SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories)

by Belinda Jones

  Buy whatever shoes you want, Brooke thought, I’m off to a fairy-tale castle – beat that!

  She met Tobias downstairs amongst the forest of clocks.

  ‘You look lovely, Brooke.’ Tobias bowed his head slightly, a true gentleman.

  ‘Oh, this old thing?’ Brooke jested. ‘I thought that invite deserved me making a little effort.’

  His mouth twitched into a smile. ‘I cannot take credit for this evening’s events as my father had everything planned before he went away. He wanted you to have the very best experience and to show you the real magic of Germany. But I do have the pleasure of revealing where we are headed… We will be eating dinner in a castle on the hilltop overlooking the Rhine.’

  ‘Wow! That sounds amazing, Tobias. Thank you.’

  ‘Our carriage awaits.’ He led her out of the hotel and into a waiting taxi, the night air warm on their skin and the sounds of the city at night alive once again all around them.

  Brooke had no idea what to expect; her only knowledge of castles was based on the films of princes and princesses. Minutes later they drew up outside a discreet entrance – two huge wooden doors shrouded in ivy. Tiny colourful bursts of wild flowers were peppered throughout the dense green blanket, and leafy tentacles crept across the whole of the castle front. It was beautiful, but it definitely didn’t look like your average dinner venue.

  As they entered the castle, a million fairy lights twinkled all around them. Brooke gasped as more and more lights flickered on, then noticed a table had been set at a wide doorway with a perfect view of the river below. She felt as though she was in her very own Disney film.

  ‘The castle belongs to my father, he wants to turn it into a restaurant but hasn’t got round to it yet,’ explained Tobias. ‘You are an experiment somewhat; he wants to know your opinion on this as a location and an experience.’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly an experience!’ Brooke felt flattered that so much thought had gone into her visit.

  As the evening continued, the couple shared several small dishes of delicious, traditional German food and enjoyed yet more wine. Just as they had watched the sunrise that morning, they watched it set over the river. Brooke couldn’t choose which she preferred more.

  ‘Why do you not get on with Jason?’ Brooke asked curiously.

  His face looked pained and he took a deep breath.

  ‘He slept with my girlfriend. He didn’t particularly like her; he just knew that he could if he wanted to. He has done it before. He is jealous of anything good I have in life. Anything I have, he wants. It has always been the same.’ Tobias looked down at his hands. ‘I was going to ask her to marry me. When Jason found out, he went out of his way to take her away from me.’

  ‘That’s awful! What a pig!’ Brooke was shocked; Jason had seemed such a charmer earlier. Her heart went out to Tobias – you would never expect your own brother to cause you so much hurt, and she could see the emotion painted on Tobias’s face even in the candlelight.

  ‘Anyway. That is finished with now. Jason won’t spoil our evening. My father had planned one more surprise for us. All we have to do is sit back and watch.’ He gestured out towards the black sky.

  Brooke wasn’t sure what she was meant to be looking at. She spotted what she thought was a shooting star and before she could say anything, it exploded before her eyes. Fireworks! As they watched each colourful eruption, smiles spread across both of their faces. They rose and leant against the balcony, the incredible display spread out above them. They were shoulder to shoulder, and Brooke relaxed into Tobias as he put his arm around her shoulder, holding her close until every ember and spark had faded into the inky sky.

  ‘Your father is an old romantic,’ smiled Brooke as they sunk back into their seats. ‘That was lovely. Really special.’

  Tobias was about to talk when Brooke’s phone suddenly lit up. A picture of Kim holding a champagne flute aloft violated the screen.

  ‘Ugh that’s my colleague. She’s trying to make me jealous—’

  ‘That’s her,’ interrupted Tobias.

  ‘What? Her who?’ Brooke was thrown.

  ‘That’s Kim. My Kim. The one who slept with Jason.’ Tobias glared at Brooke intensely, as if she should have known this information. How on Earth could he know Kim?

