What We Did On Our Holiday by John Harding

What We Did On Our Holiday by John Harding

Author:John Harding
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448110421
Publisher: Transworld


* * *

I look into the loo, just to make sure the turd is still there. It is, practically unscathed after countless flushings, although I‘m relieved to see that Martina’s item has decamped. I go outside and hop over the wall on to the wasteland, and pick my way carefully through the assorted debris of plastic drinks bottles, rusty tin cans, shredded newspaper and decomposing food, trying all the while to ignore the scrapping sounds which doubtless mean rats. Eventually I find what I’m looking for, a piece of broken plank, about two feet long. I pick it up and head back to the loo, where for the next half an hour I beat the turd with it, plunging the jagged end of the plank again and again against it, gradually breaking it down, working off my anger, trying not to let the image of myself beating Anthony over the head keep popping into my mind, until finally it breaks up and slips silently away around the hidden bend.

When Dad is finally put to rest, Laura comes into our bedroom, where I’m already in bed and makes an offer of truce with a friendly smile. I scowl back. I can’t be bought off so easily. Besides, in this situation, a smile is foreplay.

‘Oh come on Nick, lighten up.’ She begins undressing. ‘Don’t throw the toys out of the cot.’

‘I don’t see anything to lighten up about. We can’t all be Mr Continental Charm, can we?’

‘I liked him. He’s very nice. I think you’re a little bit jealous.’

‘Jealous? Of that short-arse!’

‘Oh well, if you’re going to be silly about it.’ She pulls on a cotton nightdress and slips under the sheet. ‘Sod you then.’

She turns her back on me.

‘I suppose this means we’re not having sex?’ I bluff.

‘What do you think? That you can be like a bear with a sore behind with me all day and then expect to make love to me?‘

‘You could always shut your eyes and pretend I was Anthony.’

‘Quite frankly, Nick, my imagination’s not that good.’



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