SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories)

by Belinda Jones

  ‘Affie,’ Helle says gently, ‘Anders is one of the most common names over here and your description of “tall, blond, beardy with blue eyes…”, well, see for yourself…’She waves an arm at the entire open-plan office, a veritable buffet of tall Scandi blonds, no doubt all with sky-blue eyes.

  ‘Point,’ I concede, dejected.

  ‘You might bump into him,’ Søren says, encouragingly.

  ‘But it is August already,’ I wail. ‘I promised I'd call. It haunts me that he didn’t believe I would, and that at the time I didn’t believe I would, and now I want to – I so want to – and I can't and he must be thinking I’m a lousy person and a coward.’ I drop my head onto the desk, exhausted. There is silence. I hope it is because the run-on sentence was too long for them to follow, but I know that their English is at least as good as mine, and more likely they are embarrassed on my behalf.

  ‘Ha!’ I hear Søren laugh from his desk. No-one has dared to laugh around here for days. ‘You should see this Affie, this looks like you!’ He is holding a magazine, some Danish equivalent of OK. The article looks like an end-of-summer gossip roundup. Amid the photos of scantily-clad celebs is a black and white line-art picture. It’s a girl standing dripping in the water, waves coming at her from both sides, clothes transparent. And yes, it does look remarkably like me. Quite the vision in fact. Cheeky beggar! That likeness had better have come from that first glimpse…

  ‘What’s the caption say? Can you translate it?’

  ‘Something like, Things are always clearer in Skagen, or You see things in a better light in Skagen, something like that,’ Søren explains.

  Coin clutched in my sweaty palm, my plan is to storm the magazine office and ask if he's there, or how to reach him, or at the very least leave my number. But although she clearly knows exactly who he is, the receptionist won’t let me in, won’t dish out his information and shoots me a Rottweiler’s glare when I eye her computer and its open contacts file. That might even be a low growl.

  ‘Can I leave my details for him?’ I persist, scribbling on a note, muttering a mantra to keep calm. She regards the paper with distain. Apparently Danes aren't big on helping stalkers. Fair enough.

  I'm frantically considering the logistics of entry via a fire escape or negotiating the ventilation shafts Mission: Impossible style, when a pair of large, warm hands slide over my eyes. I freeze, my heartbeat quickening.

  ‘Guess who.’

  I’ve found him! Ha-ha to you, Miss Rottweiler!

  ‘I'm guessing… you?’

  I sense his body lean in towards mine, warmth spreading down my back. ‘Are you still hiding?’

  ‘Nope. Hiding was last season. Now I'm seeking.’ His hands remain over my eyes, but his mouth is right below my ear. There is a pause and the only sound I can hear is my heart gallivanting around my chest.

  ‘And you are looking for me, Affie?’ he breathes, my skin tingling. His words are tentative.

  ‘At the very least we need to have words about artistic licence, Anders,’ I scold, but then I peel his hands off my eyes and turn to look at him. That lovely face. That lovely unbeardy face. Wow McWow. ‘I finally saw the light, but my phone got lost and I couldn’t find you.’

  ‘Well, here I am,’ he says, his smile spreading widely, ‘ready or not.’

  Lucky, lucky me. I know my grin matches his. ‘Ready? You have no idea…’

  About the Author

  Pernille has had many words printed in The Sunday Times, most proudly the word ‘boobs’. Seduced by the promise of freebies she took her first job in advertising, but left when Status Quo tickets was as good as it got. After a brief spell marketing Natural History films, she switched to working in Children’s television which for a time meant living in actual Teletubbyland, sharing a photocopier with Laa-Laa. Now, she lives in actual Buckinghamshire, sharing a photocopier with her husband Ian and their four spawn. While the kids are at school she scoffs cake and writes in order to maintain a shred of sanity.

  Website: www.writingfromtheedgeofdistraction.blogspot.com

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/pernillehughes

  Visit www.sunloungerstories.com to discover more about the authors and their story destinations.

  We have everything you need to make this your Best Summer Ever!

  Return to the contents list.