  Brooke quickly ran through things in her head. Kim never worked weekends, always saying she was visiting her boyfriend, and then it all stopped. Nothing. No one questioned it because no one was really interested.

  ‘Typical!’ huffed Brooke. ‘She ruins bloody everything. Just as I think that you’re quite a nice person, someone I might like to get to know, she sticks her big, fat head in!’

  Tobias tried to speak but Brooke carried on, ‘She steals my bloody customers, beat me to the Christmas bonus, managed to nab my holiday to New York and now she is ruining my chances with potential boyfriends – all without any effort!’

  ‘Potential boyfriend?’ Tobias cut in.

  ‘Well, no. Well, you could have been. If it wasn’t for the distance and stuff…’ Brooke wanted the castle to eat her alive and spit her out into the river below. ‘It doesn’t matter now. You were growing on me, that’s all.’

  Tobias hid his smirk, puzzled at how Brooke could be more upset by the appearance of Kim’s face than him. ‘So you work together. My father didn’t mention which travel company you represented, it never occurred to me it could be the same one. Shall we call that coincidence, or fate?’

  A blush heated her cheeks. ‘Let’s go with fate.’

  The night ended at the guesthouse reception. Tobias kissed Brooke on the forehead and said goodnight. She remembered reading in a glossy magazine that that was a sign he was in love with her. Either that or she was drunk again.

  *

  The next morning, it was time for Brooke to leave Germany. She suddenly felt with a lurch that she hadn’t seen enough – there were other castles she wanted to visit, vineyards to wander and wine to drink. She wanted to stay another night and enjoy the atmosphere on Drosselgasse or simply soak up the last of the summer sun on a ferry ride…

  Tobias had packed her a lunch for the journey filled with fresh bread rolls stuffed with salami, egg and salad. He had even carefully included some of those creamy vanilla cakes that Brooke had loved so.

  ‘Oh no!’ Brooke exclaimed as Tobias loaded her bag into the taxi. ‘I never picked up the currywurst sauce for Lisa!’

  ‘I will personally ensure that a delivery of currywurst sauce is sent to your office. You have my word,’ promised Tobias. The couple swapped email addresses but Brooke was sure she wouldn’t hear from him after Kim-gate.

  The coach journey back to England seemed to take forever. Brooke wriggled and tried to get comfortable but the person sat next to her wasn’t as considerate as Elsie. Instead she’d been matched with an elderly man who snored loudly and kept dribbling on her shoulder. Nice.

  Even though she was exhausted, Brooke decided to drop by the office to see Lisa before she went home. She wanted to apologise for being so rude about the trip, how ungrateful she must have seemed – she had no idea back then of the wonders that lay ahead.

  But it wasn’t Lisa who greeted her as she opened the door.

  ‘Hi!’ A familiar form stepped forward. ‘I would like to start again. May I take you to dinner?’

  ‘Tobias!’ Brooke spluttered. ‘How did you get here?’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!

  ‘Well, I don’t know if you have heard of them but planes…they travel much faster than a coach.’

  Before Brooke could respond Lisa walked out of her office with a smile on her face.

  ‘You can tell me all about how much you enjoyed Germany tomorrow. Just tell me that you bought me some currywurst sauce?’

  Tobias placed a large tube of the sauce on the desk; he nodded at Lisa and took Brooke by the hand.

  ‘I will ask again – may I take you out to dinner?’

  Brooke was still in a daze, barely able
to murmur the word: ‘Ja.’ And then she frowned, ‘Does this mean I have to learn to speak German now?!’

  About the Author

  Kiri Mills’ story Runaway Bay was selected as the Judge’s Choice for the first Sunlounger short story competition in 2013. She was born in Northern Ireland but is currently based in Lincolnshire - sunny Louth to be precise. She is a soap addict and stay at home mummy with two toddlers keeping her busy. Her husband, Garry, was in the British Army but has now crossed over to civilian life. Kiri has worked for the MoD, on an IT Helpdesk and is currently in Customer Services. She will try anything once unless it involves jumping from any height. Kiri has not written for any magazines or had any books published but she did once win a Blue Peter Badge.

