A Change is as Good as a Rest

I’m not the kind of person to book a holiday on a whim but sometimes, needs must. It had been a crappy few months and I don’t particularly want to dwell on it, but let’s just say that my flat is now being rented by someone else, my boyfriend is now fucking someone else and my faithful doggo is now being walked by someone else.

In the space of eight short weeks I’ve been forced to come to terms with my own temporality and it’s a bitch. So like I said, needs must.

It was actually my mum who found this bargain holiday and presented me with the idea of ‘escaping’ for a few weeks. She was the one who said  “a change is as good as rest!” And who was I to argue? I literally had nothing else to do - no rent to pay, no boyfriend to fuck and no dog to walk. Maybe a week by the pool would do me some good.

So I raided my meagre savings, booked the tickets, packed my bags, jumped in an Uber and that is how I found myself sat in the departure lounge of Manchester Airport on a wet Tuesday in February.

I’d always thought of airports as exciting, vibrant places full of people off on adventures. Now though, with my rose-tinted glasses left on the dresser of my old flat, it seemed quite different. I felt wide-eyed and nervous. Unsure. I was a child wearing adult clothes.

I was early and so had nothing to do but wait, and I hate waiting. Always hated it, especially when it’s for an indeterminate amount of time.

I felt uncomfortable; I couldn’t keep still enough to read my book, didn’t want to browse the overpriced duty-free and couldn’t stomach any food. My palms were clammy and I didn’t know where to sit or what to do with my hands. I slumped on the floor opposite the departure boards, back against the wall, melting into the background or trying to, anyway.

That’s when I realised I was being watched…

Intense hazel eyes stared into my own. I blinked. The eyes belonged to a boy. He was young; his soft face was set in a frown and his focus was locked on me. I gazed back, awkwardly. Why was he staring at me? Did he know me? There was something familiar about the kid but at the same time I was certain that I’d never met him before. It wasn’t only my palms that were clammy now. Cold sweat was sticking to my shirt.

I shook myself. I needed to calm down. I mean of course he was looking at me; I was looking at him wasn’t it? He was just staring back, that’s all. Stop being so paranoid for gods sake!

I looked away, broke the connection and gazed at the departure board, then at my shoes. Picked a hangnail. Glanced back. I was still being watched.

 The boy with the frown and intense hazel eyes still hadn’t looked away.

He stared openly and fixedly, not even caring that I had caught him looking at me so unashamedly. This was getting weird and I was in no mood to have a staring competition with some creepy kid. I picked up my rucksack and headed swiftly towards my boarding gate. I didn’t look back.

By the time I’d found it, it was time to board. I found my row, loaded my hand luggage and sat stiffly in my seat. The flight was only two hours but it seemed to drag minute-by-minute, second-by-second. There’s nothing worse than being trapped in close quarters with a person you can’t stand.

Just before we were due to land, I stood up to use the bathroom. In the compact bathroom I splashed my face with water and studied my reflection; I looked ill. The dark circles under my eyes gave my skin a greyish tinge and my lips were cracked and chewed. My face was gaunt and my eyes were hollow. When I opened the foldable bathroom door I realized that a queue had formed behind me. I mumbled a “sorry” as I tried to maneuver past the waiting bodies. It was only then that I noticed the woman in front of the queue and her intense hazel eyes. I noticed her arm placed lightly on a child next to her; the boy had clearly inherited his mother’s eyes. My stomach dropped and I lurched quickly past them and headed back towards my seat. As I buckled my seatbelt I couldn’t help but look back and notice that the mother and her son were still stood, watching me intently.

Later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them file slowly past me as they exited the airplane. They were still staring. I was starting to feel uneasy and wanted to put some distance between myself and them, so I pretended to rearrange my rucksack. I strung out the task for as long as possible before leaving the airplane but annoyingly I caught up with them and the other passengers at the passport desk. The mother and her son didn’t notice me join the back of the queue, so while they waited, I watched them.

Huh, the hunted becomes the hunter I thought, somewhat ludicrously, to myself.

