"Smith, Guy N - Crabs 05 - Crabs' Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

Chapter One

Friday-Shell Island



IREY WALL glanced at the stocky fair-haired man beside her, noted the way he crouched over the steering wheel, a pose that was definitely intended to impress. A show-off. She looked away, told herself that she was the biggest bloody fool on earth. It wasn't too late, though. She could say 'I'm sorry, Keith, but I've changed my mind. Take me back to the camp, please.' But that needed courage, the kind she didn't have right now. He'd convince her otherwise in that same persuasive tone that he had used last night as he had shouted in her ear in an attempt to make himself heard above the grating sound of the cheap dance band as they had smooched around the floor. She even knew what he would say. 'Don't be bloody daft, Irey. We're only going for a ride out to Shell Island, find ourselves a quiet stretch of beach for an hour or two. There's no harm in that, is there? The break from the kids will do you good, and they'll be fine with the Greencoats. They won't even miss you. Christ, you can't stay in the camp all week, which you'd have to do without me because you don't have a car. You'd go bloody crazy stopping in there the whole time, a permanent stink of candyfloss and fish and chips, and those bingo callers never letting up so that you go to sleep repeating numbers to yourselves instead of counting sheep. Hell, you're safe enough with me and nobody will give us a second glance. Then, before you know it, you'll be back with the kids and today'll just be a memory.' Irey sighed, stared at the queue of holiday traffic ahead of them. There was no point in starting an argument with her companion. She didn't have the energy, anyway. It was too damned hot. Whatever will be, will be.

The car slowed to a halt, its engine ticking over. She closed her eyes and her mind went back to last night.

It had seemed so exciting then, just a harmless flirtation. The atmosphere and a couple of gins had made it that way. She'd put her chalet on the patrol rota, told the Greencoats they would find her in the Pearl dance hall if they needed her. The kids were asleep when she'd left and in all probability they would never even know she had been out. Good kids they were, Rodney, six and Louise, four. Irey had had an urge to go out somewhere; maybe a quick drink or some fish and chips would have been a better idea. It was difficult at times like these being a woman. You weren't meant to go out on your own. If you didn't have a man then you either stopped in or else you went out and found yourself one. And when men saw you out on your own they automatically presumed you were looking for one thing. It wasn't bloody well fair. Her fingernails dug into the sweaty palms of her hands. The traffic edged forward a few yards and then stopped again. Irey opened her eyes, closed them again.

Indirectly it was all Alan's fault. What husband and father with any sense of love and responsibility shoved his wife and kids off to a holiday camp so that he could have a fortnight's fishing with his mates from work? Well, Alan fitted the bill: the classic male chauvinist pig. There was gossip, rumours about him back home, but Irey had forced herself to shut her ears to them. She didn't want to know. I don't want to bloody well hear 'erni There were explanations (excuses?). He was out late frequently because he was in the darts team, most of whom were in the fishing club also. Safety in numbers. Ready alibis too. Deep down he loved his family best, just had a funny way of showing it. He was too interested in darts and fishing to worry about other women. Hadn't he admitted to her only the other week that he didn't find sex exciting anymore and that she needn't. He couldn't understand it when she'd burst into tears.

And now this guy Keith. She sneaked another glance at him, felt her skin goosepimple a little in spite of the heat. A real hulk of man, so different from Alan in almost every way. Last night she'd felt her stomach turn, her heart miss a beat when he'd singled her out in the corner of the dance room.

'On your own, sweetheart?' Surprise that seemed genuine. Weren't there dozens of younger girls here on the loose just with one thought in mind? But he'd chosen her.

'I ... I just came in for an hour ... to listen to the music. I can't stop longer because my kids are back at the chalet.'

He bought her a drink, didn't give her the opportunity to refuse. And somehow her life story, her disappointments came spilling out.

'My name's Keith,' he said as he led her on to the floor, held her close to him as somehow they found space amidst the other couples. The lights were right down by now, just a kind of mauve glow. 'I had a wife once but one day I got in from work and found she'd gone off with a contract gardener, a guy who spent the summer months mowing people's lawns and the winter months having it off with his customers' wives. I was real sick, I can tell you. But I got over it. Maybe one day I'll settle down again if I can find the right woman, and if I can find the courage to get married again.'

It was a kind of cue that brought her own fears spilling out. She'd never spoken that way to anybody about Alan before; it all came out in a kind of rush as though suddenly she was desperate to get it out of her system.

Which was why she was here now with Keith, and the Greencoats were looking after Rodney and Louise for the day. Subconsciously last night she had gone out to find herself a man. But it would only be a holiday friendship. She wouldn't let him do anything. A bit of flirtation; the holiday was half over, anyway.

'Seems everybody's got a mind to get out of the camp today,' his hand found its way across to her knee, squeezed it so naturally as though he had known her for years, as though he was her ... husband.

'They're probably all going to Shell Island,' A hint of reluctance, a final resistance although she had resigned herself to her fate. 'It'll probably be so crowded that we won't be able to get on anyway.'

'I doubt it. I'd lay a fiver that this lot's going into Barmouth today. The Radio One Roadshow's there this morning and you know how half this population of conditioned morons will virtually mob their favourite DJ. Me, I wouldn't waste my time listening to their verbal garbage.'

'They're probably just glad to get away from the camp for the day,' her hand seemed to find his of its own accord. 'The trouble is there's just too many camps along this part of the Welsh coast. Butlin's, Pontin's, and now this new one, the Blue Ocean Holiday Camp.'

'What made you go for Blue Ocean?'

'I suppose, I thought it might be something different.'