Chapter Four
“I dream of us two on the beach – strolling along, arm-in-arm, the sand underneath our toes, the sun warming our backs, the sound of seagulls squawking in the distance,” Kirk was day-dreaming out loud with Sasha. It was when they were going through one of their good periods. When they were good, they were very, very, good. Their relationship seemed to run on roller-coaster tracks, either swooping high, all ecstasy and adrenalin, or crashing low in terrifying drama.
This was one of their excitement moments.
“I think we just need to get away – just the two of us. I think a holiday would do us good.”
Sasha joined in the reverie with him, imagining the bliss. Imagining the both of them lying on sun loungers, sipping cocktails, smiling dreamily at each other, returning to the hotel room for a pre-dinner shag. Dawdling down to the restaurant; bathed, dressed and oozing a post-coital glow. It would be just what they needed, she agreed. They would be at perfect peace with each other, they would be relaxed and happy and in love. Every day would be happiness and contentment. Driven by a need to fix their relationship, she hastily agreed to two weeks in the sun. She was sure she’d be able to wangle two weeks off work. Kirk had managed to talk his sister into letting them stay with her at her holiday home. All they’d have to do was buy the flights.
“But we should pay for the flights sooner rather than later,” Kirk warned. “The sooner we get them, the cheaper they’ll be.”
“I’ll pay for them on my credit card,” Sasha offered. “I can book them now for both of us.”
“Are you sure?” Kirk asked, biting his lip as though he felt guilty. “I would pay you back as soon as possible?”
Sasha looked at him – his face so cute and vulnerable. His big sad eyes looking up at her, like a puppy dog. He needs me. It was a nice feeling.
“Of course,” Sasha replied, with authority. “Let’s do it now.” So, armed with her credit card, her dreams of a perfect two week holiday and her ever-increasing debt, she whisked through the booking, typing in her credit card number confidently. God Bless MasterCard. She crossed her fingers as her payment went through successfully.
Giddy with excitement, they both went out for dinner that night. Sasha dressed up in the frock that Kirk had bought her; a halter-neck dress with a petticoat which made her skirt stick out proudly like a fifties icon.
“You look amazing!” Kirk’s eyes widened when she came into the living-room. “Absolutely amazing.” He continued to look her up and down. “Wow.”
Sasha glowed with praise. She was like a flower opening up towards the sun.
“Aw, thank you,” she replied. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Kirk, she knew, looked gorgeous. In his smart jacket, waistcoat, skinny jeans, perfectly manicured hair, he looked… dapper. Yes, that was the word that summed him up – dapper.
With pride, they headed out for the evening, in high spirits, chatting merrily to the waiter, tasting the divine food and having some banter. Most of the chat that night was about the holiday; dreaming of their day-to-day activities and imagining their lazy lifestyle. They were full of hope.
Returning home, they fell into bed, made passionate love, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. For Sasha, the debt accrued to book this holiday was well worth every penny.
Three days into their holiday, they had their first fight.
They had got up early, taken a bus into the town centre, and strolled around the shops for hours. Sasha was only wearing a bikini top and shorts. Not used to dressing for this weather, her boobs ached. They craved the support and comfort of her favourite bra. Her boobs were not built for a flimsy bit of material. Kirk, on the other hand, seemed irritable and lost. Neither of them could understand why, every half an hour, they were stopping to sit in cafés and drink water. They were exhausted. Back home they could walk twice as far as this and be fine. But here, in this heat, everything was slower.
The argument was silly. Kirk suggested Sasha ask the shopkeeper for directions and, when he babbled back in Spanish, they remembered they had the language barrier to contend with, too. Looking to Kirk for support as to what they could do next, he shrugged his shoulders abruptly as if to say, “I dunno – you sort it.”
Sasha fought to keep her tears down. Here she was, in a foreign country, lost; her boobs aching like melons in a tiny hankie, and her one means of support in a huff with her. What on earth had happened to their idyllic beach dream?
Somehow, some way, they managed, in their frustrated silence, to retrace their steps and get home again. But that was just day one of the arguments.
Little did Sasha know what an effect the heat would have on them both.
There was no air-conditioning in his sister’s house, so Sasha found it impossible to sleep at night. Tiredness, heat, frustration – it all started to build. Generally, they tried to get into a routine – walk in the morning while it was still cool; then lunch; lie on the beach in the afternoon; get showered and dressed and go out for dinner in the evening. What could be more perfect than that?
