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Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1)

Page 6

by Belinda Jones


  I make a ridiculous show of removing my hand-luggage, walking back down the aisle towards first class, shrugging my shoulders in a pantomime gesture of bewilderment at fellow passengers surrounded by chocolate-smeared babies and sweaty strangers. Then I step across the divide into first class.

  I swear the air changes. It is cleaner, better air, piped in from a fresher place than economy.

  ‘Hmmmmmmm,’ I breathe in deeply. ‘That's good.’

  Then I sink gratefully into a cool leather chair. ‘Oooh.’

  I press buttons on the side and feel myself moving.

  ‘The chair reclines,’ I inform my neighbour – a besuited man on a telephone.

  He nods at me, before returning to jabbering at the person on the phone.

  I wiggle my toes out, I can barely touch the seat in front of me, and then I peer round the side looking for celebrities going to Iceland. I can’t see any, but I am so out of touch these days. I last watched X Factor in 2008 so things might really have moved on and I am probably sitting next to someone famous. I examine my fellow passengers. No one looks like they could be in a boy band. A woman nearby flings her scarf round her shoulders, brow furrowed. Is it Cheryl? No. But I don’t know all of Girls Aloud so I put my sunglasses on to spy a little more subtly.

  At that moment the hostess appears again. ‘Champagne, madam?’

  ‘Would I!’ I announce to the entire airplane.

  She coughs discreetly, the man on the phone looks over rolling his eyes. She tells him to put his phone away. Ha, ha.

  She returns with a glass of champagne; it’s like crystal or something, no plastic for us. I grin round at the passengers, toast them with my champers, the bubbles flying to the top, and I take a tentative sip. I rest my head back on the leather headrest and close my eyes.

  I've drunk three glasses of champagne and have persuaded the man next door to watch Dirty Dancing with me on the free TV monitor. He seems to have warmed up and is now complimenting me on my ‘thorough knowledge of all the lyrics’. We have started to descend. The sea stretches out below, a gorgeous expanse of deep blue, and I can make out the peaks of snow-capped mountains in the distance. It’s like an Evian advert unfolding in front of us. The man and I cheer on landing. And then I make a joke about having the time of my life and he laughs. I think we might become best friends. Then he's back on his mobile, jabbering again, and the shutters come down.

  The other passengers are looking dishevelled and weary as we all wait for our bags on the carousel. I emerge into the arrivals lounge with my suitcase to be instantly faced with a tall blonde man in a chauffeur’s hat holding a small sign that says, ‘IMOGEN MARTIN’. I can feel my eyebrows knit together but then, grinning, I wave at him like a long-lost uncle. He looks momentarily alarmed.

  Rolling my suitcase over to him I point to his sign. ‘Hey, that's me,’ I tell him needlessly.

  He takes my luggage and shows me outside where A STRETCH LIMO is waiting. This is completely nuts I think as I step inside its air-conditioned leather comfort. Princeton Houses must be doing really well. I pour myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from the tiny miniature fridge and open some cashew nuts. Princeton Houses have really gone to town on this one. I must be an EXCELLENT sales manager!

  As I sit back in the seat, though, Ben's face flashes up in my mind. He’d love to be toasting me, sliding about on the beige leather or making me stand up to poke my head out of the sunroof like we’re in LA. I tap his name on my phone. Still no answer. I don’t leave another message. I finish the glass of wine and eat all the cashew nuts and then all the Minstrels. We drive off the main roads and I have my nose pressed to the window like a child as we drive past lakes, the surface like a perfect mirror reflecting the clouds. Everything is edged with an icy blue, like the White Witch of Narnia has tapped the landscape, preserved the stillness of the place.

  We get to the hotel and the chauffeur takes my suitcase, rolling it up the stairs of the hotel past a small throng of people, a child running into the arms of his daddy. I stop abruptly staring at this scene and then push through the revolving doors to reception. Up ahead a man about the same height and build as Ben disappears into the hotel lift – oh great, now I’m seeing him everywhere. I think this is what people call lovesick. I miss his brown hair that curls up at the end and his broad shoulders and his enormous smile that always makes you want to smile back. I need to call him, tell him I’ve landed safely. It goes straight to answer phone again. I hang up, exhaling in frustration.

