Free All Inclusive by Judy Astley

buy things . . .’ But Delilah had gone, flip-flopping fast down the short path towards the shopping opportunity, stopping only for a second to stroke one of the hotel’s many cats.
    Lesley watched her go. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t she? What I’d give to be sixteen again.’
    â€˜Would you really though?’ Beth settled herself back on the lounger. The sun was now blazing under the parasol at chest level, and she’d have to put something over that stretch of thin, delicate skin or it would burnand shrivel. ‘Would you really want all those exams and the worry about which university and all that peer-pressure competitiveness?’
    â€˜Well since you put it that way . . . no. And I wouldn’t want to lose my virginity again either.’ Lesley shuddered. ‘Or if I did, I’d want something classier than the school thug and the back of his dad’s Ford Escort in the Arndale multi-storey. Somewhere like here would be just perfect, sixteen or whenever.’
    That was another train of thought Beth wasn’t over-keen to pursue. If Nick’s sex life was something she was forced, by way of his bedroom sound effects, to know about, it was quite the opposite with Delilah, who kept her fancies and fantasies firmly between her mobile phone and her circle of mates, and thank goodness for that, in Beth’s opinion. There were times when she understood exactly what teens meant when they put their hands over their ears and yelled ‘Too much information!’
    The sun had sneaked further under the parasol and was now searing her legs. What next for maximum enjoyment of the moment? Another dollop of lotion? An icy lime cordial? Or a spot of exercise?
    â€˜Have you been into the Haven and booked any treatments yet?’ Beth asked Lesley.
    â€˜Not yet. Shall we go now? The early rush will be over. I’m trying to persuade Len to go for the Lovers’ Massage. Dead romantic, I reckon. You and Ned should try it.’
    Beth tried to imagine herself and Ned under the tutelage of big Dolores, the chief masseuse, learning how to smooth each other’s sinews with oils, by the light of scented candles and with the inevitable Enya soundtrack wafting from the crackly old speakers.
    â€˜I dunno, I think we’re a bit too English to get the most out of it. We’d probably giggle,’ she said.
    Lesley looked stern. ‘You’ve got to keep that fire stoked,’ she warned. ‘Or you’ll find it hard to get it restarted. That’s what my mum always told me. And she wasn’t talking about the one in the sitting room.’ Then she laughed. ‘Though of course she might have been. She always kept a very warm house.’
    Delilah sat cross-legged in the sand, carefully folded her lovely new sarong, placed it down in front of her and put the pair of bracelets side by side on top of it. Which one to keep, which one to give to Kelly? Perhaps she’d wear both of them during the holiday and make a decision when she got home. Kelly wouldn’t know, and she’d only have been trying it out. She picked up the one with the tiny blue spiral shells and held it up towards the sun. You could almost see through the shells and the light glinted off the pearly insides. Was it Kelly’s sort of thing? Or, back in wintry Surrey, would she just give her that sneery look and say it reminded her of garden snails?
    â€˜That’s pretty. Did you get it off the woman with the sarongs?’ The sand beside Delilah scuffed up as the pale bride-girl sat down beside her. ‘You don’t mind if I sit here, do you? I thought, like, I could see you’re on your own with just your family and I’m on my own with mine.’ The girl grinned at her. ‘I’m Sadie.’
    â€˜Um, I’m Delilah. And no, I don’t mind.’ Don’t mind, she thought, understatement or what? She’d assumed she’d be condemned to talk only to people