Dear all
here the first couple of pages from Wish You Were Here to whet the appetite. They're straight off my computer so they're unedited (for some reason I don't seem to be able to find the edited version) and there's probably lots of mistakes in this but there won't be in the proper finsihed book I promise!

Cheers

Mike

Beware your local travel agents

When you're sitting at home flicking through the bunch of holiday brochures you picked up from your local high street travel agent you never really think to yourself: "This will be the holiday that will change my life" do you? Granted you might think: "This will be the holiday that will leave me broke for the rest of the year". Or: "This will be the holiday that I finally learn to speak the local lingo". Or even "This will be the holiday where I won't snog random strangers." But I doubt very strongly that you'll be thinking: "This will be the holiday that will change my life." But last year this was exactly what happened to me: a cheap last-minute seven-night package holiday changed my life in a way I never could have imagined. And I don't mean change like making the decision to re-decorate the hallway when you get back, or to give up smoking (again), or even changing careers. I'm talking about a big change. A life change. A change that might not seem huge if you're prime minister of England but if you're say, a thirty-five-year-man working for Brighton and Hove city council, and you've just split up with your girlfriend after ten years together, it will seem huge. I'm talking about a change that spins you round one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. I'm talking about a change that hits you like a bolt of lightening. I'm talking about the kind of change that lasts a lifetime. I can still barely believe it. But it's the truth: a cheap package holiday changed my life completely. So take it from me, if change isn't exactly what you're looking for in life just beware your local travel agents.