  While checking in I idle through a pamphlet on the country, see pictures of sharp-edged scenery, couples standing underneath waterfalls and an enormous, steaming blue lagoon full of geo-thermal sea water. I make a mental note to fall sick on the second day and visit it. There is a sauna outside where you can sit and look out over the lagoon and you can get massages outside as the sun dips and the sky above is streaked with pinks and oranges.

  The receptionist is frowning at her computer. ‘It’s Imogen,’ I repeat, closing the pamphlet.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll show you to your room and then the session begins.’

  ‘Session?’ I query, instantly thinking F.A.C.I.A.L.

  ‘Yes, you’re booked into the first session in Conference Room B,’ she says brightly.

  A porter takes me up to the top floor which appears to be the world’s most over-sized suite. The lift actually opens up into the penthouse apartment.

  I turn around. ‘There must be some mistake.’

  ‘No mistake.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Upgrade,’ the porter says tapping his nose like he was the one that sorted it for me.

  Maybe he was. I give him a huge tip just in case and he steps back into the lift humming to himself.

  The apartment is amazing. A cream carpet so thick I take my shoes and socks off and wiggle around in it, an enormous bed which is like – what is bigger than king size? There is even a dusty pink chaise longue next to a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out across a lush golf course to the mountains beyond. The stretch of blue sky, the odd cloud dotted about, makes me want to run straight out onto the lawn and sing something about hills and being alive.

  I’ve momentarily forgotten about Ben as I gasp at the marble tiled shower in the bathroom that is bigger than our flat at home. Stroking the free-standing bath and squeaking at the selection of free toiletries, I then change into a light summer dress and head down to the first session, looking back longingly at the bed covered in an enticing duck-egg blue light woollen throw and cream satin cushions.

  In the lift I pull out my mobile once more. It’s gone noon in England now so surely he might answer. I HAVE to tell him I’ve made it – he always said a bidet was the ultimate sign of success. No answer. I practically stamp my foot in frustration. A woman with a clipboard approaches and I hit redial and tuck the phone under my ear as I tell her my name.

  ‘They’ve started so just go on in,’ she indicates the door.

  I lower the phone. ‘I'm sorry I just need to call my b… someone… I really need to talk to him – I won’t be able to concentrate otherwise,’ I apologise.

  ‘Imogen,’ comes a call from the room, a middle-aged platinum-blonde woman is beckoning to me, ‘come on in.’

  ‘Oh… I...’ The lady with the clipboard shrugs and I sigh and put my mobile phone away.

  ‘Coming,’ I say, moving into the conference room.

  Everyone is in a circle around the woman who is standing next to a flip chart with a big smiley face drawn on in large blue felt tip.

  ‘Come in, come in, welcome,’ she waves me over. ‘We're just kicking off! Sooooo...’ She claps her hands and looks around the room. ‘It's great to meet all the offices of Princeton Houses, and we’re going to start with a warm-up game.’

  My heart sinks as she continues, ‘You introduce yourself using an adjective that starts with the same letter as your name. Okay so you get the idea. I’ll start. Well welcome everyone, I’m your team leader and I’m.
.. Lovely Laura.’

  Applause greets this announcement.

  ‘I’m Chatty Caroline,’ says the girl to Laura’s left.

  ‘I’m Charismatic Clive.’

  ‘I’m Daring Darren.’ He looks like he might kill someone.

  ‘I’m Energetic Eileen.’

  ‘I'm Happy Henry.’

  Everyone in the circle looks at me and I smile weakly. ‘Um... I’m, I’m...’

  You can see all their faces straining, desperate for me to form some words.

  ‘I’m...’ My mind is a blank.

  I can sense Henry next door wanting to whisper something to me, to help. He should have been ‘Helpful Henry’ I think vaguely. Everyone is still looking at me.

  ‘I’m... er...’

  No one catches my eye as I struggle on.

  ‘I’m... Imaginative Imo,’ I finish, somewhat ironically. I laugh.

