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

by Belinda Jones

  Darling Emilie,

  If you have this letter then it means we are no longer with you and for that we are truly sorry. We pray that you are not alone. Before you read the contents of the file, please know that from the very first moment we saw you, smiling and gripping the hem of your pretty floral dress as you lay in the sun, hazy like a halo all around you – we knew you were our daughter, and we truly loved you.

  Inside the file, you will find all the answers to your questions, but please, we beg of you to keep an open heart, we wanted to tell you, but we had to respect Anna’s wishes too, and she wanted you to grow up free from the burden of wondering or worrying about her. We agreed with her that you would be told in the event of our death, should that happen before you turned twenty-one when we planned on telling you ourselves. If you’re reading this letter, then sadly that milestone in your life never came for us.

  If we could have one wish, it would be that you learn from our regret – please don’t put off something that you can do today. It would have been an honour for us to support you in a reunion with Anna. Go find her now, she never stopped loving you, she just wasn’t able to be a parent when you were born. She’ll be waiting for you…

  Thank you sweetheart, for choosing us to have the privilege of being your parents and please accept our apologies for not being there for you always.

  Our love forever,

  Mummy and Daddy xxx

  Emily folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the box. A silent tear slid down her cheek. She loved her parents so very much and wasn’t angry with them anymore, how could she be? Her childhood had been idyllic – they had loved her unconditionally, given her everything and selflessly respected her birth mother’s wishes too. Anna Tauber. The file had said she was now living in New York.

  Emily picked up the phone before walking out on to the beach.

  And gasped.

  ‘I wanted to make it special for you.’ Curtis was waiting for her.

  Flickering tea lights in paper lanterns formed an illuminated path down towards the sea. The fading sun, a smudge of orange and red nestled on the horizon, bathing the beach in a glorious golden glow. Truly magical.

  Taking Emily’s hand in his, Curtis led her towards the water’s edge.

  ‘Is it time?’ he whispered, moving behind her. He slipped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the side of her neck.

  ‘I think so,’ Emily murmured, leaning in to him. ‘Why put it off?’ Emily smiled, remembering her parents’ request. She tapped the number into her phone. It rang twice.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Emily.’

  Silence was followed by a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Oh my darling girl, I’m so sorry for your loss…’

  Emily touched the key at her neck, and thanked her parents for leading her here… she had found the truth at last. And as her fingers entwined in Curtis’s, she knew she was no longer alone. Emily had found everything she ever wanted…

  About the Author

  Alexandra Brown is the author of the funny, romantic Carrington’s series. Set in a department store in a pretty seaside town, the series follows the life, loves and laughs of sales assistant Georgie Hart. CUPCAKES AT CARRINGTON'S was published in January 2013 and spent three consecutive weeks in the top ten of the Fiction Heatseekers Chart, and was selected as debut of the month by Sarah Broadhurst for The Bookseller. Alexandra is the former CITY GIRL columnist for The London Paper and has written for a range of publications including YOU magazine, Cosmopolitan and Elle. She lives near Brighton, on the South Coast of England, with her husband, daughter and a very shiny black Labrador puppy.

  CHRISTMAS AT CARRINGTON'S (out November 7th 2013) is available for pre-order now!

  Website: www.alexandrabrown.co.uk

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/alexandrabrownauthor

  Twitter: @alexbrownbooks

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/alexandra-brown

  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.

  DIVINE INTERVENTION

  ***

  Laurey Buckland

  Destination: Cambodia

  The blossoming dawn revealed Angkor Wat’s architectural splendour at a seductive pace. It was a sunrise like nothing else I’d ever witnessed. It had tantalised the crowds like a burlesque dancer who waited until the audience was about to explode with anticipation, before finally allowing her feathered fan to drop gracefully to the floor.