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

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  Chances Are

  ***

  Nicola Moriarty

  DESTINATION: New Zealand

  Delilah-Grace had a plan for the people living on Clare Avenue. And when Delilah-Grace made a plan, it generally succeeded. You see, for a very small seven-year-old girl with short red hair and approximately twenty-four freckles, Delilah-Grace was extraordinarily determined. And there were certain things she knew about the people who lived in the small fishing village on the West coast of New Zealand’s South Island, despite the fact that she’d only been staying there for four days.

  She knew that Amy Patterson from number twelve was sad – and she knew her sadness was related to her new baby, and when Mr Patterson came home from his work on the Opal Leaf fishing vessel each evening, Amy would paste a smile on her face and hide her sadness, so that no one knew the truth.

  She knew that Jack and Belinda from number six had been fighting. Their arguments had started small, just bickering really – but they had grown, becoming like a balloon, expanding in their house between them, pushing them against the walls and the windows.

  She knew that Jessica Harrison from number two was excruciatingly lonely – ever since her husband of fifty years had passed away she had been feeling more lost each day. But Delilah-Grace also knew that that one was going to be quite easy to fix.

  And she knew that Doctor Russell from number eight was afraid. His daughter Sammy and son-in-law Cal were both in the army; they’d been gone now for six months. When Doctor Russell spoke to his neighbours about them, he spoke with pride. He talked about the party they would throw in the street when they returned. But Delilah-Grace knew that inside, Doctor Russell was terrified. The main reason she knew this, though, was because Doctor Russell was also her grandpa, and Sammy and Cal were her mum and dad. But Delilah-Grace wasn’t afraid, because she had a plan.

  Delilah-Grace started on Monday.

  She asked Grandpa if they could go to the hardware store to buy some paints.

  ‘What do you need paints for ’Lyla-Gracie?’ asked Grandpa.

  ‘A project,’ she responded.

  ‘And it has to be from the hardware store? You don’t want some watercolours from the art shop?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Okey dokey.’

  Delilah-Grace and her grandpa walked hand in hand down the front steps and across the stepping stones before turning left onto Clare Avenue. They walked silently for a while, Delilah-Grace sometimes adding a hop or a skip to her step, her eyes constantly taking in their surrounds. On their left were the homes of Clare Avenue, weatherboard houses painted sky-blue, peach and lemon. Pathways were lined with sun orchids and forget-me-nots, tidy lawns were hedged by gardenia bushes or agapanthuses. On their right a grassy embankment dotted with matai pine trees and nikau palms sloped downwards before giving way to sand and sea. Delilah-Grace liked it best when the trees became more dense, blocking her view of the beach, because that meant she could dance along, eyes on the bush, waiting for the moment when the silvery blue water would come into view yet again.

  As they cut through the walkway that would lead them to the village shops that curved around the fishing harbour, Grandpa began to chat. ‘How are you liking your holiday ’Lyla?’

  ‘S’nice.’

  ‘You miss your mum and dad?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  There was a pause and then she added, ‘But you miss them too.’

  Grandpa looked the other way before turning to look back down at his small granddaughter. ‘Yeah. I miss them too.’

  Delilah-Grace had been living with her aunt in Christchurch for the past six months while her parents had been away, but everyone had agreed that she should spend the spring holidays with her grandpa, that the sea air of the West coast would be good for her – put some colour in her cheeks, as they say.

  They arrived at the fishing harbour and walked along the water’s edge. Grandpa wrinkled his nose up at the smell of fish in the air, but Delilah-Grace breathed it in. She loved all the smells that combined together on the sea breeze: the saltiness on her tongue, the intermingling scents of seaweed and pinecones.

  ‘Hot chip sandwiches for lunch first?’ asked Grandpa.

  ‘Yes please.’

  They bought hot chips with chicken salt from Charlie’s Takeaway store and fresh bread rolls from the bakery. Then they sat on a wooden bench seat facing the ocean and Grandpa pointed out the fishing vessels in the distance and the larger cargo ships off on the horizon.

