The Mini Break Read Free Page A

elbow onto our roof – trying to look cool – and gives us a full-sensory inspection of an armpit
emitting the bouquet of a decomposing camel.
    I glance up and to my horror see James talking to one of the hotel guests a little way down the road.
    ‘Just go,’ I say urgently.
    ‘It’s a bit tricky at the moment,’ Anisha replies.
    James turns and looks in our direction.
    ‘GO!’ I repeat, ‘Before he spots us.’
    So she does – right over Armpit Man’s foot. As Anisha begins a frantic attempt to turn round, he starts hopping up and down furiously, waving his fist at us and banging on the roof
of the buggy.
    With no apparent reverse option the only thing Anisha can do is perform a wide, circular manoeuvre – a no-point turn – which takes us directly over the pristinely manicured flower
beds. The golf valet, witnessing this illegal move, sprints out of his cubicle to the vandalised begonias, which he examines briefly before making chase.
    ‘DRIVE, ANISHA!’ I yell and she slams on the accelerator until we’re whizzing along a pathway towards the driving range. There’s a trail of billowing dust behind us and I
recall that final scene from
Thelma and Louise
as we head for the horizon, dodging several pushchairs and a pensioner.
    ‘There’s a block of apartments over there – we can hide out behind them,’ I tell her as she manages to perform a handbrake turn without the benefit of a handbrake and
darts behind them.
    By the time we finally slow and pull into a discreet parking space, I don’t know what’s making me feel more queasy: the hangover, the adrenalin, or the assault course my stomach has
just endured.
    I look at her and shake my head as I think about the fact that we’ve got another two days here. ‘We’re going to have to come up with a better plan.’
    The rest of the day, I’m happy to report, represents something of an improvement. Once we’ve completed the fifteen-minute trek back to the hotel room, collapsed
into bed for two hours – having not even made it onto the balcony – we check the coast is clear and make our way back to the buggy.
    We retrieve the two sets of golf clubs we’d hidden behind a bush and Anisha, familiar with its mechanisms now, returns us to the buggy park without incident.
    The valet from earlier has fortuitously finished his shift, so all we have to do is pick up our golf bags and head for a nice lunch at the clubhouse.
    It’s there that I discover a rather surprising fact: if you’re wearing the right gear, and drop sentences – loudly and frequently – into conversation such as:
‘
That was a great shot of yours at the fifteenth hole
’, then nobody suspects a thing.
    For the rest of the day and night we’re free to sunbathe, eat, drink and chat to the other clientele, as long as we make our excuses when they start asking anything vaguely
golf-related.
    When James comes to see us the following morning and asks how we found the course, all I have to do is say: ‘It was wonderful. We loved the way each hole requires the utmost attention and
concentration; everything rests on the player’s ability and problem-solving skills to overcome the obstacles on the course.’
    I took that directly from a golf course review website I found and have used it precisely five times on different people in the last seven hours.
    To my surprise, the whole charade is proving to be an absolute doddle.
    By the end of our second full day, I’ve read so many golfing websites and leaflets in the pro shop, as well as regurgitating conversations overheard in the clubhouse, that I’ve
nearly convinced myself I can actually play the game.
    As we’re wandering back to the hotel that evening after having ‘been on the course’ all afternoon, I’ve almost forgotten there’s any subterfuge involved
whatsoever.
    James bounds over to us as we’re heading for the lift. ‘How was your round today, ladies?’
    ‘Well, James, the two hundred yard par three that’s