Alice looked at her Grandmother as if she was seeing her for the first time. She had always been just Gran to her, dependable, comfortable Gran. She had knitted jumpers and made birthday cakes, all the typical grandmother things. For the first time Alice realised that she had never really thought of her as a normal woman, a woman with worries and concerns, with needs and desires.
‘So why now, and why did you want to bring Granddad’s ashes here?’ enquired Alice.
‘Oh Alice, my dear, I haven’t brought his ashes here. I spread those down at the bowls club last week while nobody was around. No, it wasn’t Granddad I wanted to bring here, it was you.’
‘Me, but why?’
‘Alice, are you happy?’ asked Gran.
‘Yes,’ replied Alice cautiously.
‘And you and Greg, do you think you’ll be getting married soon?’
‘We have talked about it, but we need to save up, especially after buying the house.’
‘Mmm,’ mused Gran. ‘Saving up,’ she repeated quietly.
Gran sat for minute and gazed out to sea. Alice followed her gaze.
Without turning her head Gran spoke, ‘Does he make you feel special, Alice?’
‘Yes,’ Alice replied, but then thought, ‘well I suppose he does.’
‘You suppose he does.’
‘Well, it’s not like at the beginning of the relationship, you know that phase when you put in all the effort and everything,’ Alice defended.
Gran shook her head, still gazing out to sea.
‘Does your heart soar when you think of him?’
‘Gran,’ cut in Alice, embarrassed, ‘of course not. Like I said, we’re three years into the relationship and we’re not teenagers.’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong!’ snapped Gran. ‘Age and how long you’ve been together should have nothing to do with it. Your heart should soar, you should feel like you are the only person in his world.’
‘Is that how Granddad made you feel?’ asked Alice admiringly.
‘Never,’ replied Gran with a sarcastic laugh. ‘Most of the time he made me feel like I didn’t exist.’
‘But Gran, that’s what happens, especially when you’ve been together as long as you and Granddad had been, you just become comfortable with each other.’
‘No, it shouldn’t be.’
‘Oh Gran, that’s all a bit Hollywood, isn’t it? A fairy-tale. Yes we all want our Prince Charming, but I bet even Cinderella felt a bit invisible at times.’
‘It’s not a fairy-tale. I know because I have felt it.’
‘What, before Granddad? What happened to him?’ Again Alice realised that she didn’t know much of Gran’s life before she was a wife, mother and grandmother. She felt a little ashamed of that fact. The history of her own flesh and blood.
‘No, my dear, it wasn’t before your Granddad. If it had been then my life would have been, oh, so different.’ She paused again, drinking in the view. ‘This would have been my every day,’ she said quietly.
‘This?’ asked Alice.
Gran turned on her sunbed and faced Alice.
‘Alice, my dear, dear girl. You’ve always been special to me, and not just because you’re the baby of the family, but from an early age I saw a lot of me in you. And you’re also the only one who I feel I can really trust. Your sisters are lovely girls, but tell one and you may as well be telling them all. You’re different. That’s why I brought you here. I wanted to share my secret with someone and now that Joan is in a home, there is no one else I can talk to about it.’
‘About what Gran? Come on, you’re worrying me now.’
‘About this place. And,’ she paused, took a deep breath, ‘about Stephanos.’ As she said his name her face lit up. It took Alice a few seconds to realise what Gran was saying.
‘Stephanos,’ she said slowly. ‘Stephanos and you?’
Gran nodded, a cheeky little grin creeping across her face.
‘Bloody hell!’
‘Oh please don’t judge me, Alice, I couldn’t bear it if you did.’
‘I just can’t get my head around it. You’re Gran, you do knitting and work in the craft shop, you don’t have affairs with sexy Greek men!’ Alice couldn’t help but giggle.
‘He is sexy, isn’t he?’ giggled Gran.
‘Gran, that’s disgusting!’
‘Oh my dear, I can assure you there is nothing disgusting about him!’ And with that the two of them fell back onto the sunloungers laughing like a couple of teenagers.
After a few minutes of laughter and giggles, Gran took a deep breath.
‘You see, Alice, if I had listened to my gut, I would never have married your grandfather. I always wanted to travel, to see the world out there beyond what Bedford had to offer. I settled Alice, and I can see you doing the same.’
Alice went to correct her grandmother, to deny that there was any truth in what she said. But her words hit a chord.
‘You see Alice, Stephanos makes me feel special, he makes my heart soar. And before you say it, he isn’t the same with every woman who comes and stays here. I trust him with my life and he has begged me every year to stay here with him. Now it might be a bit late for me to follow my dreams but at least I have had a glimpse of what that true love feels like. Please, my dear, please just give it some thought. Do you really love him? Because if a year or two down the road you meet that person who does make you soar, it will be too late. And believe me, he does exist and you will find him.’
The pair sat for a while in silence, Alice digesting her grandmother’s words and Martha relaxed in the comfort of having shared her secret.
