It’s 2016 and we’ve just finished our A-Levels. As is custom now, there was only one way to give our school years the sending off they deserved; a lad’s holiday.
I’d been to Santa Ponsa perhaps fifteen or sixteen times in my life. My mum’s friend owned a flat out there which enabled us to have a cheap family holiday abroad every year for a fraction of the price that it would cost, even to go away in the UK. It is for this reason, that Simon’s flat, as it is known in our family, became the venue for our week of debauched antics on the sunny Mallorca peninsula.
The charm of Simon’s flat was, ironically, its complete lack of charm. Simon’s parents bought the flat back in the sixties. At that time, it was just the block of flats and the beach. Now, it is a thriving beach resort flocked to by the masses every summer. After they died, Simon and his brother inherited the flat. However, Simon and his brother were not on speaking terms. It is for this reason that Simon never saw fit to renovate or glam the place up. If he did, then what was to stop his brother enjoying what Simon had paid for? As a result, walking in to the flat was the equivalent of walking back in to the sixties. Olive carpets and a tangerine colored sofa, grandiose wooden bookshelves and cabinets. Even the original fridge was in there. Yet, as I mentioned, the charm really was its lack of charm. No matter how it looked or smelt, it was basecamp for the week. And it was always a good week there.
So, myself and five other friends set up camp in the flat for the week. It slept four. A double bed and two single beds. Luckily there was a spare mattress under the double bed which we pulled out for the fifth member. Unluckily for Olly, who was always the brunt of the jokes, he had to make do with the sofa. Alas.
My mums one rule whilst we were out that is that we MUST LOOK AFTER THE FLAT. This had been drilled in to me for the weeks leading up to the holiday and so I implemented the rule in military fashion. I was nearing on fascism by mid-week. Yet, the lads knew that looking after the flat whilst we were in there was a fair trade off for having such a cheap holiday. Well, most of the lads. One of us, who I shall name James for disclosure purposes, was hellbent on ruining our holiday.
Firstly, we had all decided to go to Western Water Park, which we were all thoroughly excited for. However, James decided that, despite being outnumbered five to one, that we should go on a boat trip around the island. Yes, this seems nice, but the water park felt, firstly, way more fun and, secondly, more in tune with our lad’s holiday. This was the first thing to make him strop. It was because of this unfair ruling, or at least unfair in his eyes, that caused him to act up when we got there. We were all having great fun on the various rides and slides until he said he was bored and going to sit back on the sun beds where we kept our drinks and snacks. We didn’t mind too much as his moping around was dampening the fun anyway. When we eventually deemed it water and snack time we headed back to the beds. This was the first incident that got me slightly riled up. He had drunk ALL SIX water bottles and ALL OF OUR SNACKS. It was thirty-three degrees and we now had no water. Buying it in the park cost about four euros a bottle which frustrated us all immensely. How could he be so selfish? He was in the bad books for the rest of the day.
Then, later, we visited Toni’s Pizza. Another favored attraction of my family when we used to come. Paco, the owner recognized me and surprised me and the lads with free ice creams for dessert; five choc ices and a Cornetto. Now, none of us lads were picky and would quite happily have had whatever Paco had kindly gifted to us. However, it was obvious that the Cornetto was the favored treat of all of them. Now, you’d think there’d be a fair, judicial way of deciding who gets the Cornetto, right? WRONG. Before we’d even had a chance to negotiate, James helped himself to the icy treat and began eating it. HOW can one person be so audacious!? By now, my internal stress gauge was near busting and about to be pressed to the limits.
That night, we all went back to the sacred flat to cool off and scrub up with a brief shower. A few of the lads had their shower and then it was James’ turn. Now, whether he did this or not, I have no idea. Whatever the reason, however, I was not happy. And I really want to emphasize that I was NOT HAPPY. He’d been showering for five minutes when I noticed water pouring out from under the bathroom door. At first, I was confused but then realised. He’d left the shower curtain OUTSIDE OF THE BATH meaning that the entire contents of the shower head was spilling out on to the bathroom floor, under the door, and in to the hallway and dining room of the flat. I was FUMING. I thumped on the door for him to immediately halt his shower and come and look at what he’d done. The water still spilling out from under the door and now almost in to the bedrooms. He came out, looked at the puddle of water flooding the flat and shrugged. ‘Wasn’t my fault’ and walked in to his bedroom to dry off. I didn’t say anything at this point but was so close. I demanded he use his own beach towel to mop it all up to which he replied ‘I’m, not using my towel’. It was at this that really made me shout. As if his negligence and lack of remorse wasn’t enough, he then grabbed my beach towel as well as one of the other lads and mopped the floor with OUR towels. OUR TOWELS. For the first time in my 18 years on this earth I SCREAMED. ‘GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU IN HERE AGAIN. GET THE HELL OUT!’. He, with no remorse, traipsed out.
A couple of years later, we all met up, having not seen each other with our respective life choices intervening at every opportunity. All of us, that is, but James. They had no interest in seeing him anymore. I, however, couldn’t hold a grudge. Ironic really as I was the one who lashed out at him.
Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t hold a grudge. Did I feel guilty? The short answer, yes.
I wish it was black and white that James ruined our holiday and that I wasn’t unreasonable for my reaction. But as with everything, it’s never black and white.
James’ dad had died the same year. I’m fortunate enough to have never dealt with any such trauma. Perhaps this is where my lack of understanding comes from, that I’ve never had to deal with that kind of trauma. One of the few people who gives you their undivided attention suddenly shuffling off this mortal coil makes you plea for attention elsewhere.
If I wasn’t young and caught up in just having fun, then perhaps I’d have noticed that.
He wasn’t a dick, he was a mate silently crying out for help. And what did I do? I denied him that. To this face. Forcefully. We lost our holiday, he lost his Dad. I don’t know how I failed to see this before.
I met up with him recently. It was the elephant in the room. Surprisingly, he apologised to me. Not only did I think that incredibly brave, but equally I found it unjust. Why should he apologise? I told him I refused his apology. I was in the wrong and I was the sorry one. Sufficed to say, I don’t get angry anymore.
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