SATURDAY
As Vicky looked out of the window into the morass of queueing cars, she wondered - not for the first time - just what the fuck she was doing here.
"Come on, it'll be fun," Kayleigh - Kay, for short - had promised. "Tanning on the beach by day, and flirting with the local talent at night. It's right up your street."
The lashing rain bounced off the windows, drumming so loud on the roof that it almost - but not quite - drowned out the noise of Kayleigh's little sisters arguing in the back seat beside her. Kay sat in the front with her mum, trying to peer ahead through the gloom to work out the cause of the delay.
In the end, Kayleigh had managed to persuade her to come away on this trip to Sandy Shores holiday park. Kay had explained she really needed a friend to save her from endless kids-days-out activities; her sisters were eleven and nine years old, and while they might have had the attitude of much older teens, they were hardly going to go out on the piss with her and help her sleep their way through the available guys. For that, Kay needed a proper friend, and who better than the sexy Vicky to be her wing woman?
Which is how Vicky found herself stuck in this too-small hatchback, sitting on a duvet with suitcases piled high behind her, wondering if the promised sun, sand and sex were ever going to materialise.
Vicky watched Kayleigh's mum Sandra pull down the visor and start applying fresh lipstick while they sat helpless in the traffic jam. Quite who she was trying to impress, Vicky had no idea - but that was Sandra all over. Now almost 40 years old, she'd fallen pregnant with Kay while still at school. In the dim light of a nightclub - and they'd often go out together - she could easily pass for being Kay's slightly older sister. Sandra seemed to be in denial that her clubbing phase was now in the past, and continued to dress like she was a twentysomething still on the pull. She wore too much makeup, favoured leopard-print bodysuits and skin-tight white jeans and stilettos, and flirted with any man she met from eighteen to fifty (although the older they were, the richer they needed to be). All three of her daughters had a different, unknown, father.
But Vicky loved her. She was more of a mum to her than her own family, that's for sure. After Vicky's dumpy mother had reached fifty years old she seemed to have given up; she'd filled out, as if resembling a beach ball would help her roll effortlessly into retirement. Vicky had watched her mum with growing revulsion and fear for her own future. She'd vowed that would never happen to her. She threw herself into her dancing, determined that training and vigilance would keep her taut teenaged body in shape her whole life.
So far it seemed to be working, but the genes still had their revenge. She could diet and exercise as much as she wanted, but nothing could stop the inexorable ballooning of her chest to match her mother's. God, how Vicky regretted spending her early teens wanting to have big tits just like Sam Fox from Page Three. Now she had to bind her breasts for dancing, to stop them hurting from the bouncing. She looked almost comically top-heavy, like one of those saucy seaside postcards her pervy dad was obsessed with. When she was a young schoolgirl she'd vowed to get a reduction as soon as she was legally allowed to and had autonomy over her own body. But that was before she'd appreciated the power her figure held over the guys. She'd come to enjoy the effect her impressive boobs had on the boys around her, and had got used to using this to her advantage. It's amazing what you can get away with when you're really stacked. She'd not paid anything on a date in years.
An elbow in the ribs, from Kayleigh's squabbling siblings, brought her back to the drab reality. They'd barely moved a hundred metres in the last half an hour. Right now, I could be lying topless on a beach in the south of France, she knew. Or even back at home, getting properly railed in Ross' flat. This had better be worth it, Kay.
///
Sean slotted Kill 'em All into the tape deck as Patrick negotiated the bends of the winding road in his battered old Mini Metro. Lars and Cliff blasted through the speakers, connected directly to Patrick's right foot, and he gunned it as they shot through the English countryside.
"I'm telling you mate, it's pussy central," Sean insisted. "I guarantee we'll have got laid by Monday night!"
Pat was dubious. Right now, they could be on a plane heading to a Club 18-30 break in Ibiza or Magaluf. That would have been a guaranteed sex fest. But no, he'd let Sean persuade him to go to Sean's family caravan site in the arse-end of fucking nowhere. Well, at least they could spend the money on booze instead.
"If it's such a fucking hotbed of activity, how come you're still a virgin?" Pat countered.
"Who says that I am?" Sean replied with brash overconfidence. Pat just looked at him, turning his face away from the road briefly, and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay, fair point. But you can hardly expect me to be on my best game with my family hanging around, can you? Nah, I tell you mate, we'll be beating them off with a stick."
I'd rather they were beating me off, Patrick thought. And besides, he wouldn't mind getting mobbed by a gang of bored horny eighteen-year-old girls.
The Metro ran a little wide, scrabbling for grip on the mud and shingle at the side of the road. Sean knew what the motorways got like when the whole of the UK headed for their summer seaside holidays, and had insisted Pat take the scenic route. It was certainly more fun to drive, although Sean kept a hand on the door handle at all times for extra security. Wouldn't want the journey to become too exciting, not with the prospects of a thrilling fortnight awaiting them at journey's end.
///
MONDAY
Sean drew the curtains aside. Finally, it had stopped raining. The holiday had started to look like a washout, but today the sky was blue, with a few scattered fluffy clouds. Maybe a beach trip would be on, after all. There were only so many bottles of Hooch to be drunk, and games of shithead that two good friends could play.
A day lazing on the golden sands did wonders for Sean's mood. A bit of vitamin D, and a lot of people watching, raised his spirits once more. This was the Sandy Shores he remembered from his childhood. Endless exploring through the sand dunes, pretending to storm or defend castles from the enemy. Seeing who could dig the biggest hole. Getting sand literally everywhere, in places you didn't even know you had. Then, when the sun was at its most fierce, cooling off by diving through the rolling waves.