  Summer Secrets and Surprises

  ***

  Molly Hopkins

  DESTINATION: Corfu

  Chapter One

  OK I admit it; coming to Corfu had been my idea. But in my defence, who would have thought that I’d regret visiting a beautiful sun-soaked Greek Island. An island with resorts heavily devoted to all-night parties, booze cruising and kebabs. But I do regret it, a lot. I’m living in a cliff side village where I’m the youngest inhabitant by at least fifty years, and the only resident with my own teeth.

  I wanted to come to Greece to learn the language, because Alex my fiancé is Greek. And so Alex’s mother Alexa (she named her son after herself) arranged for me to spend two weeks in Corfu with her elderly aunt and uncle. Such was my enthusiasm and determination to absorb myself in the traditions of my future in-laws that I insisted on coming alone. But that was before I had absorbed myself in the traditions of my future in-laws.

  ‘You will discover unspoilt pleasures and enjoy peace and relaxation,’ Alex’s mum promised me. Well, unspoilt pleasures to my mind equals buying heaps of bargains from the men selling stuff on the beach, and peace and relaxation equals snoozing on a sun lounger with a margarita in my hand. And I was totally up for that.

  But…

  I’m living in the land that time forgot.

  I’ve tried to fit in. I’ve tried so hard. But it’s not working. And climbing this vertical slope on my hands and knees in search of a phone signal has done nothing to improve my mood. I spoke to Vodafone before I left London; they assured me Corfu was fully serviced. So it’s simply a matter of me finding Vodafone’s cyberspace G-spot. And I will find it, even if it takes my dying breath, which frankly I’m not totally ruling out as a possibility because I’m suffering from exposure to UV radiation, fever and hunger. I can’t take much more of this. I straightened up and wiped my brow. Black dots are drifting at the edge of my vision and every muscle in my body is pulsing in agony. Even my eyelashes are sweating; I don’t go mountaineering, and I will not go mountaineering until Kurt Geiger does a line in mountaineering boots and accessories. I gave a desolate sigh. My white trousers are filthy, I have grass stained knees and my Karen Millen blouse is now missing a button. I slide a glance at my phone, still no signal. Have you ever seen anything more soul-destroying than a lifeless iPhone? It’s like looking at your own life support machine on the blink. I jammed my phone in my pocket.

  I am NOT returning to the village until I’ve spoken to Alex. No way! Alex will want to know how unhappy I am. He’ll sort something out. I know he will. He loves me. I ran a hand through my hair and scanned the cliff side. There wasn’t a soul for miles. I tilted my head and squinted against the blazing sun. I wouldn’t be surprised if I collapsed. Died even! I wiped my palms on my thighs and struggled on. I’d made a walking stick, which I thought was inspired, by smashing a branch off a tree with a rock. I wasn’t convinced it helped, but I was willing to try anything. I stopped to draw breath. Soon, I’ll have to consider hunting for food. I have no idea how to hunt. How would I? I do Tesco’s online food shopping. I’ve never even lit a barbecue, or baked a cake from scratch.

  ‘Are you all right love, you look hot?’

  I wheeled.

  Two silver-haired grannies sat on a rock. They hugged black patent handbags to their chests and smiled broadly.

  I inhaled, hot air scorching my lungs.

  ‘How… how did you get up here?’ I asked, leaning heavily on my walking stick.

  ‘We walked love,’ they chorused, ‘we walk up here every day.’

  Walk up here every day?

  Looks can be deceiving, but I’m n
ot fooled by their size twenty Marks & Spencer’s summer dresses, Hush Puppy loafers and thick Horlicks-coloured stockings. They’re obviously drug addicts or lunatics, or pathological liars on steroids or weed. They must be. No one in their right mind walks up a mountain every day!

  I gave a noble sniff.

  ‘Do you have network?’ I asked hopefully. (Even drug-addicted geriatric lunatics have iPhones these days.)

  ‘You’ll get a signal through that clearing, love,’ one of them said with chummy relish, pointing a chubby finger in illustration.

  I followed her gaze. Only a couple of yards to go.

  ‘Thank you,’ I managed.

  ‘Where are you from, love?’

  I scratched my head reflectively. My mind was blank; my brain was numb and offering no guidance. Exhaustion had brought on amnesia. I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I was from. Home seemed a million miles away. She snapped open her handbag, and a smell of lavender drifted towards me as she took out a box of peppermints and a hand-held fan.

