Page 23 of Road Trip to the Riviera
There doesn’t seem to be a logical place to change, so Hal performs the ‘changing behind a towel’ routine adopted by many Brits on the beach. It’s an elaborate towel-twitching number that sometimes involves his holding the towel in his teeth. Finally, he emerges; red-faced from the effort and from embarrassment, probably because the costume he’s purchased is clearly meant for someone younger, smaller, leaner.
The back of it has become thong-like, almost completely disappearing between his cheeks, and the elastic at the front is cutting slightly into his flesh. He looks at me and I try to suppress a laugh.
‘Should I just give it up?’ he says.
‘No, don’t be daft. It’s hot. And you’ll be in the water – no one will see you. Plus, we’re on holiday, nobody cares,’ I say, taking a surreptitious shot with my phone to send to Louis.
‘Really? They’re not too… revealing?’
‘I’ve seen worse,’ I say, and that, at least, is true.
Reassured, Hal makes his way back to the pool edge, walking a little like a chicken for some reason. Finally, he resumes his ‘ready to dive’ stance. He stretches in the air, going slightly onto his toes and, shooting a little glance at me and reminding me of Louis during the ‘Watch me, Mummy!’ years at the park, dives in a graceful arc towards the water.
Three things happen. As Hal leaves the ground and begins to tumble poolwards, a woman in a bikini throws a lilo into the water, ready to step onto it. Luckily, despite the proximity, Hal’s dive arcs over the inflatable and he splashes into the pool. But something is wrong. I see splashing and the lilo pings up onto its side. Then I realise what’s happened. Hal’s tiny trunks have somehow caught on the lilo’s seam. One of his legs, continuing the momentum, has broken free, the other remains caught in the trunks, which remain caught on the lilo.
Hal is splashing around, trying to get his balance, trying to grab his trunks, one leg elevated by the elastic, the rest of him, thankfully, hidden by the water. ‘Help!’ he shouts in my direction, although I’m not 100per cent sure what he thinks I can do.
Before he can right himself there’s a cry of ‘Reculez!’ The middle-aged lifeguard charges to the pool, stomach wobbling, dives in and grabs Hal around the neck. At first, I wonder whether he’s assaulting him, but no, he’s holding Hal’s head above water. Hal stumbles, the lilo rights itself and something whizzes through the air and lands with a squeak on the poolside.
I sit up to double-check and see, as suspected, a tiny pair of trunks that have pinged there as if by catapult. I look at Hal, nowboth legs (and everything else) released. He’s standing, shell-shocked, in the waist-deep water, the lifeguard’s hand still at his shoulder. And everyone is looking.
12
HAL
The worst thing about embarrassing situations is the fact you know you’ll probably be reliving them at 3a.m. in the morning for the next decade. I still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat remembering the time when I split my trousers during a PE lesson. So I guess exposing myself to a group of holidaymakers, and pinging my tiny swimming trunks through the air via a lilo, is something else I’m going to be tortured with for life. Thanks, brain.
An hour after we get back, I’m trying to forget, and sipping a beer that Sarah’s sourced from the shop for me (I am not going anywhere I might be recognised, and cannot wait to escape tomorrow). Sarah still lets out the occasional low chuckle, and I take it she’s reliving the whole thing too.
‘You won’t tell anyone?’ I keep asking her, and she shakes her head vehemently. But I can’t help but think she’ll be sharing it with all her girlfriends after a glass of wine once we get home. To be honest, if the situation were reversed, I’d probably do the same.
The only redeeming aspect of the whole mess is the fact that Sarah seems quite buoyed by the whole thing. I haven’t seen hersmile this much on the trip so far. Not sure it was a price worth paying, even so.
‘And you’re sure nobody filmed it on their phone?’ I ask her, probably for the fiftieth time. These days, no private moment is truly private, and anything can be broadcast to the whole world within seconds. The thought of my poolside shame going viral and giving me my fifteen minutes of unwanted fame makes my blood run cold.
‘Pretty sure no one was filming,’ she says again patiently. ‘Honestly, I think it all happened too quickly for that.’
I feel a flood of relief course through my body every time she says those reassuring words, and despite getting the giggles from time to time, she’s treated the whole thing with such kindness. I feel a bit like she’s at my bedside, like my own mum used to be, stroking my hair and telling me everything would be all right after a nightmare.
Only there’s no bed or hair-stroking, just a beer and her reassuring words.
I’m thinking of suggesting we pack up in a bit and make for the next site earlier than planned. The original idea was to take a bike along theLoire à Vélo, but the thought of staying here any longer is almost unbearable.
Before I can say anything though, my phone rings and Louis’s name flashes up on the screen.
Our eyes meet and I pick up and answer, standing up with the phone to my ear.
‘Hey, Dad.’ Louis’s voice sounds OK, maybe not as cheerful as sometimes, but perhaps I’m reading too much into it.
‘Hi, son.’
‘Is Mum there?’
‘Yeah, sure, do you want to—’ I’m about to pass the phone to Sarah, but Louis says, ‘No! Dad, can you, like, maybe… go for a walk or something so she doesn’t hear?’
‘Sure.’ I cover the mouthpiece and whisper ‘man stuff’ to Sarah, who makes a confused face. It’s fair enough: I don’t think Louis has asked me a private question since he stumbled on some porn online at thirteen, and wanted to ask me some pretty uncomfortable questions about penis size.
Still, I wander around to the other side of Betty, feeling a bit guilty as I know Sarah will be wondering what’s going on and why he hasn’t called her.
