POSTMAN’S KNOCK
‘You won’t be needing that today,’ the postman called cheerfully over the low wall, looking at Trina’s umbrella. ‘It’s going to be fine today – and warm, for the time of year.’
‘Breakfast television has just said otherwise,’ Trina grinned as she closed her front door behind her. ‘And,’ she added, watching as the postman tried to thrust a bulky package through next-door’s letter box, ‘I don’t think that’s going to fit.’
‘Nor do I,’ the postie agreed with a sigh. ‘I reckon it’s a book – I don’t want to force it through the letterbox and damage it. It’ll have to go back to the depot for them to collect – unless there’s someone in, of course.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Trina tried to look disinterested. ‘Andrew – um – Mr Bowman leaves for work really early. Er – look, why don’t I take it and give it to him later?’
‘Great, thanks,’ the postman nodded, handing the parcel over the low wall. ‘And take my advice about the umbrella. You won’t be needing it.’
Trina smiled but still held on to her umbrella. Right now, the weather was the last thing on her mind. Unlocking her front door, she put the package for Andrew Bowman on her hall table, then ran for the bus.
At last she had an excuse to call on her gorgeous next-door neighbour.
Tall, dark and devastating, Andrew Bowman was simply the most handsome man Trina had ever seen. And as there had been no sign of a Mrs Bowman or even a passing girlfriend since he’d moved in, Trina’s hopes were sky-high.
She’d taken to watching him from behind her curtains as he left early in the mornings and returned late each night. Poor thing, she’d thought, working such long hours. All work and no play… I’ll have to see what I can do to alter that!
And now she had the perfect excuse to stroll up to his door with the parcel and do him a good turn. And Andrew would have to ask her in, wouldn’t he? Just to say thank you? Over a cup of coffee – or a glass of wine? And maybe she’d offer to cook them something while they chatted and found out about one another and shared stories of being single and living alone…
Smiling happily, Trina leapt on to the bus at the last minute and day-dreamed the whole day away at work, desperately waiting for the evening. As she gazed idly out of her office window, Trina thought vaguely that the postie had been right – she hadn’t needed her umbrella. The sun shone in a perfectly clear sky. It was a glorious day.
It was also going to be a glorious evening if she had anything to do with it…
Andrew Bowman came home at just gone eight. Trina waited until ten past before checking her hair and make-up, picking up the parcel, and walking up his path. She took deep breaths and practised what she’d say to him.
She rang the doorbell.
‘Yes?’ Andrew Bowman yanked the door open and looked down at Trina from his 6 foot-plus. ‘Can I help you?’
Trina, suddenly dumb-struck, simply nodded.
‘I don’t give to charity,’ he snapped, ‘so if you’re collecting for something you’re wasting your time.’
‘Er…’ Trina found her tongue and fixed on a cheerful-neighbour smile. ‘No, I’m not – I’m from next door –‘
‘Yes, I know that. I recognised you,’ Andrew said coldly. ‘And?’
‘And,’ she said, the smile faltering a little, ‘and the postman couldn’t deliver this parcel to you this morning, so I took it in, and – um – here it is.’
She handed the package to him. Andrew Bowman glanced at the hand-written label, glanced again at Trina, then firmly shut the door.
‘Well!’ Trina fumed, glaring at the closed door. ‘Of all the rude, ungrateful, arrogant, ignorant - !’
She hurried back down the path, seething. No wonder there was no Mrs Bowman or any girlfriends. Andrew Bowman was a pig!
Embarrassed, Trina ran back into her own house and slammed the door shut behind her. He must have known she liked him! Must have seen the eagerness in her eyes! Must have read it in her eyes! Must have realised by her silly smile…
Oooh, how could she have been so blatant? So stupidly obvious?
The next morning, the postman was outside when Trina emerged for work.
‘Told you so, didn’t I?’ he grinned cheerfully. ‘I said you wouldn’t need your brolly yesterday.’
Trina, heavy-eyed after a sleepless night of tossing and turning in embarrassment, managed a weak smile. The postman handed her a pile of envelopes – all junk mail and the gas bill.
Great.
‘You’ll need it today, though,’ he said happily. ‘Going to chuck it down later.’