  No one else does.

  ‘I’m Excitable Emma,’ bursts the over-eager girl next door to me, clearly relived her turn has finally come.

  The rest of the group smiles at her appreciatively. The sticky moment has passed.

  ‘I’m Hungover Holly.’

  The group chuckles and I look round at them all blankly. Then, as Holly’s words sink in, I join in, a great guffaw of a laugh, a split second late, so then everyone looks back at me awkwardly. I turn bright red. Holly raises a quizzical eyebrow at me.

  ‘I’m Interesting Ian.’

  ‘I’m Gorgeous Gary,’ a portly man with bad teeth announces next.

  ‘I’m Adventurous Amy.’

  Gah, when will this end? While other people in the hotel are wandering the grounds admiring the puffins (yes, PUFFINS visit here, they’re in the brochure sitting on a branch by the lake next to some small pink flowers) or booking a massage in the hotel spa, I’m listening to Laura start a speech about ‘the importance of feeling able to talk to colleagues when at work.’ As she speaks I’m thinking back to that lagoon.

  ‘Imogen, IMOGEN’, Laura's high voice penetrates my thoughts. The whole circle is looking at me again.

  ‘We’re getting into groups of three,’ she says pointedly, ‘and you are with Gary (yes, as in ‘Gorgeous’) and Holly (yes, as in ‘Hates Me’).’

  I nod distantly and then turn to join Gary and Holly who both hold out their hands for me to shake at the exact moment. I pause, panic and then shake both at the same time. This has the effect of making them think I am definitely mental and I realise with a sinking feeling that I just don't have the energy to force them to think otherwise. I just want to talk to Ben.

  As Laura explains the next task (something about getting one of us through a web of string without touching the ground, or each other or something) I can feel the sun on my back and hear the lone clacking of the gardener’s secateurs. A sudden tap on one of the large French windows makes everyone turn around.

  My jaw drops open.

  ‘Just trimming this hedge’, the gardener calls in a thick, yet unidentifiable, accent, sliding the large French window up. Must be Icelandish.

  Laura looks put out. She continues in a slightly louder voice as the gardener starts clipping at stray twigs. ‘Right, so, everyone, you take turns to come up with a possible way of navigating yourselves through the web and...’

  I try to focus on what she is saying. Gary is listening intently. Holly is nodding at her every word.

  I am still staring at the window, my eyes wide.

  ‘...try thinking outside of the box, so to speak. How could you manage it with just team work and...’

  I edge along the wall as Laura continues to talk.

  The gardener is still snipping slowly at the bush below the window.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I hiss at him.

  Ben looks up at me under a ridiculous beige sunhat that he has clearly worn in his role as ‘Icelandic Hotel Gardener’ and grins at me.

  ‘Jump’, he whispers, managing to decapitate a lovely looking pale pink rose as he says it.

  I look at him like he's mad.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Jump, come on, I’m here to rescue you,’ he explains just as Laura looks over at me.

  ‘Um, Imogen, is everything alright?’ she calls.

  ‘Oh yes, just getting some air,’ I say, fanning myself pointlessly.

  Holly and Gary exchange some eye-rolling.

  Ben is now wetting himself out of sight of the entire room and clearly loving the charade I'm playing.

  I continue to flap my hands in front of my face until everyone is engrossed yet again in Laura’s task.

  ‘Jump, mad woman,’ he pleads.

  ‘Me? I’m mad?!’ I say incredulously.

  ‘Jump.’

  And so I do. I clamber quickly onto the windowsill, dangle my feet outside and jump. I land on the grass beside Ben and he immediately grabs me, pulls me close and kisses the living daylights out of me. I gasp and giggle.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I laugh.

  ‘You'll find out,’ he says, nuzzling my neck. ‘Did you enjoy first class,’ he asks, ‘and the limo?’

  I pull back, ‘That was you!’

  I hug him.

  It's at this moment that I notice Laura and the entire room have stopped and are standing in slack-jawed silence at our embrace.

  Laura is doing an excellent impression of a goldfish, Holly is mouthing the word ‘nympho’ to the rest of the room and Gary is looking at me with new respect.

