The Suncream

From the moment she chose me, I felt a deep desire to look after her – to coat her in a protective cloak that would keep her safe. And it was fun starting a holiday together, knowing I was the one for her – she wasn’t looking for number 10 or number 50. Oh no, she was looking for me.

The beginning of the week was heaven. She was ever-present and in the morning, pre-breakfast, we’d slither around – leaving her a little sticky and hot, but content, and prepared to take on the day with me at her side.

But as happens with holiday flings, I began to irk her – seemed I was too big a commitment. More fool her: it’ll burn to forget me. Not that she cares, she lies there on her sunbed sizzling away, without so much as even looking for me. I don’t know whether to blame the rose at lunch, or some sort of new-found confidence to go it alone. Sure, that day on the boat she’d regularly reach for me – but it was sloppy and fast, and unthinking and pointless: I couldn’t do my best for her.

Still, what does it matter? This was never going to be more than a fling for her. She travels light, after all: hand luggage being her approach to flights and indeed life. And so when she left, she was always going to leave me behind – too large a force to fit into her life’s pre-determined restrictions.

I guess that’s how all holiday romances end. It’s not the end of the world, but it is sad – I feel half empty and semi-used.

HER: Oh, yeah no, I’m fine – I put some factor 15 on this morning.