In the beginning

It all started as these things do with end of something of big: me and Sarah. Ten years we were together. And then one day she just packed her things and left. It was difficult to work out how we'd managed to travel from the one state to the other but some how we had. Then three weeks later on a warm and sunny August morning she called by to collect a few things and tell me when she was going to take all of her the things she had left behind.
'This time next week,' she said as we stood in the hallway. 'Is that okay?'
'Fine,' I replied choosing to stare intently at the pattern on carpet by her feet rather than at her directly. 'Whatever you want — although I'm pretty sure that you're not going to get it all into the back of your Micra.'
I'd meant it as a joke not a dig. (Although in the time that had elapsed since she had left I had made many jokes that were actually digs, and many digs that were nowhere near to being jokes, and a few digs that were virtually indistinguishable from being verbal assaults such was their subtlety). Anyway, I could tell from her face that she had taken my joke about her car as a dig at her. For a few moments I thought about explaining to her that I was over her and that normal service had been resumed but I didn't of course because that would've shown that I was sensitive to her feelings. Being sensitive, at least in her presence, seemed a tad too close to being vulnerable, which was a definite no-no in with a vampire like Sarah. So instead of doing the joke explanation thing I just stood there like an idiot and carried on staring at the carpet.
'Oliver's brother's got a van,' she explained mentioning the 'O' word to me for the first time that day. 'He's agreed to help me move the rest of my stuff to the new place.'
Oliver was Sarah's work friend. I'd never liked him and I'm pretty sure he'd never liked me either. Unlike him however I felt justified in my feelings towards him on the grounds that he had clearly always fancied Sarah. I could tell from the moment she first dropped him into a conversation when he started working with her (Sarah was a senior case worker for Brighton Social Services) that he was bad news. When she came home from work her conversation was always "Oliver said this…" and "Oliver said that…" and then it was only a matter of time before it became, "Oliver was telling me over lunch…" I couldn't say anything however because it was supposedly obvious that Oliver wasn't interested in her because he had a girlfriend. She came round to ours for dinner once but I never saw her again because soon after they split because things weren't "working". I saw plenty more of Oliver though. Sarah became his shoulder to cry on. He'd come round for dinner at least once a week, and when friends came round to see us she'd invite him too. I once made the mistake of pointing out to her that as she spent every single second with him at work there was a strong chance that he saw more of her than I did. She didn't like that at all. "He's just come out of the biggest relationship of his life,' she said, 'can't you show even a hint of sympathy?" I couldn't of course because I didn't like Oliver. I found him insufferable, and overly conscientious and a bit too pleased with himself but I didn't say any of that at all. Instead I said that I would try my best and give him a second chance.
'Nothing's going on with Oliver you know,' said Sarah.
'Even if it was,' I replied. 'It's not exactly any of my business any more.'
'I know,' she said. 'I just wanted to make it clear, that's all.'
Sarah's "I know" comment rather than being bitter and twisted was, I think, meant to be comforting. She wasn't having a go at me at all. Rather she was stating a simple fact of life. Still, I wasn't comforted in the least.
'What time do you want to come round?' I asked.
'Around ten?'
'That's fine,' I nodded.
'Will you be in?'
'Do you want me to be?'
Sarah didn't reply.
I sighed heavily. 'Don't worry I won't be here.'
Sarah looked visibly relieved. 'I'll leave the keys in the hallway for you when I go.'
Another long silence signalled the end of business. This was going to be the last time we would ever see each other. Though Sarah had moved less than twenty minutes away she had managed to separate our lives so well that there little chance of overlap. She had switched supermarkets so that we wouldn't accidentally "bump" into each other in the cereal aisle; she no longer took early evening walks in "our" local park; our local pub, The George, was now (at least for Sarah) a no-go zone; and as for mutual friends they all knew the score so there was no chance of an embarrassing encounter at a dinner party.
'Well, that's everything then,' she said softly. She glanced at the front door and then back at me and pressed her lips tightly together. 'Take care of yourself, Charlie.'
'You too,' I replied and then I offered a half-smile as signal that I appreciated this small moment of warmth. She smiled back and in that instant I took a snapshot of her in my head. Brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Pale grey/green eyes. Fresh-faced features. Small silver hoop earrings. Mint coloured pinstriped jacket. Green vest top. Tight blue jeans with huge black belt with silver buckle. Flat black shoes that looked like ballet pumps. A summer outfit.
Sarah then reached down to the floor by her feet and picked up the H&M carrier bags crammed full with stuff plundered from what used to be our bedroom. Without saying another word she opened the door, stepped into the communal hallway and closed the door behind her. Though I hated myself for it I found myself staring at the front door long after she'd gone hoping and praying that there might be a sudden knock on the letterbox signalling a last minute change of heart. But the knock never came. She had gone. For good. And probably forever.
At a loss what to do next I retired to the living room, collapsed on the sofa and turned on the TV. As I randomly channel-hopped the phone rang. I couldn't help it but once again the first thought that leapt into my head was, 'It's her. She's changed her mind and she's standing on the front door step ringing me from her mobile'.
'Charlie, mate,' said the male voice at the end of the phone. 'What are you doing a week next Sunday?'
'What?' I stammered as I battled with my disappointment. 'What are you on about now Andy?'
'I'm asking you what you're doing a week from Sunday. That's what I'm doing.'
I projected myself into the future all I could see was a lot of moping around the flat trying to make myself feel worse than I already felt.
'Nothing much,' I replied eventually. 'Why?'
'Because you…' he began as he paused to give himself a silent drum roll, '…are coming on holiday with me.'
'Holiday?'
'Yeah.'
'With you?'
'Yeah.'
I went completely silent. This was typical of Andy. And I knew that if I was going to prevent him from talking me into something I didn't want to be talked into I was going to have to be firm.
'I can't.'
'Why not?'
'Because...because I can't.'
Andy wasn't fazed for a second by my sub-standard debating skills. 'You do know that I'm doing this for you, don't you?' he began. 'I was just sitting here at home thinking about you and…everything that's going on and it just came to me — what Charlie needs is a holiday. Think about it. You, me, and a nice beach somewhere hot. We can chill out for a week, sink a few beers and have a laugh — it'll be great. And you won't have to do any of the legwork either, mate. I went to a travel agent this afternoon and checked it all out for you. All you need to do is write me a cheque for roughly four hundred quid and in exchange I'll give you the holiday of a lifetime.' He paused as if waiting for a round of applause. 'So what do you say?'
I had many reservations about my old college friend's suggestion but they had less to do with the idea of going on holiday than they did with the idea going on holiday with him. Despite his long preamble I knew Andy well enough to know that this holiday wasn't about him wanting to help me out at all. It was about him wanting to go on holiday without his fiancée and he was using me as an excuse. He'd probably told Lisa that he wanted to take me away to help me "get over Sarah" and while there might be a modicum of truth in that statement I strongly suspected that he was far more self-interested at heart. I could just feel in my bones that Andy was going to use this holiday as a weeklong practice run for his eventual stag-night meaning her would inevitably end up dragging me to a lot of places that I wouldn't want to go to, persuade me to do things that I wouldn't want to do and generally force me to act in a way that wasn't really me at all. And yet he was right. I did need a holiday. I did need a break from my usual routine. Sarah's leaving had kicked the stuffing out of me completely. And other than the option of going solo (which given my state of mind wasn't really an option at all) Andy's was the only firm holiday offer on the table. Fortunately for me I had one last trick up my sleeve — the perfect way to ensure that should he persuade me to go with him the balance of power wouldn't always be in his favour.
'What about Tom?' I asked.
There was a brief but tangible silence.
'What about Tom,' he replied faking indifference.
'Well aren't you going to ask him too?'
'Of course not. Why would you possibly invite a born-again Christian on holiday? It's not like they're particularly renowned for being the life and soul of the party, you know.'
'But he's our mate.'
Andy sighed heavily. 'To be fair to Charlie, mate, even at college he was always more your mate than mine.'
'Well I'm not going with out him,' I replied. 'So if you want me to go you'd better get dialling now because you're really going to have you work cut out for you.'

