Holiday Romance

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The relationship that defined my college days was all deceit and denial, lust and hatred.

We ended up one summer going on holiday to Corfu, staying in one of those coastal towns denoted as existing by a dusty potholed road running through a haphazard collection of white buildings. A chaotic assortment of hotels, strip joints, bars and clubs.

The holiday rep warned us of many things, primarily avoiding drinking the local ouzo (‘it made a lad from Macclesfield go blind’) and renting scooters. Apparently the scooter’s bare exhausts had a tendency to burn skin off of sunburnt calves.

Within the hour of arriving we were plunging down that potholed avenue on a loudly blatting rental scooter. We must have been quite the sight, me holding onto her tightly with one arm, the other clutching a bright green inflatable alligator. Both of us wearing snorkel masks and tubes.

Bonnie and Clyde, I muttered in her ear as we negotiated a hair pin.

Just like B&C we had a belief that we were invulnerable, immortal, yet we were already on a downward trajectory. Commencing when we first met via a mutual adoration of class As and vodka and exacerbated by a cruise to an idyllic isle that lay across the azure sea. Somehow, on the way back, reality distorted by ouzo and sunshine I conspired to get sunstroke. As I stumbled from the yacht the world tilted, swimming around me, until I collapsed in a nearby. I awoke to find the hirsute owner applying natural yoghurt to my back, as I lay face down across a table. The love of my life nowhere to be seen.

An interesting scenario.

I made my way back to our room to discover her having a siesta. My annoyance contained by fatigue and the scent of simmering dairy products on my skin. I lay down beside her, watching the ceiling fan lazily stirring hot air. The familiar whine of a mosquito broke the oppressive silence that we were in.

‘Get rid of it’ she barked.

‘You get rid of it …’

‘No, you ….’

Resigned to having to deal with our intruder, I felt my sense of self zoom out, akin to an out-of-body-experience. I watched as my right hand reached down under the bed, retrieved a blue converse hi-top and lobbed it in a languid style at our intruder who had alighted on the glass part of the balcony door.

As the shoe tumbled en-route to its destiny, time slowed. Dirty laces twisting in the air, sunlight glinting off of metal eyelets, the converse star spinning.

Bang.

The sole of the converse hit the window with a thud, a perfect connection. As it fell to the floor the remains of my nemesis was smeared across the window caught in the diamond print left behind.

Then time sped back up.

As the shoe hit the floor, the window exploded outwards, spraying glittering shards over the balcony.

Fractured and destroyed.

The perfect metaphor for our relationship.

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