‘Really?’ Trina looked wearily at the clear blue sky as she started to slouch off to the bus stop. ‘Well, breakfast television says it’ll be fine so I haven’t got my umbrella. It’s not going to rain. It looks great to me. And does the Met Office know about you? You should have a change of career…’
It rained. All afternoon. And of course Trina didn’t have her umbrella – or even a decent coat.
She left her office at 5 o’clock and was immediately drenched. Rain slopped into her shoes. Strands of hair stuck to her face. Raindrops dripped down her neck. She wondered if she could sue breakfast television.
Head-down, she squelched towards the bus-stop and collided with something tall, dark and damp. It was waving an umbrella over her head.
Trina blinked the rain from her eyes. For a brief moment she thought it was Andrew Bowman – but this man was a complete stranger.
‘Told you need this, didn’t I?’
‘Sorry?’ Trina squinted at him as the rain dripped down her nose. ‘Do I know you?’
‘More or less,’ the man said cheerfully. ‘Think uniform, hi-viz jacket, and bicycle…’
‘Ah – yes! The Met Office’s loss!’ She looked at him properly for the first time. Somehow she’d just thought of him as The Postman – she hadn’t noticed that he was young and good-looking with lovely dark hair and brown eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Shopping,’ he said. ‘My car’s over there. I’ll give you a lift home.’
Soaked to the skin, she was in no position to argue – and he was rather gorgeous…
Gratefully, Trina sank into the passenger seat. ‘I’ll try not to drip too much.’
‘No problem,’ he grinned at her as he started the engine. ‘To be honest, I’ve been dying to talk to you properly. The chat about the weather didn’t seem to be getting us very far… I’m Paul Wood.’
‘Trina Saxton’
‘I know,’ he laughed. ‘I deliver your mail every morning, remember?’
They grinned at one another as the car pulled away.
Trina settled in her seat thinking how funny life was. How pining after Mr Misery-Guts Andrew Bowman next-door had brought her Paul, the really sweet postie.
Smiling to herself, she wondered what Andrew Bowman had made of his surprise package – a book on relationships for the thirty-something singleton.
One day, he might even put it to good use, but Trina doubted it. Nor, she thought, exchanging another delicious smile with Paul, did she care.
And at least now, she and Andrew Bowman would never get close enough for him to recognise her handwriting…
TURKISH DELIGHT
‘That‘s not my bag!’ Kat stared in horror at the holdall on the apartment floor.
‘Course it is,’ Bex squinted from the balcony. ’I grabbed yours and mine off the luggage carousel together.’
‘It looks like mine,’ Kat grabbed the bag, ‘but it isn’t! Since when,’ she flicked at the luggage label, ‘has my name been C Kennedy? I knew it was a mistake to let you get the bags!’
‘Ooops, sorry - I was in such a rush to get here, I didn’t even look at the labels,’ Bex grinned from the sun-washed balcony. ‘Never mind, we’ll ask tour rep to sort it out. The airport’ll bus your bag it over. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ Kat fumed, blinking in the scorching
Turkish sun which filled the apartment. ‘But my holdall’s got everything in it! Everything!’
‘And you’ll get it back as soon as the airport realises they’ve got a lost bag. It’s got the apartment’s address on it. Lighten up,’ Bex grinned, ‘and come and have a look at this! Two pools, three bars, and more gorgeous men than I’ve had hot dinners! And we haven’t even seen the beaches or the clubs yet.’
‘And I’m not likely to, am I?’ Kat growled. ‘Seeing as I’ve only got the clothes I’m standing up in!’
She thumped down on the bed. Great! This was all she needed. She’d known this week’s holiday with Bex was a mistake. They’d been friends since they’d started their hairdressing training together - but Bex’s idea of a holiday was very different from hers. All Bex wanted was dancing all night and hopefully finding the “love of her life” just as dawn was breaking. In the old days Kat would have laughed, joined in, been the life and soul. But that was before…
‘A holiday’s what you need,’ everyone told her. ’Bex is a scream. You’ve been dead miserable since you and Ritchie split. You’ll love Turkey - and you might have a holiday romance. Make you forget about Ritchie. It’s only for a week. Go and have some fun!’
