I remember…

When I was seven, I had a nightmare that I was in one of those toilet cubicles with a gap at the top. And through the gap came first one impossibly long, spindly leg, then another. And I knew that if I unlocked the door, there’d be a spider with a body bigger than mine crawling up the other side. I woke up screaming. It wasn’t real, of course. But I never forgot, not in twenty two years. And that was why I didn’t want to go to Australia.
“I can’t afford it right now. Maybe next year.” I’d never let on to Mark that I was scared of spiders. There’d be spiders everywhere. Rubber spiders in my bed, real spiders dropped down my top in the garden, photos of giant spiders filling up my inbox. He’d buy a tarantula and let it out in the house if he thought he’d get a reaction funny enough to put on YouTube.
He believed me. So we went camping in the Lake District. And I wish I’d signed up for Celebrity Jungle instead. It was the worst holiday of my life…

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