Ray was 65 but looked older, being both a smoker and a heavy drinker. He spent most of his time at home watching old films, occasionally popping down to the pub. He didn’t appear to have any hobbies or interests, or any friends, and came across as a rather sad and lonely individual. It was impossible to have a decent conversation with him, and I knew it was going to be hard work; but he seemed nice enough, so I agreed to take him on as a client.
After seeing each other a few times, Ray invited me to Torquay for the weekend, to stay in what he described as a “really nice” hotel that I was “just going to love”. I wasn’t convinced but felt sorry for him; so against my better judgement I agree to go. After all, a weekend away is a weekend away…
He’s offered to drive; however, when I arrive at Ray’s he’s in a right state having been on a bender the night before, resulting in him falling down the stairs and bruising his ribs. Despite this, he’s keen to go, so we head off for our ‘romantic’ weekend away.
On arriving at the hotel, I realise we have different ideas as to what ‘really nice’ means. Our room is dark and dingy; the paper is peeling off the walls and the grubby thick net curtains have seen better days. The hotel is a chain of cheap and cheerful holiday resorts, offering a variety of entertainment; bingo, karaoke, cabaret etc… you get the idea. Nothing wrong with this, only it wasn’t what I’d been sold, or what I was expecting.
The first thing we do is head to the bar for a drink, before going to our room for a nap (just a nap). Later when we go down to eat Ray isn’t hungry, however I’m just glad to eat something, even if it is beige and tasteless. After eating it’s straight back to our room, where Ray sleeps whilst I read. Our first night has not been great, but at least I’ve been spared the ordeal of having sex (and remembered to pack a good book).
The next day Ray isn’t feeling much better, but after spending most of the morning in bed he feels able to venture out. It’s an incredibly hot sunny day, so I apply suncream and offer some to Ray, who refuses as apparently “suncream is for girls”; I don’t bother pointing out that skin cancer doesn’t discriminate. I also drink some water and suggest he do the same; but he doesn’t do water (maybe that’s for girls as well). I explain the importance of staying hydrated but I’m wasting my time; the only thing he wants to drink is beer.
Torquay is full of people; sitting outside drinking coffee, relaxing on the beach, playing in the sea, enjoying the beautiful weather and having a lovely time. We walk straight past the beach and the sea front and all the happy people having fun, and straight into Wetherspoons; where the football is on and Ray has to queue for ages to get served. Once Ray has had enough to drink, we get a taxi back to our dingy room for another nap.
Thankfully that evening Ray is feeling a bit better, so we check out the entertainment. We sit at a little table by the bar, where I’m left on my own several times whilst Ray goes out to smoke; the rest of the time we pretty much sit in silence. I prefer it when he’s out smoking, it’s less awkward.
He feels guilty about being so tired and hungover, so attempts to make amends by requesting a shoutout. He asks the DJ to play ‘When will I see you again’, which the DJ announces is for Emily-Rose from Ray; Ray manages to miss it as he’s out having a fag though.
They’re playing music from the 70s and 80s, and the dancefloor is full of people dancing and having fun. There are a few large parties staying at the hotel, one group dressed in bright neon leotards, tights, leg warmers and headbands etc. Ray points to one of the girls, saying that he doesn’t think much of her outfit; I explain that it’s fancy dress, but I’m not sure he understands.
The other large party are visiting from Africa, and part of some organisation (they’re in the lobby the following day wearing matching polo t-shirts). They’re having a great time, old and young together on the dance floor, other members of the group sitting on the periphery watching. Near the end of the evening, they put in a few requests, and the dancefloor is flooded with funky African beats. They form a large circle, singing, dancing and laughing together. A few outsiders go over to join in and are immediately welcomed into the group.
By this point I’d managed to persuade Ray to get up and have a boogie, however as soon as the music changes he sits down and indicates that I do the same. I want to dance, but Ray’s having none of it. He’s chuntering away, saying that he “can’t dance to ‘black man’ music, they should play more Status Quo”. I’m embarrassed and offended by his comments (which thankfully no one else hears) but don’t say anything. In any other situation I would; but given that he’s paying me to be there and have a good time, I let it slide.
The DJ alternates between the two styles of music, so we dance to the ‘white’ music and sit down when the ‘black’ music comes on. It’s embarrassing and I can’t understand why Ray thinks he has any right to complain; it seems petty and selfish… not to mention racist.
When we head to bed, Ray is too drunk and sore to have sex, so it’s another night of reading and listening to him snoring.
Thankfully the next morning it’s time to leave; by some miracle I’ve survived two nights with him. Ray has enjoyed his weekend and had a great time; I on the other hand have not and am glad to get home.
How I managed to keep my cool I’ll never know, however the next time I see him he’s not so lucky; but that’s a story for another day…
Emily-Rose xxx
Sugar and Spice 