  Later, when they had finished their lunch and visited the hardware store around the corner, Delilah-Grace told her grandpa that she was going in to visit Amy from number twelve and her new baby. Grandpa raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘How do you know Amy so well already?’ he asked. She shrugged. ‘I just do.’

  ‘And is she expecting you?’

  ‘Probably.’

  *

  Amy Patterson was sitting on the floor of the shower when she heard the doorbell. She had been in the shower for such a long time. So long that the skin of her fingertips had wrinkled. So long that the constant pattering of droplets on her back had started to feel like Chinese water torture. She climbed to her feet, turned off the water and stepped onto the bath mat.

  When she opened the front door, her hair still wet, her clothes thrown on hastily, she was surprised to see Delilah-Grace, who she knew was holidaying two doors down with her grandfather. She was holding a cardboard box full of small pots of paint.

  ‘Oh! Delilah, hi.’

  Delilah-Grace stepped into the house without waiting for an invitation. Amy’s eyes dropped to the box. ‘What have you got there?’

  ‘Paint. I want to do a mural for your nursery.’

  Delilah-Grace headed down the hall towards the baby’s room. Amy hurried after her, trying to think how she could gently explain that she couldn’t possibly let a seven-year-old paint the nursery. ‘Umm, Delilah! Wait!’ she began, but when she caught up to her in the nursery, she fell silent. ‘I brought an old sheet,’ said Delilah-Grace, ‘to protect your floor.’

  Amy watched as the small girl placed the box on the floor, pulled out a grey drop-sheet and began to spread it out under the wall to their right. ‘Where’s baby Harry?’ Delilah-Grace asked as she carefully pushed the sheet into the corners.

  ‘Asleep in his bassinette in my room,’ said Amy. ‘It’s all he does really. Sleep and eat.’

  ‘I like his chubby cheeks.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Amy – still wondering at what point she should stop this small stranger from painting her home.

  Delilah-Grace now began pulling the pots of paint out of the box and lining them up on the sheet. She produced two paintbrushes from the bottom of the box and handed one to Amy. ‘You start down that end.’ Amy took the brush and stood very still. Say something, she thought to herself, tell her this is crazy, tell her you can’t. But still she didn’t speak. She watched as Delilah-Grace now pried open the lids of the paints with a small metal spatula, dipped her brush into a glossy, deep red a
nd stepped up to the wall. Amy opened her mouth, she was just about to protest, but then something swept over her and she thought, Well, really, why not?

  ‘What are we painting?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Whatever you want.’

  Amy stepped forward and dipped her own brush into one of the pots – buttercup yellow. Then together they lifted their arms and pressed the bristles against the wall in unison. As their arms swept back and forth, splashing the room with colour, a strange silence fell across them. They painted for over an hour. They painted without thinking, one colour after another: violet grape and sunset orange. They painted the seaside, the trees, the stars and the moon. They painted flowers, sunshine, love and laughter. They painted until a cry from down the hall broke the silence.

  Delilah-Grace put down her paintbrush. ‘Can I hold Harry?’ she asked. ‘You could keep painting a little longer. I could even give him his bottle if you like?’

  Later, when her husband arrived home from work, Amy was sitting by the bath, cradling the baby with one arm as she trailed the warm washer across his belly. James kissed her on the forehead and Amy looked up, took a deep breath, and told him the truth.

  ‘James,’ she whispered. ‘I think I need some help.’

  *

  On Tuesday night Jack answered the front door of number six, his shoulders tense, his neck aching. He knew that their anger seemed to be permeating its way through their home, that it was like the tentacles of an octopus, creeping down the hall, around the doorways, feeling its way into each corner. He just didn’t know how to make it stop. Delilah-Grace looked up at him from the front step. She held a large paper bag in her arms.

  ‘Does your grandfather know you’re here?’ asked Jack, ‘It’s quite late.’

  ‘Yes. I told him you and Mrs West invited me around to make a cake.’