Patrick's mood, however, wasn't so easily quelled. The weather wasn't the only thing about this holiday that had been a washout. There was a distinct lack of babes at the holiday park. Even a wander down to the far end of the beach, beyond where the dunes met the sea and the nudists were allowed to express their beliefs, wasn't worth the effort - it was all old women with saggy tits, and their husbands with shrivelled cocks nesting behind grey-haired pubes. He really wished he hadn't bothered, as that was a sight he'd struggle to wipe from his brain.
Sean's words echoed round his head, amplified by anger: it's pussy central, we'll have paired off by Monday. Fat chance. Maybe next week would bring a new batch of hotties, replacing the fogies and young families that dominated this week. It had fucking better, or Sean would find himself walking the hundreds of miles home again.
That evening, in the bar, Pat's temper finally broke. "What the hell is this place, man? It's a fucking disaster zone. I should be on some fucking island in the Med with bikini girls grinding on my lap. This place is bullshit, we're just here to satisfy some sick nostalgic fantasy of yours."
Sean at least had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, okay? It happens sometimes, you get a dry week. It'll get better."
"And what if it doesn't, eh? I blew all my play money on this shithole. Can't get to Magaluf now before I have to check in to Uni. You better watch your arse tonight, Sean, 'cos you owe me a fuck."
Patrick had never spoken to Sean like that before. They'd been best friends forever. "Now come on mate, be reasonable, I can't control who comes here."
"You insisted that we did, you muppet. That's the fucking problem." He chugged most of the remaining beer. "Go on, fuck off. Get away from me, I can't stand the sight of you right now." Patrick downed the rest of his pint, and stormed over to the bar to get another. Sean watched him go, in disbelief, but when it became clear he was being blanked, he reluctantly stood and stole away.
For a while, he stood at the top of the ramp that led down to the small pool they had on site, now closed for the evening. It was just for small kids and families, really - there was a much bigger waterpark complex a couple of miles along the coast. Sean watched the underwater lighting ripple refracted across the walls, dancing as the pumps circulated the water creating tiny waves across the surface of the water. Oh, the times he'd spent round that pool over the years, writing shit poetry and dreaming of his future girlfriend, built out of bits of the girls he'd seen in that water.
Patrick was right, of course; this was his fault. He wanted one last trip to Sandy Shores, to draw the curtain on this part of his life. Legally he was an adult now, but he didn't feel closure yet on his childhood. He'd seen how the older kids, young men and women, had coupled up at this place for their holiday romances. He wanted that for himself, just for once, and had dragged Pat into the delusion. But they were men now, not horny teens looking for a snog and a quick feel. Young adults went abroad to get their kicks and sow their oats, not to dead-end family parks. He couldn't blame Pat for being angry.
He moped around the entertainment complex, avoiding the bar Patrick was attempting to drink dry. He wandered through the copper-and-ozone smell of the arcades with its sticky carpet and air of desperation, towards the main stage area. He felt the music before he could hear it; bingo was finished for the night, and it was disco time. He stepped into the auditorium, tables in near darkness with the lights flashing over a dance floor littered with writhing bodies attempting Agadoo and the Time Warp.
As he watched, there was a moment like the parting of the Red Sea, and time seemed to come to a halt. The noise disappeared, a void appeared in the dance floor, and the lighting picked out two figures in the centre. The closest figure faced away from him: white trainers at the end of bare legs that ran up to a pair of shocking pink hotpants practically bursting from the bubble butt they were struggling to contain. A loose blouse completed the outfit, and a cascade of wavy brown hair grazed over her shoulders.
Sexy though she was, even from the rear view, she wasn't what had captured Sean's attention. It was the angel she was dancing with that had claimed Sean's soul through his eyes and refused to let go. Black knee-length leatherette boots highlighted her long, long legs; thighs exposed by a tight red miniskirt barely long enough to hide what little modesty she might have. Her taut bare midriff showed just a hint of abs, but Sean's eyes refused to dally there. They were pinned to the black crop-top, the scoop neck revealing an acre of cleavage, with a deep V-cut showing the huge extent of the tits underneath. He barely noticed the baseball cap with the long blonde ponytail pulled through the loop at the back, hair hanging down practically to her arse. He was simply mesmerised by her dance, watching her hips sway one way and her chest the other, as she moved to the rhythm, her eyes closed in rapt concentration.
He had no idea how long he had been staring at her. Time had ceased to have any meaning. But eventually he noticed she was looking back at him, tapping her friend on the shoulder who turned around to stare back at him as well. The friend was pretty; nice tits, great body - but may as well been invisible next to the busty blonde. The blonde leant over and whispered something in the brunette's ear; she laughed, and pulled her friend's face to hers, gave her a long deep French kiss right there on the dance floor.
The spell broke. That figures, Sean thought, sadly. It was just too good to be true that a couple of hot straight chicks would have turned up on camp after all. They just had to be lesbians, didn't they. Ah, fuck.
He needed some air, so made his way to the doors at the back of the venue, and lost himself in the maze of caravans and chalets.
///
"Sorry babe, gotta check your ID," the barman requested.
Vicky looked down at her chest and gestured in a what-the-fuck-are-these-then kind of way. She'd not been carded since she was fifteen. Another perk of the perky twins.
"Rules are rules, miss."
She sighed and pulled her driving license out of her bra, showed him quite how legal she was for anything he might have had in mind, then tucked it away. He shrugged in reply and passed over the bottles of Bud, which she snatched away and took back outside to the playground.
Kayleigh took a deep drag on her menthol cigarette before stubbing it out and throwing the butt into the long grass, kicking her feet as she swung on the metal framed swing. "I told you to dump that Ross bloke anyway. He's such a lousy boyfriend, I dunno what you see in him."