  But the sun’s inexorable rays had eventually pierced the delicate atmosphere, causing the underbelly of the low-lying clouds to light up around the ‘jewel of Cambodia’ with brilliant shades of pink and orange; fifty shades of pink and orange that had proved far more titillating than any shades of grey ever had. And so the heavenly colours had gently kissed the empty space above the Hindu monument, creating a few moments of magic, which my camera had captured well but not as perfectly as my memory.

  Sitting in contemplation on the cold stone steps facing the ancient temple, I waited like a reptile for the advancing sun to warm my skin. Hundreds of other camera-wielding tourists buzzed around me, most of them heading towards the thousand-year-old structure like ants on marching orders.

  I remained still and quiet, squinting up at the burgeoning light. It was hard to believe that less than thirty minutes ago the sky had been a moonless black, a chrysalis from which the glorious day had miraculously emerged. Yet, for me it had been more than just a sunrise. It marked the first day of my new life – a life where nothing that had happened during the past few months mattered at all.

  I wondered if my mother knew she’d been prophetic when she’d chosen to name her only daughter Renée. It meant born again. And today, after two months of travelling around South East Asia, my name had never been more pertinent. I was ready to move on.

  The need to reassess my life had begun with a text in which my boyfriend of nine years, and fiancé of two, had systematically listed all ten of the reasons we were ‘no longer compatible.’ Yes, ten whole reasons…and yes, by text. He’d listed a reason for each of the Commandments (and each of the Plagues of Egypt for that matter), for each of the Spice Girls’ breasts and for every week Rihanna had been at number one in the UK charts with Umbrella.

  I suppose I should have known our relationship was never going to go the distance. I knew Jack had only asked me to marry him because everyone else seemed to be doing it. Ironically, that was also how he’d cajoled me into losing our virginity to each other after our GCSE French exam. I’d said ‘oui’ to both because I never imagined I’d do any better than him – a man who cried at The Lion King, chopped spaghetti up and ate it with a spoon like a six-year-old, thought shitake mushrooms were pronounced shit-ache and who probably would always believe euthanasia was a country.

  As you can tell, the split had been more of a relief than a heart-wrench. No, not because I was an uncaring bitch – which incidentally had been number seven on Jack’s incompatibility list – but because I’d never been allowed to develop my own adult identity. Since the age of sixteen I’d been ‘Jack and Renée.’ I’d never just been Renée and as corny as it sounds, this trip had helped me discover her.

  Just then, the smacking of flip-flops pulled me from of my daydream. ‘Hey Mark,’ the extremely good-looking American high-school jock shouted to his friend as he galloped casually past me. ‘What do you think dude: tits, cock or both?’ he asked pointing towards the temple’s five rounded towers.

  I stared open mouthed as the pair proceeded to scuttle along the main causeway to debate the answer. Their raucous laughter disrupted the tranquillity of the morning but I didn’t know what offended me more: the immature comment or their retina-damaging surfing shorts, which were both equally inappropriate. After all, they were heading towards an enduring example of man’s devotion t
o his gods – not a brothel full of neighbouring Bangkok’s Lady Boys.

  Either way, the anatomical observation had polluted my vision. Now, instead of lotus-like towers branching out of the temple, all I could see were the tips of five huge phalluses. It was far too much for any woman to cope with, particularly one that had been practically abstinent for nearly a year. Consequently, the irregularity of us ‘doing it’ was Jack’s first reason on the incompatibility list. He’d written it in capitals and everything.

  Trying to cleanse my corrupted vision of the ancient towers, I closed my eyes and took a swig from the overpriced bottled water I’d been duped into buying from a street vendor.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ an unexpected voice asked above me.

  I twisted around in search of the Scottish accent swathed in a smooth, rich tone but as I pulled the bottle from my lips, a splash of liquid besieged my shorts. I hissed under my breath as I watched the Africa-shaped wet patch form across my groin.

  ‘Um yes, it’s stunning,’ I replied, fumbling at the material. A scorching heat began to radiate across my skin and it wasn’t the sun.

