THE UNFORGETTABLE HOLIDAY
There are times when one prepares for a holiday as though for a grand celebration: a group of friends, a sun-drenched country, promises of endless fun. Yet in reality, one mishap follows another. Still, it is precisely such misadventures that later become the most cherished memories.
Margaret clenched her teeth so tightly around the straw of her cocktail that she nearly bit it clean through. I shouldve ordered something strongera double, straight away, she thought grimly, trying to drown out her companions endless complaints.
And yet, it had all begun so splendidly! A gift to herself and her husband for their silver wedding anniversary: an exotic destination, the ocean, luxurious hotels, fine dining, leisurely strolls. Margaret had already begun selecting outfits and packing her trunks when her husband, slightly buoyed by good company, suddenly suggested to their friends, “Why not join us? Fours merrier, and well split the cost of the car and guide.”
And just like thatthe tickets were bought, no turning back.
Her husbands friend, Oliver, a well-known art historian, was pleasant company. But his wife, Felicity She was a woman raised in privilege, accustomed to a life of fine restaurants and resort holidays. After emigrating, she had swiftly divorced and shrouded her later years in mystery. No one quite knew how she made her living, but she spun tales so captivating one couldnt help but listen.
Margaret had met her a decade prior. Felicity had taken her under her wing, dragging her to boutiques, insisting a true Englishwomans life was unthinkable without aged balsamic vinegar and Parma ham (“the magpies on my balcony wont touch anything else”). She hauled Margaret to the symphony, to exhibitions in Amsterdam, called daily, coincidentally appearing wherever Margaret went. Yet the longer Margaret knew her, the more inconsistencies she noticed.
And nowtwo weeks together.
“I asked for still water, warmed, and theyve brought it fizzy and cold again! I cant possibly drink this!” Felicity wailed.
Margaret gritted her teeth and silently apologised to her dentist.
The entire trip followed in the same vein.
The final hotel, overlooking the sea, seemed a paradise. That morning, they set off briskly for the waterfalls. The path wound through dense jungle, with swaying rope bridges and heavy walking sticks handed out for balance.
“Oh, but Im in white linen trousers! No one told me!” Felicity shrieked.
Margaret walked ahead, refusing to glance back. Yet the beauty of the lake at the waterfalls base made up for everythingmist-shrouded peaks, birdsong, sapphire-winged butterflies. Margaret plunged into the icy, crystal-clear water and, for a moment, touched pure bliss.
“Its impossible to swim here! The bottoms too slippery!” Felicity declared, scrambling out at once. Yet moments later, she struck poses in a bikini that barely contained her, demanding, “Take my picture! I must send these to everyone.” Oliver obliged, resigned.
The mud springs? Felicity wouldnt even undress. The zoo? “Ugh, the animals stink.”
The restaurant, however, was a saga in itself. Ordering became an inquisitionspicy ribs with no sauce? Grilled fish, but not *that* one, and not *that* way? Margaret translated, patience fraying. Felicity finally settled on meat, only to scowl and complain it was “too salty, too tough”while simultaneously devouring chips from everyone elses plates.
“Darling, must you?” Oliver tried to reason. “Youll want to look your best in that swimsuit later.”
A withering glare was the only reply, followed by another handful of stolen chips.
The last day was a blur. Felicity suddenly announced she “couldnt stand chips” (after two weeks of gorging), lunch was a litany of grievances, yet upon landing, she rang half of London from the airport:
“Yes, were back in England! Our luggage hasnt come. Everyones in a tizzyonly Im sorting it all out!”
Margaret chose not to react. Home awaitedher ninety-two-year-old father, who would accept nothing but a thick beef stew “just like Grans,” laundry, work.
Their bags arrived after an hour and a half. They caught the train (though it was late), then a taxi in the rain. But by then, Margaret felt battle-hardenedtrifles no longer troubled her.
The important thing: they were home. Tomorrow, the dog, her father, routine chores. And blessed silenceno Felicity.
At least for a few days.
And now the oddest part: Felicity and Oliver now gush to everyone about how it was the finest holiday of their lives, how they dream of returning.
Margaret smiles, listening, and thinks, “Well perhaps some suffering is worth it, if it brings someone else such joy.”