That evening at dinner, Stephanos joined them when he wasn’t busy helping the other guests. Alice was introduced to an array of cousins, nieces and nephews who all seemed to have some role in the hotel. Alice found herself enjoying watching how her grandmother and Stephanos looked at each other, a look of true love that made her grandmother seem twenty years younger. All these years she had been living with this cloud over her. Living for her trips to see the true love of her life, the man who had waited patiently for her. She thought of Greg, and the more she thought of him, the more similarities she found between him and her grandfather. Greg didn’t like to mix with her friends, preferring to stay in or go down to the football club. They always holidayed where he wanted to go, or not at all as he often would use the lack of finances as an excuse – and yet there was always money for the latest gadget he so wanted. And then there were all his annoying habits, those little things that you put up with to begin with, but boy they get really annoying after a while.
Alice looked out from the hotel terrace over the beach. Greg would never bring her anywhere like this. This was far too exotic for his taste. Maybe Gran was right.
As the week went on Alice grew even more confused. They would spend their days exploring the island with Stephanos, Gran regaling her with tales of the history or their previous visits. The love that they shared for each other was almost tangible, a beautiful thing to see.
On their last day, Alice feigned a headache and let Gran and Stephanos go off on their own. She took herself down to the beach and lay back on the soft sunlounger. There were only a few people on the beach that day and the sun beat down, spreading warmth throughout her body. This was bliss, she thought to herself. Just then a shadow cast over her face, she put her hand up to shade her eyes and see what was causing the shadow.
‘I am sorry,’ came the heavily accented, silky, deep voice. ‘But are you Alice, Martha’s granddaughter?’
Alice blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the bright sunlight. And that was when she saw him properly for the first time. He was tall, well-built and had a mop of dark hair flicked across his forehead. His perfect white teeth were framed in a smile, waiting for a response.
‘Um, yes,’ stammered Alice. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked, suddenly panicked that maybe something had happened to Gran.
‘No, no, no problem. Other than
it had taken me this long to meet you. I’m Nicolaus. Stephanos is my uncle and he said I was to come and find you on the beach.’
In an instant Alice felt strange; she couldn’t take her eyes off this man.
‘My uncle was right,’ he said. ‘He told me to look for the most beautiful woman on the beach and when I saw you I just hoped that you were Alice.’
Alice giggled, embarrassed by his flattery, but enjoying it all the same.
They spent the day together, talking, walking, swimming, as if they had known each other for a lifetime. When Gran came to get her from her room before dinner she smiled at her.
‘So you met Nicolaus.’ She nodded to herself knowingly. ‘Everyone says that Nicolaus is just like Stephanos, and the first time I met him I thought of you. It is such a shame he could only get back to the island today, but at least you got to meet him.’
‘Oh Gran, he is so lovely,’ admitted Alice. ‘He, oh I don’t know he just…’
‘Makes your heart soar.’
About the Author
Katie Stephens works in PR and lives in Surrey with her husband Will and daughters Abi and Georgia. In 2008 Katie signed herself up for a creative writing course and absolutely loved it. She then found herself spending all her spare time (not much with two young children) at the computer. Her first novel Candles on the Sand, set on the Amalfi Coast, was published in 2011 and to Katie’s delight became an Amazon bestseller.
Katie’s second novel set in Kenya is due out this summer.
Website: www.katiestephens.co.uk
Twitter: www.twitter.com/KatieStephensGB
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Katie-Stephens-Author/222608691088931
Visit www.sunloungerstories.com to discover more about the authors and story settings.
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You’ll Be Dead By Dawn
***
C. L. Taylor
DESTINATION: Thailand
The man is lying face down on the soft Thai sand. I keep expecting him to roar to life, to jump to his feet and come at me, swinging, but he doesn’t move a muscle. There’s a bloody gash at the base of his skull, a sandy crimson halo around his head.
‘You killed your friend,’ I say.
‘He’s not my friend.’ The man standing beside me has a belly so large it’s balanced, beach-ball-like, above the waistband of his neon green swimming shorts. At his feet is a large, jagged rock smeared with blood.
‘He’d have killed me too if he’d got the chance.’ He pulls a sheet of paper out of the pocket of his shorts, crumples it into a ball and throws it at the body. It bounces off the dead man’s back and lands in the sand. ‘Sick bastard.’
I close my hand over the sheet of paper in my own pocket. I don’t need to re-read it to check what it says.
You’ll be dead by dawn
*
Beachball Belly was the first one to find his note. He was lying on the beach with a grey-haired man, a green beer bottle raised to his lips, a pile of unopened bottles peeping out of the top of a cool box beside him, the crystal clear sea licking at his toes when I sprinted towards them across the sand, sopping wet and screaming.
‘The boat’s come untied from the jetty. We’re stranded!’
Beachball took another slug of his beer and grinned. ‘Very funny, girly.’
‘It has. Look!’ I pointed out to sea where our white motorboat was happily bobbing about on the turquoise water well over mile away.
Beachball rooted around in his bag and pulled out a pair of metal-rimmed spectacles and swapped them for his sunglasses.
‘Shit.’
He set off along the sand, jogging towards the jetty on the other side of the island. Greyhair and I exchanged a look then set off after him.
Beachball was doubled over and panting when we reached the jetty. He pointed at the post our boat had been tethered to, then into the distance and shook his head.
