Dip, Dip, Dip.

           Jane was walking slowly down the aisle to the mellifluous strains of ‘The Wedding March’, and she knew she had to make a decision fast. The guests were waiting expectantly in the pews as she reached the altar. Inexorable panic, slowly rising into the back of her throat, threatened to choke her. She felt hot; the palms of her hands were sweating as they clutched her bouquet. It was made up of her favourite flowers, roses and carnations, and she lifted it now to her nose to smell their heady perfume; then saw in horror that she had plucked all the petals off, one by one, and had scattered them over the floor.

           Even Mark and Peter, usually so familiar, now seemed alien as they stood before her, resplendent in their suits and buttonholes. The organ suddenly stopped playing and the vicar’s voice boomed.

           “Do you Jane, take Peter or Mark for better or worse…Jane? Jane?”

 “JANE!”

 Peter’s voice jerked her from her nightmare, and she sat bolt upright in the taxi, trying to force her eyelids open. Her neck hurt and as she rubbed at it she became aware of her surroundings. The taxi had stopped. They had arrived at the hotel at last.

           She found she was shaking. This is make or break time, she thought. I just can’t go on like this any longer.

           Jane climbed out of the taxi and gazed around her. The day looked fresh and clean in the morning sunlight, and palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze. All around there was colour; the pink-walled hotel with its terracotta roof tiles, the dark, exotic green of the palm trees, and the tubs of tumbling vivid-coloured blossoms, which were scenting the air with their rich perfume.

           Jane looked at Peter, who was holding the door of the hotel open for her. He looked weary, crumpled and dusty from their long journey, and unexpectedly she felt a pang of compassion. Then, taking a deep breath, she quelled it, and walked into the hotel.

           I’m not going to have much fun this holiday, that’s for sure, she thought, bitterly. What on earth should I do? Stay with Peter? Or return to Mark?

           She wished she could decide.

           Peter took her arm as they walked into the cool, tiled foyer. This annoyed her, as did almost everything about him these days, though most of the time she didn’t even know why.

           “What’s wrong, love?” Peter said, as she snatched her arm away. “Are you feeling okay?”

           “I’m fine!” Jane answered huffily, and was immediately ashamed when she saw his hurt expression. Peter was a kind person, but just at the moment, kind equalled boring. It wasn’t his fault, she knew. But Mark, with his dark, good looks and his live for today attitude - well! It all made for such heady excitement. She remembered an episode during their relationship when he had met her outside her office and whisked her off to Paris for an expensive champagne-fuelled weekend. That was Mark; so impulsive and romantic. And though Peter had his moments, his natural cautiousness usually prevailed, and excitement took a back seat.

           Jane was aware that this break in Spain would be a milestone in her life. She had been seeing Peter for a year now, and knew he was keen to take things further. And she liked him too. Or was it just the companionship and the way she could rely on him for everything that she liked, and not Peter for who he really was? Now that Mark had demanded she went back to him, it was time to find out.

 “You must tell Peter it‘s over between you, Jane!” he had said, authoritatively. “Tell him you belong to me. You know you always have.”                                                            

           But could she? Would it be the biggest mistake she would ever make?

 She moved around the hotel room in comparative silence, unpacking and generally settling in. Peter went out onto the balcony, and exclaimed at the view.

 “Jane, come out here and look at this!”

 It was enchanting. The swimming pool below their window was a dazzling blue, and fringed with lush palm trees. A plethora of little white houses with red tiled roofs reflected the hot sunshine, while beyond was the beautifully calm turquoise sea.

 It’s paradise, thought Jane, sadly. I just wish I could enjoy it.

 Peter said:

 “Come on, let’s get changed. Race you to the pool!”

 “No!” Jane snapped. “You go down. I’m not ready yet.”

 Peter changed and left without speaking, and Jane knew he was upset. She glared at her reflection in the mirror. Her beautiful face stared back in defiance at her outburst. She gave a deep sigh and, putting on a miniscule bikini, she followed Peter downstairs.

           As she stretched luxuriously on the sun-lounger, it was hard to push away thoughts of Mark. Was it really only two weeks ago that she had bumped into him as she was going shopping?

          “How about a drink?” he’d said. “For old times’ sake.”

          The ‘drink’ had turned into several. Jane knew she shouldn’t have gone with him, but she was having a bad day. Peter had been talking of marriage, but when she had asked for more time to think, he had spent the day ignoring her, preferring to flop in front of the telly to watch snooker. She reflected that he never really seemed to look at her these days - not like Mark, who seemed to gaze into the depths of her soul, and revel in what he saw there.