  ‘I’ve been here three times already but never at dawn. It feels completely different,’ he continued softly. He seemed to be in genuine awe of the sight before him – and therefore hopefully oblivious to the quintet of stone penises pointing up to the sky.

  ‘Yes, completely different,’ I parroted, as I shielded my little accident with my Lonely Planet guide.

  ‘Oh great, you have a guide with you,’ he noticed annoyingly. ‘Would you mind if I checked something out?’

  Crap.

  I glanced up at him, hoping some plausible excuse would reach my lips. But I was held in silence as I drank in the sight of him. His hair was the colour of midnight yet his skin was golden and his eyes sparkled like precious gems, while his petunia pink lips hinted at a smile. He was a genuine Adonis; the real reason vaginas had been invented.

  My brain panicked. I had no idea what to say to him – this lovely man who had made the effort to talk to a girl sitting quietly on the steps. Apparently the Renée I’d discovered was cowardly, with no confidence and an irritating pout she couldn’t shift.

  Eventually, I stood up only to discover my eye-level fell comfortably in line with his sternum, from which branched two bulbous pectorals that lay alert under his blue t-shirt. My eyes sashayed up and down his body, imagining the layers of muscle underneath. Only then did I notice the chocolate leather-bound journal he clutched in his right hand. He followed my gaze, which thankfully had moved away from the lower portion of his body.

  ‘I like to sketch the scenery rather than always taking pictures. I like to interpret things my own way,’ he explained as I continued to stare at the journal.

  ‘Oh, well I’ll let you get back to it then. I wouldn’t want you to lose your concentration,’ I replied in a desperate attempt to conclude this tête-à-tête in which I was bound to say something stupid or embarrassing.

  ‘It’s okay. Inspiration can strike at any moment. I’m happy to wait.’

  I twisted my hands around my bottle top so hard, that the grooves burned my fingers. ‘Yeah but still, you’ll never find it if I continue to stand here and spoil the view.’

  He shrugged his broad shoulders with an elegance that was almost inappropriate for a man of his physique. However, the graceful movement seemed second-nature to him. ‘It’s not always the view that’s inspiring,’ he smiled.

  The scorching heat became almost volcanic as it rose from the pit of my stomach before flooding my cheeks with a rosy hue. I’d never captured a man’s attention like this. Not even Jack’s. So I started to wonder if he was staring at something else. Perhaps it was my bloodshot eyes or the several thick lines etched across my face from where I’d hugged my pillow too tightly?

  ‘My name’s Cameron,’ he prompted, distracting me from the tingling across my skin.

  ‘Nice to meet you Cameron,’ I replied, shaking his hand firmly.

  ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘About what?’ I asked, my fingers still embracing his.

  ‘Would I be able to share your guidebook? Perhaps we could enjoy the sights together?’

  Double crap. ‘No,’ I panicked, releasing his hand as though it had stung me. ‘I mean, you don’t really need it. As you said, you’ve been here three times before.’

  ‘Yes but—’

  ‘Besides,’ I continued, cutting him off as I pressed ahead with my tirade of excuses not to spend any more time in his pleasant company, ‘it’s not mine and I should return it. Sorry.

  ‘Sure, that’s fine,’ he said, looking perturbed.

  ‘Yeah, well enjoy the rest of your visit. Nice to meet you Cameron. Goodbye.’

  Avoiding his sparkling gaze, I fled from the scene faster than Victoria Beckham from a cake shop and raced towards the centrepiece of Angkor at a pace my feet were unfamiliar with. Keenly aware that Cameron’s glacier blue eyes were fixed to each of my movements, I thrust the guide book into the hands of an unsuspecting Japanese tourist who was making the obligatory peace sign pose into her boyfriend’s camera.

  Continuing my fast-paced shuffle away from the rather pleasant encounter with what could only be described as a demi-god, my chest began to tighten. Today was meant to be the start of a new and adult life. Instead, I’d regressed momentarily to my teenage self.