But one night, over a few drinks, when Kirk was opening up and confiding in her, he confessed something.
“Today,” he said, “when we were on the beach,” he took a pause as if considering whether to confide in her. “When I went swimming in the sea, I wanted to keep swimming until I drowned.”
Sasha’s mouth dropped open in surprise, in spite of herself.
“Really?” she questioned. She was trying to keep the shock out of her voice, aware that he would only clam up if she seemed too alarmed.
“Yeah,” he went on. “I was bobbing in the sea, taking a break from the swimming, and I turned back to wave at you. I could see you waving back at me and I thought ‘I have a choice. I can either go back to Sasha or I can keep swimming in the other direction and end it’.”
Sasha watched him, the words coming out of his mouth, his face still as utterly gorgeous as yesterday, but his demeanour had totally changed. Everything she thought she knew about him vanished. She shrugged to compose herself, as thoughts swam around her head. She knew she needed to stay calm, otherwise he’d clam up on her. She knew that if she showed her alarm, he would never talk to her about it again.
She nodded slowly, took a sip of her drink, and gave a sympathetic smile.
“How long have you been feeling like this?” she asked calmly.
Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her wanted to make it all about her and say, hold on a minute – it was either a choice to swim back to me or swim out and die? And you even considered that? You even considered swimming out, and dying, and leaving me behind on the beach, grieving for you? You would do that to me? I thought you loved me? I thought you wanted to marry me? How on earth would you want to swim off and leave me on the beach?
But she didn’t say all that. Instead, she put on her listening face. She smiled sympathetically. She nodded in all the right places.
“It’s just the stress of us two. And my course. And the hardest year of study ahead. And then we’re trying to hold down a long-distance relationship. I’m just not sure I can cope with the pressure of it all. I’m dreading it.”
Sasha gulped. She looked around them, at the supposedly idyllic setting; the Spanish bar, the red and white checked tablecloths, the sea in the distance, other holiday makers relaxing, wearing shorts and t-shirts, and sipping cocktails. Laughter, merriment, heaven.
Sasha’s hell. He was comparing their relationship to dread. He’d rather swim out and die than have to put up with the stress of being with her.
Nothing more was said about it that night. The argument did not happen then. It was swept under the carpet and apparently forgotten about. But Sasha kept it in the forefront of her mind.
Later, when she was in bed and he went out for a smoke, his words circled in her head. ‘I wanted to swim out and die.’ He was taking way too long to have a smoke. Perhaps he was up to something now? She realised it was always going to be like this. She would always be worrying about him. Is this the time he’ll top himself now?
The argument came towards the end of the holiday. They headed out for breakfast one morning. Sasha was tired, restless and discontented. She’d had yet another night of no sleep. They went for a walk. They got lost. Sasha snapped at Kirk, replied abruptly rather than softly. That led to a talk-a-thon of epic proportions.
Sasha just wanted to get home. To be in her own bed. To get a night’s sleep. To straighten her hair and for it not to frizz out five minutes later. To put make-up on and for it not to slither off ten minutes later. She just wanted to be home.
The argument was silly. It went on for ages. They sat in a café, the terrific view of the sea in the background, but Kirk’s face was like thunder. In the distance, Sasha could hear the squeals of delight from young children playing in the water. But added to that idyllic sound was the sad droning from the speakers, playing a Coldplay song. How was it possible to be in heaven AND hell, all at the same time?
Perhaps this was holiday pressure, if there was such a thing? Perhaps she was beating herself up for not enjoying the idyllic holiday that she should have been having. Wasn’t she supposed to look like something out of a television advertisement? Weren’t they meant to be lying side by side on sun loungers, half naked, soaking up the sun, drinking cocktails, relaxing?
Yet the reality was, that they were sitting here in a café, their faces angry; exhausted from the heat, spending so much time together that they were finding out all their innermost worries. Like the fact that he felt suicidal.
In the end, they did patch up the argument. They had to. They were spending twenty-four hours a day together. There were only a few days left of the holiday. They decided to keep it simple; beach, sunbathe, sleep.
But even though they’d patched it up, the truth was out. The truth being that Sasha totally stressed Kirk out – and he didn’t see how their relationship would last the year.