The Holiday

A can of beans, sausages, and a head of lettuce that would only lose a few leaves. The food kept coming, sliding down the sanitized slope, given a little shove by an indifferent hand, to be packed away in the carrier bag.

I’d given up all thought of stacking the items by tenderness, leaving grapes to be squished under potatoes, the egg carton at the bottom wedged into a corner. I didn’t care if it broke, if the handle snapped and yolk spilled across the floor, it would give me an excuse.

I held a can of soup, staring at the label, wondering what I was going to do with it once I got it home. I detested soup. It would go away with the rest of the shopping, sitting in the cupboard until it went out of date and ended in the bin. I hated wasting things but there was no going back, I’d made my choice.

My appetite had waned ever since that night in the pretty little taverna by the water. Had it been only a week since we had sat in the restaurant, on that warm evening, laughing at the moon and pretending we were happy? It should have been a beautiful evening; I wish it had been.

“You’ve got a nice tan,” the checkout worker said, smiling at me from behind the mask.

“Just got back off holiday,” I said hoping that would be the end of it, but the items kept trundling along the conveyor belt. I’d brought too much, a habit I would have to keep up for at least another month.

“Did you go anywhere nice?”

“Greece. It was our anniversary.” I don’t know why I said it, why I imparted more than I had to.

“Congratulations.” Her eyes lifted above the mask and I did my best to mirror her vicarious happiness. It was sweet of her but it grated nonetheless.

“Our third.” I almost added that it was our last but clamped my mouth shut in time.

“Oh, I thought I usually saw you in here with your other half. Where are they then?”

I packed the milk, four pints, two of which were destined to go down the sink. The two bottles of wine that sat next to it were to be drunk, every last drop.

We’d drank a bit that night, both of us imbibing more than we usually did. The laughter and the romance had worn off by the time we’d finished the main course, the air growing colder as the night closed in. We made up for it the only way we knew how. The ouzo may have been the finishing touch.

“Visiting their sister. There was a medical emergency while we were away.” I kicked myself as soon as I saw the flash of interest. That was the sort of thing they remembered without prompting.

I think I paid for the meal that night, I usually did. We were arguing by then and staggering down the steps, the waiter offering to call a taxi but we waved him off. We took the long way back, hoping that the sea air would clear our heads and bring some peace to the night. Maybe if we’d gone by car we would have sat in silence, the close confines with a stranger cooling our temperaments but instead, we took the lonely path, free to shout and accuse, our tempers gave free rein.

I followed a few steps behind, unwilling to lead the way along the vertigo-inducing path. My head swam and I soon became entranced by the moonlight glinting on the waves far below. The crash of the surf upon the rocky shore lulled me into a stupor and I found myself straying close to the edge. I think I would have fallen to my death but a biting word that cut through the fog. It tore my eyes from the precipice and refocused me onto the path I was on. I stared at their back, mesmerized by the movement of their shoulder blades under the soft linen. My fingers had once loved tracing them but now…

“Careful or you’ll squash the bread.”

I let go of the bag leaving finger-sized indentations.

“I can get you another one if you like?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Half of it will go mouldy sitting in the bread bin.

I ignored the ringing coming from my jacket pocket.

“Clubcard?”

“Of course.” I fished my wallet out. The photo on the inside giving me pause. A day trip to the seaside, two people acting silly, at the beginning of the relationship, unaware of what lay in their shared future.

“Do you want to answer that? Might be your other half telling you they miss you.”

“It won’t be.” I paid with the card and mumbled a thank you as I took my receipt. They said something but I was pushing the trolley to the exit, desperate to escape the interrogation.

The wheels squeaked as I raced across the car park, dodging shoppers and drivers searching for a space to park. I reached the safety of my car and threw the bags in the boot.

Done with it, I gave the trolley a violent shove, realizing too late what I had done. I held my breath as it threaded the gap between two cars before crashing into the curb and tipping onto its side. The sound rang in my ears, rattling every bone in my body and shaking the keys from my grasp.

I remembered a boat being in the bay, fishing by the moonlight. I stood on the cliff watching the small craft gently rocking, wishing that I was on board. That I was the captain and free to go anywhere. I would sail the coast, fishing for my dinner, a stranger, able to be whoever I wanted.

I got in my car and locked the door. Sweat clung to my skin and I struggled to get out of my jacket, punching the roof as the sleeve came free. I tossed it onto the back seat and then put my head back and stared at the heavy clouds smothering my hometown. I was where I belonged, where I would always stay.

My phone buzzed urgently, and I pulled it from my pocket tossing it onto the empty passenger seat without looking.

Mary, five missed calls.