Fun! Kat sighed heavily. There was no chance of that now. Even when she got her holdall back, she’d be trailing round in Bex’s wake, being paired off with “the other one” every time Bex found a man she fancied. Bex would get first choice. Kat, whose confidence was at rock bottom after Ritchie, knew she’d only get second-best when Bex was around.
Ritchie had been gorgeous. And she’d loved him. And then he’d cheated on her and broken her heart.
She sighed again. She really was turning into a miserable drudge. And it was all Ritchie’s fault. She’d never been grouchy and grumpy before.
‘Why don’t you see what that C Kennedy’s got in her bag?’ Bex shouted from the balcony. ’She might have great clothes and more expensive make-up and - what? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Kat shook her head. ’One, it’d be stealing; two, I’ve tried it and it’s locked; three, I’m going to find the tour rep; four, I smell sweaty and dirty; five, I want to go home.’
‘Oh, Kat - c’mon.’ Bex crossed the apartment and hugged her. ‘Sorry, love. I know you’ve been through a rough time. Why don’t you borrow something of mine to wear? Freshen up, see the rep, then we’ll find a bar and you‘ll feel fine, I promise you.’
Kat shrugged. What else was there to do?
An hour later, as the simmering Turkish sun spiralled from the mid-day sky, dragging hot spicy scents from every corner of the complex, Kat, squeezed into Bex’s too-small skimpy cut-off shorts and an even skimpier top, had found the tour rep.
‘Sorry,’ the rep clicked off her mobile. ‘There are no left-over bags at the airport. This C Kennedy must have made the same mistake. She’s bound to contact the apartments when she reads your label and realises she’s got the wrong bag. Funny there’s no tour operator’s address on hers. Just an area code. Maybe she’s staying with friends.’
‘So what am I supposed to do now?’
‘Well,’ the rep smiled her professional smile. ‘I’ll make sure everyone knows about your bag being missing and check again at the airport, but I’m sure it’ll turn up soon. You’re okay for money and your passport?’
‘They were in my handbag - but I’ve got no clothes - not even any clean underwear.’
‘You won’t need many clothes in this weather,’ the rep said with the irritating smugness of someone who has a wardrobe for every occasion. ‘And I’m sure your friend will lend you something until yours turns up.’
Kat stood up. There was no point in explaining that Bex was a size 8 while she was a good size 12. ‘Thanks anyway. Oh, and that area code on the bag I’ve got - is it local?’
‘I’d say it’s still on the Aegean coast - possibly Ephesus. Not too far away - this C Kennedy is probably on her way here. If you leave the bag in reception I’ll make sure it gets redirected. Now go and enjoy yourself. Bodrum is fabulous - you’ll have a great time.’
Easy for you to say, Kat thought, watching the rep move away to sort out another problem, you‘re not wearing someone else’s clothes two sizes too small. And as she knew nothing about Turkey, Ephesus might as well be on the moon. Lugging the holdall, feeling even more miserable, Kat headed off to the bar where Bex was waiting.
The rep had been right about one thing, she thought, as the sun glimmered from the white-washed harbour, the clear turquoise sea dazzled with diamonds, the golden sand dotted with multi-coloured umbrellas shimmered under the cloudless sky, and the heat bounced up from the scorching ground - Bodrum was certainly stunning.
Turkey was exotic, vibrant, gorgeous. Just the place to mend a broken heart. Huh!
‘Kat!’ Bex waved from her perch on a stool overlooking the sea. ’I’ve got you a cocktail - they‘re sooo cheap! How did it go with the rep?’
Struggling on to a stool, Kat repeated the conversation.
‘There!’ Bex grinned. ‘It’ll be fine. This C Kennedy girl from Effy-thing will bring your bag back before the day’s out. Oh, and this is Ryan, and Dave and Kev - they’re from Manchester. They’re going to show us the best clubs tonight.’
True to form, Bex had managed to pick up men in less time than most people took to clean their teeth. Kat looked at the three youngish men sitting on the other side of Bex and managed a smile. They smiled back in a polite way, but their eyes showed no interest in her. Why would they? She looked lumpy and bumpy in Bex’s tight clothes, and probably as miserable as sin. They were, of course, drooling over Bex in her skimpy bikini.