  The Renée who had been one half of ‘Jack and Renée’ only knew flirting as sporadic arse-slaps, comments on how great her ‘tits’ looked in certain tops and lascivious gestures. She’d never known suave compliments and hopeful gazes until now. She was out of her comfort zone.

  I struggled to think if Jack had ever smiled at me the way Cameron just had. Jack had definitely never spoken to me with gentile sophistication, he’d only grunted. He’d only ever used the word ‘beautiful’ to describe football matches and J-Lo’s rear, and the only part of him I’d ever been able to ‘inspire’, certainly wasn’t his sketchbook.

  Pushing all thoughts of my encounter with the hunky Scotsman from my mind, I turned my attentions to the truly inspiring scenery. I headed past the two mirror-like ponds and towards the entrance of the temple. I was wandering blind with no guidebook to tell me what I was looking at, but it was then that I noticed the sun peeking through two of the five towers. I heaved an internal sigh of relief. I didn’t need a guidebook to tell me what this was. This was the second phase of the sunrise and one which Mr Tom, the owner of the guesthouse I was staying in, had told me not to miss like the majority of tourists.

  I hurried over to one of the ponds smattered with hundreds of tantalisingly pink lotus flowers and settled on the grass by the water’s edge. I made it just in time for the full glory of the sun’s second act.

  The reflection of the majestic sunlight on the water made the blushing explosions dance impressive duets with their shadows as they woke from an undisturbed sleep. It was so peaceful. Calming. Dazzling. It was everything I’d wished for to mark the onset of a new life, which I was trying my best to adjust to. And to think I’d nearly missed it because of a boy. No, Cameron was a man – a beautiful man who I was failing to banish from my thoughts.

  ‘Go away,’ I told the memory of his perfect face. It refused, so I instantly began staring at my reflection; distracting my eyes with my own features rather than letting my memory gorge on his. Within seconds it dawned on me that somehow, I looked different.

  It could have been that the dark circles under my eyes had faded or that my shoulders didn’t slump forwards like they’d done for so many years. Perhaps my bright complex hinted at the positivity I felt about my future; a future I couldn’t predict? I was free to find my feet and walk down any path I chose rather than being carried along one I’d been reluctant to follow in the first place.

  Just then, I reached into my pocket and removed a tired-looking note that had been read countless times. I’d committed Jack’s incompatibility list to paper and glanced at it one more time, b
efore tearing it to pieces and casting it into the purifying pond. The ink began to smudge right before my eyes, blurring until the words were indiscernible and the yellowing paper turned blue.

  I gazed across the water. The air was still, but the continuous movement of the sun made the lotus flowers appear as if they were waving at me. I’d read somewhere that Buddhists believed the lotus flower represented a symbol of fortune because it grew in muddy water and had to rise above the murk to achieve enlightenment. ‘I’m a lotus flower,’ I told myself in amazement. I too had risen above the murk of my past in the hopes of moving towards a brighter future.

  I instantly reached forwards, trying to pluck my floral counterpart from its watery bed, which was littered with fragments of torn, blank paper. I wanted the flower as a reminder that I was a new person with new aims and ambitions. However, my arms weren’t long enough. I didn’t want to risk falling into the muddy pool and so after a few more optimistic attempts, I resentfully gave up.

  Instead, I made my way through the main entrance of the temple and along the esplanades into the Gallery of a Thousand Buddhas, hunting for precious relics like Lara Croft – except I would need a much larger bra size to complete the fantasy.

  Strolling around the lower-level chambers, I soon happened upon the American high-school jocks who were ogling the topless carvings of Hindu spirits called Asparas. Those stone women were truly gifted in the chest department and I stared at them too – but with more of a cultured appreciation than an envious eye. Luckily, the Americans were unaware of my presence and, feeling slightly uncomfortable around their testosterone-fuelled bodies, I decided to leave them to compare breast sizes and discuss which of them could bench press the most weight or down his bottle of Bud Light the fastest.