All at Sea
By JL Merrow
I knew before we got there it was going to be the worst holiday of my life.
It was 1993 and I was eighteen years old, having just left school. I wasn’t bad looking—maybe a little on the skinny side, but hey, I’d been taking exams. I hadn’t had time to do a lot of push-ups and stuff. Anyway, skinny was in back then. Come to think of it, skinny’s always in. Anyway, I didn’t have a face full of zits, and I knew where to get a decent haircut and how to dress cool on sod all money. I should have been living it up in Ibiza, drinking all night and sleeping it off on the beach all day. Not building sandcastles with my little sisters on the Isle of Bloody Wight.
But I couldn’t have left Mum on her own with them. She was still reeling from finding out Dad had been having
