reason I was so reluctant to talk houses with Keith was that I was happy with our present living arrangements. Or maybe I enjoyed teasing him.
After his second double vodka and orange Keith seemed a little better. ‘I’m really sorry, you know. I thought I had this fear-of-flying thing licked. I thought that if I was just organized enough I could force myself into it. I guess I was wrong.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said softly. ‘It doesn’t matter. You can’t control the things you’re afraid of. It doesn’t matter if we don’t go to Spain. We could drive up to Galway and spend the week there. I’ve already got a tan.’
‘Oh, but that’s just it. With you I’m not afraid of anything. I feel like I can conquer the world. That’s why I’m disappointed that I’m having trouble conquering Duty Free.’
We both laughed, and for the first time I really didn’t care if we ended up in Los Almiras or Oranmore.
‘Do you want to give it a try? We can take it one step at a time and we can turn back if you don’t want to go any further.’
‘Oh, Kate, you are wonderful. What on earth are you doing with me?’
‘Well, I love you, you eejit.’ I said the words without thinking, and as soon as they were out of my mouth I realized they might be true.
So I took his hand and we glided past Security, right through the waiting area (bypassing all the potions and perfumes) and on to our gate. By this time the plane was nearly boarded so we walked straight on. All the time Keith kept a tight grip on my hand, and when we finally sat into our seats, he took that hand and kissed it. ‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too.’
It was strange to think that Keith might occasionally need something from me, and rather than it being a total pain in the ass, it was actually rather endearing. He fell asleep before we took off and when he woke up, somewhere over northern Spain, he was surprisingly like his old self.
Our first day in Los Almiras was heavenly. When we’d arrived at the resort the previous evening (after a, thankfully, uneventful flight) we had barely enough energy to unpack a toothbrush before falling into bed. We slept surprisingly well, given the hectic day, and when we woke it was like we had entered a parallel universe or something. I had the notion, even though I knew how ridiculous it was, that we were on our honeymoon. I looked across at Keith and thought, Yeah, I could do this for a while. Then we rolled together, had the best sex since either of us could remember and fell into a deep post-coital sleep that washed away any lingering fatigue from the journey. I think Keith was anxious to recover a sense of manliness, because he was particularly dominant that morning. Usually, sex with Keith was very safe – satisfying, predictable and low maintenance while still hugely enjoyable, but that morning he was flipping me about, throwing my legs over his shoulders, even engaging in a little dirty talk. I was enjoying the diversion: it made me feel like I was doing something naughty, and with Keith, that was some achievement.
When we climbed out of bed and into the shower it was nearly one o’clock, and by the time I’d decided what to wear and Keith had worked out that we had no English-speaking TV channels it was a quarter past two. Clearly siesta time. We decided to take it in the shaded bar area at the far side of the pool. From there we could sip our watery cocktails and view, at a safe distance, the swimming masses. I love to swim but only when I have the pool virtually to myself.
As it was still only May, the weather was pleasant but not so hot we couldn’t take a walk round the village without feeling too sweaty and simply not up for it. That’s the great problem with sun holidays: the sun, and the attendant heat. It’s great to fantasize in the middle of an Irish winter about clear blue skies and the hot sun on your back as you prepare to dive into an azure sea but I’ve never found the reality lives up to my fantasies. There are always too many people, too many of them non-exotics who probably live round the corner from you at home; the blues