Please note: this piece contains language some readers may find offensive.
Summer 1998
This deep, it’s ower dark tae mak oot the colours o the baas. The green and blue aa merge intae one like the Caribbean Sea jist ootside the door o the kids’ club, beyond the widden deck and white railin.
Yer breath steams up the baas surroondin yer moo and nose, intensifyin the plastic’s sweet, sickly scint. The hair on yer heid feels charged wi static, ready tae snap, crackle, pop.
What are you doing in there? a voice caas oot fae somewye abeen.
Ye sweem up tae the surface o the baa-pit.
Don’t you wanna draw with the others? Jenny asks. She looks too bonnie tae be weerin the staff uniform for the Adventurers club: a yalla polo shirt, navy shorts and white plimsolls. She has a perfect American smile, bricht blue een and bleach-blonde hair scrapit back intil a pink scrunchie.
I’m lookin for the reid and yalla baas, ye reply.
The what?
The red and yellow balls. I hae tae win the bonus points.
She covers her moo as she shrieks wi laughter.
You’re the most Scottish person I’ve ever met, and we meet a lot on these ships!
Ye shrug and return tae wydin through the baa-pit, randomly howkin up baas in the hope een o them micht be a colour ither than green or blue.
I dinna think they’re in here, ye say as ye chuck a baa back doon. I think you’re jist makkin on.
I don’t have a clue what you’re saying, but it’s so cute. She laughs again. Come on! Come draw. The best picture gets points too.
Ye trudge through the pit and lowp oot ower, doon ontae the itchy blue carpet that ay sticks tae yer socks. Jenny pours ye a cup o diluting juice while ye scribble awa at a table wi the ither 9-to-11-year-aul Adventurers. Ye tak a sip – it’s ower warm and ye can barely mak oot the orange flavour. Ye wish it was caul and fizzy like the drinks they serve bi the pool. Ye’ve never drank sae much fizzy juice in yer life. This return tae flat juice is a reminder o hame, o sharing a big jug o diluting juice wi yer wee half brither at suppertime jist a wik afore, back in yer mam’s cooncil house in the Broch, thoosands o miles awa.
Een o the ither Adventurers, Justin, sits next tae ye, draawin a picter o his faimly.
He’s sketched oot his dad’s dark-hair, little wee een and a straight line for his moo abeen a reid t-shirt and blue shorts. He leaves the ootline o the face and limbs blank o colour itherwise. In the draawin o his mom, he taks a broon colourin pencil and fills in the ootline o her face, blendin intae the black squiggles o hair. He’s draan her wi a big smile that curves up at the edges.
Ye canna mind ever seeing yer mam and dad thigether in a photograph, never mind the same room, so ye decide tae draa yer grandma and granda. They’re the eens fa have taen ye on this holiday since you’re the peer grand-bairnie fa widna get itherwise.
As ye draa the ootline o yer grandma’s stoot body, ye mindlessly and quietly sing alang tae the sang that’s playing on the TV in the backgroon – The Boy is Mine.
Oot o naewye, a light broon fist thumps ye in the airm and it quickly burns wi a stinging pain.
Stop singing that song, f----t, Justin says under his breath.
Yer face starts burnin as much as yer airm. Ye manage tae tak deep breaths until the tears in yer een suck back intae yer heid.
Okay guys! Jenny shouts. Finish up your pictures because it’s time for our family competition out in the basketball court.
The day afore, you’d went intae Jamaica wi yer grandma tae see the waterfaa in Kingston, so you hae nae idea fit she’s on aboot. Suddenly aabody is lined up wi their caps on and you’re trailing aifter them, howkin yer t-shirt sleeve doon ower the reid mark on yer airm.
Ye aa mak yer wye oot ontae deck and walk alang the side o the boat towards the basketbaa court at the ither end far a group o dads stand aboot in varying shades o tanned and burnt skin. Justin runs ower tae his dad fa pats him lightly on the shooder. Ye look aroon – yer granda is naewye tae be seen amang the men, and yer grandma isna stood wi the mams congregated ootside the court. Justin’s mom is there, standin slightly awa fae the rest o the weemin. Taller than them aa, her dark skin glows in the sunlight.
Okay guys! Today’s family competition is… a… burping competition! Jenny’s vyce booms oot a megaphone.
The dads shak their heads as their bairns jump up and doon cheerin.
Each bairn and dad taks turns tae go up tae the megaphone and try rift the loudest. Somehoo, each pair manages tae be looder than the last, sometimes even riftin langer as well. Ye try tae work oot hoo their deeing it and notice they seem tae gulp doon air afore forcing it back up oot their swallt bellies. Seen enough, they’ve aa taen a turn and Jenny looks ower at you, standin on yer ain.
Do you want to give it a go?
Aabody turns and stares at ye. Justin smirtles.
Ye nod yer heid and slowly walk ower tae tak the megaphone fae Jenny. Yer airm aches as ye lift it up tae yer moo, yer palms swiytin. Ye tak a deep breath, swallae it doon and then try tae force it back up… A tiny ah comes oot the megaphone. The bairns and their dad’s burst oot laughin. Justin and his dad piynt at ye as they snicher.
Ye pit the microphone doon and skiyt oot the court. A hand taps at yer shooder as ye start makkin yer wye alang the deck. Ye look up tae see Justin’s mam – the sun glares ahin her so that a halo seems tae circle roon her dark curly hair.
Don’t worry about it. That’s not a talent anybody should be proud of.
She rubs at yer airm a wee bit and it taks the sting oot the sair patch a little. She flashes her big smile, and ye gie her a wee een back, afore heidin on tae find yer faimly.