After that I didn't expect to hear from Andy on the subject of holidays again because I was absolutely confidant that Tom would turn him down before he even managed to finished his first sentence. As I was getting into bed, however, just before midnight, the phone rang.
'You'd better start packing,' said Andy, 'because bible-bashing Tom is coming on holiday with us.'
'Yeah right,' I replied laughing. 'Do you think I'm just going to hand over a cheque like that so by the time I realise Tom's not coming you'll have cashed it and it'll be too late to back out? Give me a little bit of credit, Andy, I'm not that stupid. There's no way that Tom's agreed to come on holiday with us. In fact given the sort of thing I suspect you've have in mind for this holiday I'd say that you'd have more chance of persuading the pope to come with us.'
'01273 65—' began Andy.
'What are you doing?' I interrupted.
'Encouraging you to call him.'
'Do you think I won't do it?'
'I'm telling you to be my guest. But just so that you know Tom was actually much less work than you. All I said was: "Do you fancy coming in holiday next week?" And straight away he replied that August is always pretty quiet in his office and that chances are it should be no problem for him to get the time off.'
'You're telling me said, "Yes," just like that?'
'My powers of persuasion must work well on the God fearing.'
I paused and mulled over the situation. This didn't sound like Tom at all. There had to be something more going on. 'You know I'll phone him, don't you?' I warned Andy. 'And I'll well and truly kick your arse if you're winding me up.'
'Like I said,' replied Andy boldly. 'Be my guest. And when you do just remind him that we're going on holiday to have...fun.'

The following Monday Andy called me at work to tell me he had booked the holiday. When I asked where we were going he refused to tell me on the grounds that he wanted it to be a "surprise". The idea of being surprised by Andy made me feel very uncomfortable indeed mainly because he was the sort of person whose surprises tended to be genuinely surprising. For example once when we were at college Andy announced that he was nipping out to the newsagents to get a paper. Seventeen hours later he called me from Belgium to ask if I could electronically wire him enough money to fly home. He's that sort of bloke. With him pretty much anything was possible.
Regardless of my concern I was also quite relieved to have a date fixed in my mind when I would be free of the four walls of my flat that I actually didn't care where I went at all. All I knew for sure was that once Sarah moved out of the flat for good my life would be as empty as my home. And so the idea of being somewhere in the sun—if only for a week—seemed tailor-made for the particularities my situation. I could escape day-to-day reality and recharge my batteries at the same time. And whether Andy had booked us in for a week in the Canaries or at a Butlins holiday camp in Minehead. It didn't matter. All that mattered was being somewhere else.
During that week Andy set a plan of action in motion. Tom (who was based in Coventry) would get the train down to Brighton on the night before the flight and stay over at my flat. Andy (who lived with his girlfriend Lisa in Hove) would come round to mine on the Saturday evening and stay over too. Following a leisurely Sunday morning breakfast we would make our way to Gatwick and catch the plane to our mystery destination. It felt good having a plan. For the first time in a long while it felt like I was moving forwards.