  I stared at the fan.

  I wanted that fan.

  ‘We’re from Liverpool,’ she told me.

  Suddenly I remembered where I was from; I snatched the memory.

  ‘London!’ I blurted. ‘I’m from London.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said overly slowly, savouring the breeze as she worked the spinning sail of the fan around her face. The hairs on her chin parted. I tried not to look jealous. Why didn’t I have a fan? If I survive this trip I’m buying a fan and I’m never going out without it.

  I turned dejectedly towards the clearing.

  ‘Enjoy your walk, love, and the rest of your holiday; it’s been nice to meet you.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ I tossed over my shoulder.

  I sat cross legged in the shade of a leafy tree. My phone blinked. Oh my god, what joy, I had network! The climb had been worth it. I took a jagged breath and closed my eyes. OK, this was simply a matter of resolving a minor error of judgement on my part, namely me coming to Corfu. Everyone makes mistakes. I tucked a lock of damp hair behind my ear and scrolled for Alex’s number. He’ll be working, (he’s a stunt man – I know, I know, such a sexy job), and likely he’ll be rushed off his feet jumping off a cliff or driving through a ring of fire, but he’ll make time to sort this mess out, I know he will. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be repatriated in blighty. A comforting radiance rose inside me at the thought of the rain belting down like steel rods, kamikaze London drivers, and over-flowing wheelie bins. Home sweet home. I couldn’t wait.

  I pressed my phone to my ear.

  I was relaxed… totally. I took a calming breath and dialled.

  ‘Sweetheart!’ Alex answered excitedly.

  My eyes filled with tears and every drop of blood left my head. I slumped forward.

  ‘Sophie? You there?’

  I opened my mouth to speak but the words caught in my throat and a straggled sob escaped instead.

  Alex’s voice burst down the line.

  ‘Take a deep breath sweetheart, calm down,’ he said urgently.

  Calm down! Listen to him. If only—

  I achieved absolute hysteria in nought to ten seconds, was it any wonder? Was it?

  ‘Sophie, you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?’

  What’s wrong? Everything! Absolutely everything!

  ‘Sophie, close your eyes and swallow hard.’

  ‘Alex, it’s me,’ I stated shakily, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

  ‘I know it’s you, what’s wrong? Are you ill?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I said, with a halting sniff, ‘I’m depressed.’

  ‘Depressed? Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘Alex, I want to come home. I want to come home now.’

  He made a “chuuu” sound.

  ‘Oh! Is that all?’ he said.

  My words tumbled out in a dramatic rush.

  ‘Alex, I had to do a triathlon to get a phone signal, I’ve climbed a mountain. And I can’t live without my phone. Who can live without their phone?’

  ‘Me,’ Alex replied dead-pan, ‘I can live without my phone.’

  That was a lie, he could not!

  ‘Alex, this is a living nightmare! Do you have any idea how hard it is just to survive? Doo yoooooou?’ Oh my God, I’m wailing. I gave a couple of snorty breaths. ‘No, you don’t! Well I’ll tell you.’

  I scrambled to my feet and began pacing. I side-stepped a snake. A snake! What am I doing here? I’ve never seen a snake before that wasn’t part of a handbag or a pair of shoes. This is hell. I’ve taken my life in my hands by coming here.

  ‘This whole island is a madhouse!’ I continued. I was in verbal overdrive. ‘Did you know there’s a reverse queuing system at the airport taxi rank? Huh, did you? You wait in line; a cab wheel-spins to a halt in a balloon of dust and the driver steps out and announces loudly where he would like to go. Everyone rushes to check their travel documents, praying they’re going to the driver’s chosen destination. I waited two hours for a cab. And when I finally got a cab, the driver was a madman; all four wheels left the road every time we took a bump. I had to shut my eyes, I was terrified. I’m a better driver than he was.’

  I heard a snigger.

  ‘ALEX, ARE YOU LAUGHING BECAUSE YOU BETTER NOT BE?!’

  ‘I’m not laughing,’ he refuted, still laughing.

  I switched from a brisk pace to a slow march. I’m not letting my guard down for a minute, the snake is still there, sunbathing.

