According to the taxi driver, who simply would not shut up, a camel ride was on every visitor to Lanzarote’s list of ‘must-dos’.
‘Camels
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