“What? It’s a classic.” He winks at me.
I give him a tiny smile and hum along instead of singing properly. He nods approvingly, and we sail down the road, arms sticking out the windows, feeling the wind rush through our fingers, beach-bound.
Funnily enough, Alistair and the rest of them end up arriving in Brighton a couple of minutes earlier than us. He calls Sasha to let her know that they’ve already parked and made their way down to the beach. Seeing the black people carrier, Robert parks in a nearby spot, and we go to get our things from the boot.
As I’m pulling out my bag, Robert takes it from me and swings it onto his own back.
“I’ll carry this for you,” he tells me with a wink, all chivalrous.
“Um, okay.”
“Oh! How thoughtful of you, Rob. In that case, you can carry my stuff as well,” says Sasha, cheekily shoving the cooler box into his hand alongside her backpack. She links her arm through mine and steers me toward the beach, clicking her fingers at Robert and calling, “Chop chop, bro. We don’t want to miss out on all the good spots.”
Slamming shut the boot, he sets the alarm and follows us. He looks vaguely disgruntled, but he doesn’t appear to be having any difficulty carrying all the bags.
Even though it’s only half past ten, the beach is already packed with people, I guess because the weather is good. I pull out my phone to snap a few shots of the colourfully painted changing sheds all lined up around the outskirts of the beach, while Sasha spots the others and goes to join them.
A few seconds later somebody’s breath is on the back of my neck. “What are you up to?” Robert asks, placing one hand gently on my hip.
“Just taking a few pictures of the sheds,” I answer, stating the obvious. Shakily, I click a couple more shots and then slip my phone back into the pocket at the front of my dress. “Do you want some help with those bags?”
“No, I’m good,” he replies, and starts walking again.
“Freunde! Wilkommen!” Alistair calls to us, waving from where he’s standing on the sand wearing a brightly coloured pair of Bermuda shorts. He’s got a really hairy chest, but I try not to stare at it.
“That has got to be the shittiest German accent I’ve ever heard,” Robert calls back, holding his hands up to his mouth.
The minute we get to the group, Kara, wearing a tiny peach bikini, jumps up from her towel on the sand and marches toward Robert.
“You took the DVD player from the living room. I want it back,” she yells, pointing a finger at him. At the sound of her shrill demand, a couple of the sun worshippers nearby crane their necks to see what’s going on.
Robert takes his time setting down the bags he’s carrying and lets out a long sigh. “Fuck off with this shit, Kara. I’m not in the mood. I bought it, so it’s mine.”
“Don’t speak to her like that, mate,” Gary warns him from where he’s sitting in one of those foldable deck chairs. He’s only wearing a pair of tight blue swimming trunks, and his muscles look huge, not to mention something, uh, else down below. I’m surprised the folding chair will actually hold him.
“Keep a leash on her and I’d be only too happy to comply,” Robert bites back sharply, eyeing Gary as he walks by Kara. “Oh, yeah, and pull that rolled-up pair of socks out of your pants, would you, Gazza mate? You’re fooling nobody.”
Everybody tries to hide their chuckling at Robert’s joke.
Gary goes red in the face, but more with anger than embarrassment. Robert picks up our stuff again before setting it down in an empty patch of sand.
“Ugh, you’re not even worth it,” says Kara, rushing to give Gary a passionate snog, perching herself on his lap for a moment and rubbing a hand down his rippled chest. Once she’s finished reassuring her boyfriend of his manhood, she sashays back to lie down beside Sandra and the blonde girl I don’t know, who are both sunbathing in bikinis equally as tiny as Kara’s.
Sasha gives Robert a subtle roll of her eyes, shaking her head at Kara, as if to say ignore her, she’s just looking for attention, and it settles the rigidity in his shoulders somewhat.
They might argue a lot, but when it comes down to it, Sasha and Robert will always have each other’s back. It’s a twin thing.
I slip off my sandals and kneel down in the sand to unzip my bag, retrieving a large, striped towel and laying it out flat. Sasha does the same before pulling off the T-shirt she’s wearing to reveal a tank top underneath. She keeps this and her cut-off denim shorts on, rubbing sun lotion into her arms. Realising that she isn’t planning on wearing a swimsuit, I become a little self-conscious as I hesitantly pull my dress off over my head.
My eyes bug out when I hear a low whistle and then some chuckling. When I turn around I see that it was either Victor or Jacob who whistled, because the both of them appear utterly amused.
The girls are grinning too, but subtly. Their facial expressions are difficult to make out behind the massive sunglasses they’re all wearing.
I absentmindedly ponder how tiny bikinis and massive sunglasses seem to be all the rage these days.
I don’t really understand their amusement, but it probably has something to do with how modest my swimsuit is, despite showing quite a bit of cleavage at the front.
When I glance to the side I find Robert’s hot eyes on me, and I cough to give myself a chance to gather my wits. I think I hear him swearing “fuck” under his breath, but I can’t be certain.
There are some more quiet mutterings from the two brothers before Sasha shouts over to them, “You can both shut your mouths before I shut them for you.”