          Her body wriggled sensuously. Peter sat up, seemingly misinterpreting the action.

          “What’s up? Burning already? Do you want some sun cream?”

          “No, I’m alright.” Jane snapped, ungraciously. She was anxious to get back to her thoughts.

          Mark. He was so vibrant and full of energy. As well as being devilishly handsome. Jane smiled seductively, then she frowned. Devilish, yes. It was much the best way to describe him. She forced herself to remember the other side of Mark’s nature. It was one which used to appear all too often towards the end of their relationship. There were, inevitably, other women. She knew, deep down, they meant nothing to him. But did that mean she didn’t, either? She remembered his words as he stared deep into her eyes.

           “I swear that you’re the one I really care for.”

           Could she truly believe him?

          Now, of course, she had foolishly let him back into her life, and she continuously played out a battle scene in her mind’s eye; Peter’s tawny head facing Mark’s dark one, eyes glaring belligerently at each other. Her own mop of auburn curls in the middle, as she turned to look at one and then the other. Yes, it would be all-out war, in more ways than one.

          Peter’s voice sliced through the turmoil in her brain.

           “Come on, we’ll get heatstroke if we lay here too long. Let’s go for a walk along the beach.”

          So they walked on the hot sharp sand, while the glassy sea rolled its thick turquoise waves at their side. Jane went barefoot along the water’s edge, idly dipping her toes into the crystalline clearness. How did that old children’s rhyme go?

           ‘Dip, dip, dip, my blue ship.

          Sailing on the water, like a cup and saucer,

          You are not it.’

          She remembered, long ago, reciting that verse with her friends, whenever one of them had to make a selection, a choice of a game perhaps. Jane used the rhyme now, in her head, to choose between her suitors. The answer fell on Mark. A cool breeze sprang up from nowhere and she shivered.

          Overhead the vast sky was a lazy blue, and the soft drone of an aeroplane somehow just added to the peace of the day.

          “You’re very quiet.” ventured Peter. “Don’t you like it here, Jane?”

          “I haven’t been here a day yet. Give me a chance!” snapped Jane.

 Suddenly Peter stopped in his tracks and turned and confronted her.

          “Look, this isn’t working, is it? I think you had better go to Mark, that’s obviously what you want.”

          The abruptness of this revelation seemed to make time stand still for Jane. 

           “So you knew that Mark was back!” She was gasping with astonishment.

          “Of course I knew! I’m not as stupid as you make out. I just didn’t want to lose you, that’s all. I actually thought you were worth fighting for!”

           Jane felt shell-shocked as Peter continued,

 “And what did you think you were going to do, enjoy this holiday at my expense, then swan off with Mark as soon as we got home? Oh, no, I forgot, you weren’t even enjoying the holiday, were you? Well, at least you spared me the pretence of that!” His voice was as bitter as cactus-juice.

          Jane had the grace to look ashamed.

          “But…but Peter, I’ve just realised that Mark doesn’t want me back. He never did. He was just using me, laughing at me. I don’t think he even likes me, he doesn’t really like any woman. And I know I’ve been a fool. I’d much rather have you. You’re the one person I can really rely on. You’re my friend, as well as my lover, and I know you‘d never hurt me like he would.”

          “It’s too late to say that now.”

          “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just let Mark…intoxicate me, I suppose. I should never have arranged to meet him in the first place.”

          “No, you shouldn’t” Peter’s voice was ominously quiet.

          “How did you know, anyway?”

           “I heard through the grapevine that he’d reappeared on the scene. That coupled with the sudden coldness of your manner towards me - well, it doesn’t take a genius, does it?”

          “I’m sorry, Peter.” Jane said again, and this time she meant it. “I thought he cared, but he doesn’t want me.”

           “Well, unfortunately, Jane, neither do I - now!”

           He turned and walked back to the hotel, leaving her alone on the sand. She suddenly knew that he was worth fighting for, and ran after him. She had to swallow her pride and plead if she wanted this wedding to take place - which she did - only this time without Mark in the picture. She knew who the best man was, and she didn’t need a children’s rhyme to tell her, either.

           She shouted his name, “Peter!” And to her intense relief, he stopped and waited for her to catch up. Maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy this holiday after all, and peace could reign once more.