Listening to Bex’s flirty shrieks, and the usual male chat-up lines, Kat sucked on the straw jutting from her cocktail and watched the sun-bronzed bodies running in and out of that impossibly blue water.
‘… so,’ Bex was saying. ‘We’ll get all glammed up and meet the boys here at ten tonight, then?’
‘Glammed up?’ Kat frowned. ‘And what am I supposed to get glammed up in exactly?’
‘Get a grip, Kat. If you don’t want to borrow my stuff, you’ve got some money. They’re loads of markets - you can buy something until your holdall turns up. I bet clothes are dead cheap. You really are a misery sometimes.’
‘Cheers,’ angrily Kat slammed down her drink. ‘You carry on having a really, really good time here - don’t worry about me - I’m going back to the apartment!’
And dragging the holdall behind her, Kat stumbled away in the blinding heat.
Back in the cool of the apartment complex’s reception area they suggested she left C Kennedy’s bag at the desk. Kat shook her head. It was her bargaining tool. She was just turning away from reception, wearily thinking that maybe she should try and catch up on some sleep before reluctantly hitting Bodrum’s nightspots later, when she had what she could only describe afterwards as a light-bulb-moment.
Ping!
What on earth was she doing? Whingeing and moping about? Was she really going to spend the rest of this holiday, not to mention the rest of her life, being a victim? What had happened to the old Kat? The old Kat had been feisty and funny and able to stand up for herself. Ritchie had taken all that away - but it was about damn time that she got it back!
Why should she wait around passively for something to happen? Why shouldn’t she be the one to take control? The one to change things?
‘Excuse me,’ she leaned over the reception desk. ’I wonder if you could tell me where I can buy some clothes - and how do I get to Ephesus from here?’
Having left a message at the desk for Bex, and followed the receptionist’s instructions, Kat found Bodrum’s lively market, bought the essentials, and less than an hour later was sitting on a crowded bus heading for Ephesus.
With her red hair in a pony tail and wearing a long floaty lemon sun dress and a pair of gold flip-flops and, joyously for her, underwear that actually fitted, Kat felt almost glamorous.
&
nbsp; As they jolted along the spectacular Aegean coastline, she held C Kennedy’s holdall firmly on her lap. What she’d do when she reached Ephesus was another matter - it might even be a wild goose chase - and she really wished she’d brought her mobile to Turkey with her, but she had enough Turkish lira to get back to Bodrum by taxi if necessary, and Bex wouldn’t worry about her, and it was great to be doing something.
There were a couple of other tourists on the bus but most of the passengers were Turkish, all chattering away. It was quite exciting really, she decided. Something daring and different - and it wasn’t as if she was going into some deserted area or anything scary. It was a bit of an adventure. Something she’d tell Bex and the boys from Manchester about later that night. She wasn’t exactly sure how long it would take to reach Ephesus, or how long it would take to find C Kennedy - but she’d be back in time to join Bex for the clubbing, wouldn’t she? And then she’d apologise for being a moody so-and-so and enjoy the rest of her holiday.
Feeling much happier, Kat sat back in her seat and soaked up the mind-blowing beauty outside. The sweep of the turquoise bays, the misty mountains always in the distance, the sweep of the fragrant pine forests and olive groves, the non-stop blaze of the sun, the red-hot colours everywhere.
The bus stopped in little sea-front villages, and on the side of green hills, and sometimes in the middle of nowhere, and the passengers came and went. Eventually, the driver turned and grinned at her. ’You want Ephesus, madam? You get off here.’
Lugging the holdall, Kat stepped off the bus into the searing heat.
She exhaled. It was late afternoon but the sun still boiled and she found herself caught up in another massive throng of tourists.
‘Blimey,’ she struggled out of the surging crowd. ‘Where do I go from here - and oh, wow!’
She gazed at her surroundings in amazement. Dazzling tiny white buildings, hundreds of years old, leaned together across narrow dusty streets under a pure blue sky. It was unbelievably beautiful. Still, there’d be plenty of time for sight-seeing later, Right now she had to track down C Kennedy and get her holdall back.
Happy Ever After Page 7