  ‘And my continental adaptor doesn’t fit the sockets in your aunt’s house – her electrical fittings are pre-war. So I can’t blow-dry my hair or use my straighteners. And I have to light a boiler with a match to get hot water, I burnt my finger,’ I told him, eyeing my charred pink-lacquered finger nail. ‘And your aunt has chickens that walk around the house. I trod on one and it attacked me, so now I have a hole in my leg, and Alex… I’m terrified of chickens! And your uncle fell asleep this afternoon, and I thought he was dead because he looks too old to be alive. I’m terrified of dead people. And there’s a wicked goat, I swear to God that it’s an evil spirit or possessed by a devil goat. And your aunt and uncle have a donkey, and a lamb and two dogs, and all the animals have the run of the house. And I miss you; I haven’t seen you for… for ages, and…’ My voice broke; I leaned heavily against a tree. ‘I can’t live like this any longer, it’s—’

  ‘You only left London fourteen hours ago,’ Alex said flatly.

  ‘What the hell does that have to do with it!?’ I ranted, swiping a clenched fist along my damp dirt stained cheek.

  He is heartless. What do I see in him?

  ‘Sophie! Visiting Corfu was your idea; I didn’t want you to go. I told you—’

  I cut him off.

  ‘It was a mistake, I can see that now. Can you book me a flight to come home?’

  ‘You want to fly home fourteen hours into a two week holiday because you can’t blow dry your hair or use your straighteners?’

  My hand shot to my forehead. It’s so hot I’m melting.

  ‘Have you been listening? I’m living like a savage. I have NO network, which means I have NO internet, and so NO Facebook and NO Hotmail, NO Twitter and NO WhatsApp. And—’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And I have no one to talk to.’

  ‘You have no one to talk to because you don’t speak Greek, which was the reason I told you not to go there in first place. But you wouldn’t listen, would you?’ His tone was triumphant.

  I’m furious.

  ‘Are you saying “I told you so”?!’

  ‘Yes, yes I am saying I told you so, because I did tell you.’

  ‘Alex!’

  ‘You can’t leave after one day – aunt Maddy would be offended, she decorated the house in honour of your visit.’

  Was he joking? Was he bloody joking? That house hasn’t been decorated since around 500 B.C. I swear it, and I’m being generous –
it might not even have been decorated as recently as that!

  I almost laughed. Almost.

  ‘Sophie, you have to stay there,’ Alex said firmly. ‘It will cause too much upset if you leave. You committed yourself. You’re there and you’ll have to make the most of it. I don’t mind you coming home a few days early, but you are not coming home after one night. It’s embarrassing that you’re even considering it. What would my aunt and uncle think? And how would you explain it to my mother? You made a big trumpet-blowing deal about going there.’

  ‘But Alex—’ I began pleadingly.

  ‘No buts! You’ll stay at least a week, and then I’ll think of an excuse for you to come home. Leave it with me.’

  What is he thinking? I am traumatised! I could have nightmares for the rest of my life! Do I mean anything to him? Suddenly, I’m gripped by irrational heroism. I’ll show him. I can do this. I can.

  My fury exploded.

  ‘Don’t put yourself out!’ I held my phone in a white knuckled grip. ‘Stick your excuses. I’ll spend two weeks here as planned. And I’ll have a fantastic time. In fact, I’ll have the time of my life!’ I yelled, my dignity restored. ‘I am staying right where I am for two glorious weeks!’

  I cut him off, and fired a text.

  I don’t need your help.

  He quickly pinged back.

  You’re staying there?

  My eyes grew wide.

  Too right I am. And I’m looking forward to it.

  I sat glumly at the postage stamp sized dining table in the front room and flashed an evaluating eye at the tasselled sofas, vases of plastic flowers and jumble of alabaster holy-jo figurines. I felt numb with despair. Maddy placed a breakfast tray in front of me with a shaky hand. I eyed it cautiously: there was a thread of mould on the pastries, and a big insect with wings and clawed feet trudged the butter. I marvelled that Maddy and Paios had reached old age and not expired from noxious poisoning. It certainly looked as though they were determined to poison me. This is my third day of purgatory.