Part Three: Mum-A

First thing in the morning I asked the lifeguard on duty when he thought the clouds might blow away. Maybe it will rain, maybe they will go, maybe they will stay where they are. Inconclusive forecast it seems.

I made a friend by the pool, someone English too and lives not too far from me, and hopes to write. It seems we had a lot in common, and that worried me. To see yourself so reflected in someone else should be comforting; but instead it proved that my good ideas weren’t mine at all, they were just good. We chatted until Aunt A appeared and I dutifully took up my position beside her.

A few years ago, between nutrition and Pilates, Auntie A had undertaken a massage qualification and I had been her practice body then, and so it was only fitting that now she had decided to relearn her skills that it should be my shoulders that are kneaded by her palms. She ran through the old routine whilst I sat in the shade, until a moment of possible sunshine drew us back to our deckchairs until we had to checkout of our room.

George, the driver who plays dominoes in his spare time, arrived to take us to Negril. He waved at a lady who smiled at him from the pavement. A friend? mocked Aunt A, No… replied George, but she maybe lookin’ good.

We drove past colourful houses and little roadside stalls where rum or coca cola adverts were painted on the walls, then past a huge rusty waterwheel from an old plantation and past goats walking down the verge. As we passed Dolphin Cove, where fishing boats shelter from stormy weather, the sun came out and the sea flashed its turquoise petticoats and hid them again from the clouds. We drove through the town of Lucea, whose clock tower is shaped like a German helmet and got lost on its way to St Lucia.

The Breezes Negril is a somewhat different hotel to Round Hill. Where Round Hill exuded grace and calm, we walked in to the Breezes as the hospitality staff did the catwalk through the main lunch dining room in swimwear you could buy in the gift shop. Behind the bar at Breezes you might be less likely to see portraits of celebrities than mug shots of the staff and guests.

We joined the crowded restaurant for lunch and sat silently (the music was too loud for conversation), and loaded platefuls from the buffet tables. Empty plates are swiped away before you can even lay your cutlery down on them and finding yourself armed still with a knife and fork it is hard not to load up another plate. All inclusive places fill me with a sense of guilt: that I took too much, that I didn’t take enough, that its all free so you should try it all, and even though in a couple of hours you know they’ll lay out tea I find myself tempted to stuff pudding in my pockets.

We have been given separate rooms; mine has a sitting room and A’s has a Jacuzzi on the balcony. After dropping off our bags Aunt A and I went for a walk past other resorts down the beach and politely nodded our acknowledgement to the stallholders we encountered. This is my daughter she said to the fisherman who offered us some good smoke, and laughed at me over the top of prescription sunglasses. Laughter at the jest or at the thought I wondered, but I accepted my new bond with good humour.