‘I could swim out to it,’ I offered. ‘I was a county swimmer when I was at school.’
‘You?’ He snorted derisively. ‘You couldn’t swim from one side of the bath to the other.’
I said nothing. Instead I watched as he yanked his t-shirt over his head and, still gasping, waded into the sea, assuring us that he was a strong swimmer and he’d reach the boat in no time. Ten minutes later the old grey-haired guy – the one that’s lying dead at our feet now – had to wade in after him and drag him back.
‘Bloody asthma,’ Beachball gasped as we half carried, half dragged him back across the island to where he’d left his bag.
He spotted the note as he lay on the sand, squirting his Ventolin inhaler into his mouth and gulping in air like a beached puffer fish. The note was sticking out of the pocket of his rucksack, quivering in the light sea breeze.
You’ll be dead by dawn
‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ He crumpled it in his fist and threw it at Greyhair’s head. ‘Not so funny now we’re all stranded here for the night, is it? Or was that all part of your plan? Pop off into the jungle for a piss, untie the boat and then see how much you could freak me out?’ He shook his head. ‘I know you like a practical joke but—’
I opened my bag and glanced inside, then patted the pockets of my shorts and gasped so loudly Beachball and Greyhair immediately stopped talking and stared at me.
‘I’ve got one too.’ My hand shook as I held out an identical piece of paper, torn from a lined notebook, the words scratched into the page with a blue biro. ‘I just found it in my pocket. How the…what…’
‘Mate!’ Beachball stared incredulously at the fluttering page in my hand. ‘Winding me up is one thing, but you don’t even know this woman. That’s not cool.’
‘Oh sod off!’ Greyhair picked up a handful of sand and threw it at Beachball. It rained down on him, sticking to his wet body like cake sprinkling on fresh icing. ‘This is a sick stunt, even for you. Where did you put my note then, eh?’
He reached into his pockets, then frowned as he pulled them inside out, revealing no more than the white lining. ‘In here?’ He tipped his black rucksack onto the sand. A bottle of suntan lotion, a packet of cigarettes and half an apple tumbled out, but no note. The colour rose in his cheeks as he swore under his breath and began rooting through the bag’s pockets. I took a small step back, one eye on the jungle to my right, and tightened my grip on my own bag. If either of them made any kind of move to attack me it was my only escape route. They were both bigger and stronger than me but I was at least twenty years younger and lighter by a good ten stone. It was always going to be risky, tagging along on a boat trip with two total strangers – men at that – but there was no point to my trip if I didn’t.
‘There, look!’ Greyhair’s voice was jubilant as he scooped up a crime novel with a black cover and vivid orange lettering off the sand and flicked through the pages. He paused near the middle, slipped a piece of paper from the heart of the book and waved it victoriously in Beachball’s face. ‘There you go – You’ll be dead by dawn. If I’m playing a sick joke, why would I write a note to myself?’
Beachball looked from him to me and back again. I took another small step backwards. Unlike some of the islands off Phuket where paths have been worn into the vegetation by thousands of tourists’ feet, there’s no obvious route into the jungle here. I’d have to plough through it and find somewhere to hide if either man decided to attack me.
‘Because if you didn’t you’d definitely look guilty!’ Beachball scooped up a handful of sand and chucked it back at Greyhair but there was a grin on his face and amusement in his voice.
‘I told you. I didn’t write the bloody note. That’s not the sort of thing I find very funn–’
‘Whatever.’ Beachball reached for a beer. ‘What we need to do is work out how the hell we’re going to get off this sodding island, not get into a debate about your crap sense of humour.’
*
‘So what happened then?’ Beachball nods at Greyhair’s body. . The top of his bald head is crimson from the hot sun, the knuckles of his right hand raw and bleeding. He flicks the sheen of sweat from his brow onto the sand. ‘He told me he was going to find somewhere to have a shit. Next thing I know you’re screaming like a banshee.’
I press one hand to my vest, covering the rip in the neckline that is exposing my bikini top.
‘He attacked me.’ I look Beachball straight in the eye but there’s a quiver in my voice. ‘I came back to the jetty because I was suspicious that the boat didn’t just sail off on its own and I was right. Look.’ I duck down under the jetty, pull out a piece of rope and run my fingers over the short, stubby cords at one end. ‘It was cut. Deliberately. I was examining it when your friend discovered me and attacked me. I think he was planning on killing us both.’
Beachball glances down at the dead man. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. He’s your friend.’
‘I told you. He’s not my friend.’ His lip curls as he says the last word.
‘But you’re on holiday with him.’
‘That doesn’t make us friends. There were supposed to be three of us on this trip but one of the guys dropped out at the last minute.’
‘So how do you know him?’
He shifts from one foot to the other and rubs his hands over his red, sweaty face, momentarily hiding his eyes from me. ‘We know each other from an internet forum.’
‘What kind of internet forum?’
Beachball peers through his fingers, suspicion and fear flickering across his face for a split second then the emotion is gone, replaced by a cold smile. ‘Let’s just say we share an interest.’
SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories) Page 61