  ‘I just need to borrow this lady for a time,’ calls Ben, still in the accent. Then putting his secateurs on the windowsill he takes my hand.

  Laura suddenly leans down from the window.

  ‘Imogen, are you alright? Is this man, I mean, well, do you, I mean...’ she continues to splutter as I look up at her.

  ‘Oh Laura,’ I gush, turning away from Ben and looking at her solemnly, ‘I just feel great, just great, I really feel I’ve grown in confidence just listening to you,’ I explain. ‘Your course is excellent’.

  Laura starts blushing with the praise, stuttering, ‘Well, you obviously have learnt to break boundaries.’ She stares at us as Ben pulls on my hand.

  ‘I have,’ I nod, as Ben drags me across the lawn laughing, ‘I really think I have.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ I gasp as Ben tugs at me to follow.

  We crunch round the side of the hotel and the limo is waiting once more. As I climb in, I notice a small bag of my things is resting on the back seat.

  Ben pours us both a champagne. ‘There's somewhere I want to take you,’ he says, toasting me with his glass.

  We drink and laugh and look out as the scenery whizzes past us. A blur of gorgeous colours appear, sunlight bouncing from the white-capped mountains as we wind our way through narrow roads. We slow through a thick forest of trees, their deep green foliage creating dappled shadows on the road ahead.

  Emerging into view I suck in my breath. We are in a little copse, looking out over a vast turquoise blue lake, steam rising enticingly off its surface, a rocky outcrop disappearing into the mists and no one else in sight. I breathe out slowly. It is incredible, the cloudy blues blending so you can't tell where the lake begins and the horizon starts. A world of water. I step out, feeling the refreshing sting of a breeze on my face. Ben takes my hand and draws me over to a bench beneath the shadow of the trees. The limo turns and silently exits.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes as Ben drops to one knee, produces a small box and looks up at me. ‘Imogen Martin, you're amazing. Even when you are being mad. Even when you're talking to me at five in the morning. Today was a tiny way to show you that I love you. Will you please put me out of my misery and be my wife?’

  I'm crying now and nodding and saying ‘yes’ repeatedly. He slowly pushes the ring on my finger. Staring at the beautiful diamond on my hand I know I am so lucky. I'm going to marry my best friend. Then I pull him to his feet and kiss him, surrounded by the damp woody smell of the forest behind us and the s
teamy lake stretching beyond.

  I wipe at my face and pick up my bag. ‘Now I know you don’t like Jacuzzis,’ I say, ‘but how about a geothermal spa?’

  About the Author

  Rosie Blake spent her university years writing pantomimes based on old classics. The 2003 production of The Wizard of Odd: Search for the Ruby Strippers enjoyed critical acclaim. This was followed a year later with a successful showing of Harry Potter: The Musical (complete with moving opening number, ‘In my Cupboard I will Stay’). Rosie went on to write a winning short story in the La Senza/Little Black Dress Short Story Competition, wrote a feature for Cosmopolitan magazine and started writing books. After some false starts, and horrendous jobs that she wishes to keep a closely guarded secret (or write about in the future), her debut novel will be published later this year.

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/RosieBBooks

  Twitter: @RosieBBooks

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/rosie-blake

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

  You can also chat with the authors on the Belinda Jones Travel Club Facebook page.

  Return to the contents list.

  THE KEY

  ***

  Alexandra Brown

  Destination: Cayman Islands

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ the blowsy-looking woman on the reception desk said quietly, after Emily Butters introduced herself.

  ‘Thank you,’ Emily muttered. Inside her jacket pocket, she twisted the sodden tissue around her fingers, praying she wouldn’t need to use it again – her eyes felt raw and still resembled a pair of overly engorged mushrooms from all the tears she had shed.

  Last night, Emily had stayed up watching old holiday footage of her parents, laughing and frolicking around on the veranda of their idyllic beach estate on the tiny Caribbean island of Cayman Brac. Seeing them had shattered her heart all over again. Especially the part when they had both turned to the camera and said, ‘Wish you were here…’.

 

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