Though no brands were visible, they were clearly well dressed; their clothes looked clean, crisp and of good quality. They wore the kind of clothes that, subtle though they were, fit in the way that only designer clothing does. And creepy as they were, there was no denying that they weren’t both astonishingly beautiful. They had the same high cheek bones and large hazel eyes, framed with long lashes. The mother was willowy and stood tall with her shoulders pulled back, the boy stood in his mother’s shadow, mimicking her rigid posture. They radiated hostility and wreaked of wealth… So, why had they been aboard a low-cost carrier that had brought them to this tacky tourist trap? And more to the point, why did they insist on studying me like some sort of creature in a bell jar?

The boy spotted me first; his bored eyes were roaming the queue when he noticed me watching him. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his hand and gripped his mother’s bare arm. Her eyes darted to her son and then noticing his gaze, looked directly at me.

I don’t know how long we stared at each other for and I don’t know why I didn’t just look away or play on my phone or something, but those hostile hazel eyes had me trapped.

The queue moved quickly and thankfully they were directed through one gate and I another.

I felt sweaty and shaken. I don’t really remember leaving the airport, nor do I recall getting in a taxi or even the taxi ride to the hotel. The agitation that I’d endured for the past five hours weighed on me. There was something about that woman and her son that deeply unsettled me.  Thankfully my mum had written down the name of the hotel on a scrap of paper, so I simply passed the driver my mother’s handwritten notes. I then curled up in my seat, closed my eyes and waited for my stomach to unclench.

When we pulled up at the hotel, I felt like I’d been cat-fished. I should have known better than to trust the (now clearly artificial) sun-kissed images advertised on the website, especially considering the bargain price that I paid for the holiday. The main things missing from the website images (maybe they’d been edited out) were the ugly imposing brick wall that surrounded the hotel and the solid iron bars that lined each window.

If it wasn’t for the balconies, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was a prison.

It was airless and severe in a way that I couldn’t put my finger on.  

A change is as good as a rest and this certainly was a change.

The check in was swift and efficient. The facilities and services were explained and my bags were taken… As was my passport, for safekeeping in the hotel safe. I wasn’t sure if this was the procedure at every hotel but the receptionist was so matter-of-fact about it that I felt silly to even ask. I just handed over my belongings and my only identification (almost) without hesitation.

Sitting here now, in the lobby (if a stained sofa opposite the reception desk can be called that) waiting for my room to be prepared… I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake.

Waiting again; that uncomfortable feeling. Not knowing where to sit, or what to do with my hands. An increasing sense of dread creeping up my chest. I close my eyes, trying to remember the breathing techniques that my mum had taught me. Trying to get a grip of the situation, of myself. When I open my eyes again, I can see the ever so efficient receptionist walking over to me, with her eyes wide and her smile forced, “Your room, it is ready. Come.” She gestures to the lifts behind me. “There was, how you say, a mix-up, with your room. You must share.” It was a statement; not a question or even an apology.

             “Oh,” I stopped dead “Erm, I’d rather not actually. I need my own space and I just can’t share a room.” Her smile doesn’t falter “I’m sorry” my voice comes out much more timidly than I intended. I can’t possibly share a room! I mean, I paid for this holiday – even if it was cheap. I’d never have booked it if I’d know I’d have to share a room!

The receptionist casts a sideways look at me but says nothing. “I’ll just have a single room if you have one, I mean I don’t need a double bed or anything. I just don’t really want to share… Please?” My words are saturated with desperation. Please please please!

I need my mum. I don’t know how to handle this situation.

The receptionist walks briskly towards the lift and I match her pace. I don’t know what to do except to follow her. “Oh you will be fine! The people, they are nice. You have the sun, the pool and now you have some company too, yes?” I stop at the lift. People? Not only am I sharing, I’m sharing with more than one person? My legs are trembling and I’m not sure whether I’m going to laugh or cry. This is utterly ridiculous!

The lift makes a gentle thud and the doors creak open. “Ah, here they are! These are your new friends, you see!”

Standing noiselessly inside the lift are the high-cheeked, hazel eyed mother and son from the airport. They’re stood waiting, as if they’ve always been waiting, for me.

They move back a step to make room for me to join them in the lift. Before my brain can even begin to formulate an excuse, a sentence or even a sound of some sort, any sort, the receptionist gives my lower back a gentle nudge and then I’m stood in the lift and the doors are creaking shut.

Leaving me alone, with the mother and her son.