The Glory Years by Mink Elliott

Author:Mink Elliott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hera
Published: 2022-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

‘I’ll freeze my tits off out there – no way am I taking my jumper off, let alone actually getting in the water!’ laughed Portia as she shivered, trying to flick her towel out and get it lying straight and in an orderly fashion on the wind-whipped sand.

Kate threw her head back and guffawed at the sight and sat down on the sand, her only concession to beach wear being that she’d rolled her combats up a bit. She’d taken great delight in seeing how her large loose-knit boat neck cornflower blue jumper hung casually yet sexily on her almost angular frame and when she hugged her knees to her chest, she nearly yelped at how easy it was with no rolls of flesh getting in the way.

‘This’ll brush the cobwebs away,’ she said, squinting as some dried seaweed blew into her face and got tangled up in her hair. ‘There’s something so much more romantic about a beach in the cold, don’t you think?’

‘You’ll have to speak up!’ Portia yelled back. ‘I can’t hear you over the roar of the force ten hurricane!’

It was blowing a gale, Kate had to agree. Not exactly how she’d pictured Ibiza, that’s for sure. Maybe global warming had already started to turn temperatures and tides upside down in 1996 – and, like most things from that decade of debauchery, she never noticed.

‘I said, DON’T YOU THINK A BEACH IS MORE ROMANTIC IN WINTERY WEATHER? SO MUCH MORE DRAMATIC AND BROODY—’

‘For FUCK’S SAKE, Kate – for the last time, I AM NOT BROODY!’

‘What?’

‘Eh?’

As Kate felt the first few drops of rain on her face, she cupped her hand around Portia’s ear and shouted:

‘Shall we go back to the hotel and watch the football? Have a hot toddy or two?’

‘NOW YOU’RE TALKING MY LANGUAGE!’ screeched Portia, stuffing her obstreperous towel into her beach bag and scowling as she threw her bottle of Reef Oil on top of it, as though it were her summer holiday accoutrements’ fault the weather was so unsuitable for sunbathing.

The match had already started by the time they had got themselves organised at a warm table for two. It wasn’t near the throng clustered around the bar loudly watching Scotland v England, so the girls could talk unhampered by football and the inevitable disappointment from lack of goals.

‘I’m not really that into all this Euro 96 palaver, anyway,’ Portia said, taking great gulps of her drink.

‘Oh yeah?’ Kate widened her eyes in disbelief. ‘You looked like it was a matter of life and death, like your life depended on it last weekend when we were watching it at O’Flaherty’s…’

‘Well, it did, in a way.’ Portia grinned. ‘I mean, there was no way I was going to pull that football hooligan if I didn’t pretend to be obsessed by the game—’

‘Match,’ Kate corrected her.

‘Whatever. I just feel like ever since Simon dumped me and I’ve been lumbered with this,’ she pointed to her tummy, ‘I need to sort myself out. And fast.

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