Destination
he window of the travel agent's office was awash with pictures and adverts showing all kinds of luxurious holidays. Brenda pulled on Tom's arm.
'Let's go in and have a look,' she suggested. 'It won't do any harm just to look.'
'No point in doing that,' said Tom. 'No point at all .We're going to Ilfracombe. We always go to Ilfracombe. You know what to expect and you're never disappointed.'
'But you've never been anywhere else. Only to Ilfracombe. Every year the same. The same guest house. The same Mrs Riley cooking the same food. Don't you want to do something different for a change?'
'Brenda, when we first got married and went there you said you liked it.'
'I did, but...'
'So that's settled then. Ilfracombe it is.'
Brenda winced at the thought of another holiday with Tom and his parents at the same town. Walking up the same hills when the weather allows it. Sitting in the same cafes when the weather doesn't, which was usually the case.
A large picture of Greece loomed out of the window contrasting the picture in her mind.
'I agree,' she answered. 'But let's go in and have a look round anyway.'
Tom allowed himself to be steered in through the front doors. After all, he thought, they may have some brochures of the Ilfracombe area.
'Catching Brenda's attention first was a huge picture of a golden tropical beach adorned with sun-tanned bodies.
'Can't imagine why people would want to throw away such good money,' moaned Tom. 'Must cost a fortune. And for what?'
'I agree.' A tall old man wearing a dark hat turned to Tom and added, 'there's no need going off round the world for a holiday. I mean, they can't even speak our lingo, can they? And they have foreign money, don't they? You know you're going to be short-changed but you can't argue with them, can you?'
Brenda walked over to where hundreds of brochures lay invitingly on the table. Leaving behind Tom and the older gentleman deep in conversation about the merits of English holidays.
A young man in an expensive suit smiled at her as she was deciding which one to pick up first. It was one about Barbados.
'That's where I'm going tomorrow,' said the man. Again, he smiled.
'For me it's just a dream,' she answered, sadly.
'Give me Cornwall.' a voice from behind Brenda said. 'Every July me and the Mrs go to Cornwall. Wonderful place. The voice and Tom were now beside her.
'Never been quite so far west,' admitted Tom. 'Me and my wife, here,' he put his arm around Brenda's shoulder as he spoke, 'have been going to Ilfracombe since we got married five years ago. And I was going for fifteen years before that with my parents.'
Brenda's heart sank as she thought of the next fifteen years holidays in the same place. The brochure which contained a world of excitement hung loosely from her fingertips. She replaced it and looked away.
The man with the expensive suit and nice smile was at the counter paying for his holiday.
'Now this is what I call interesting,' said the old man. 'Bude. Now that's not far from your Ilfracombe, is it?' There's a village in between Ilfracombe and Bude called Clovelly, isn't there? We could meet there one day, couldn't we?'
Brenda walked away sadly as the conversation and future arrangements became more involved. The young man in the expensive suit was going to a new world, a world in which she didn't exist. A place where people like her weren't welcome.
'That would be great,' agreed Tom. 'It will be the best of both worlds for us. You in Cornwall - me in Devon - we can share our holiday. That'll be great. There is so much to do around that area.
'Westward Ho! too,' said the old man. 'I've never been there, have I?'
'Me neither,' answered Tom, as he looked round for his wife.
'That's strange,' he murmured. 'I can't see Brenda.' He walked to the exit door and peered out. A new red car was pulling away. The driver was wearing an expensive suit. Tom didn't see the passenger.
