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

by Belinda Jones

  ‘Not really.’

  From the ferry, we catch a cab through some scarily winding roads. I squeeze Jane’s hand as we take a particularly treacherous looking curve with a steep drop straight into the sparkling turquoise ocean. Thankfully we don’t drive off the edge and soon we come to a village called Steni Valla, the village we’ll be occupying for this week. I look out of the car window, hoping to see at least one nightclub, one shop selling bright lilos and inappropriate postcards, one British-themed pub, one person under the age of 50. I don’t see any of those things. Instead I see trees and olive groves, hills and chickens and little white houses dotted here there and everywhere. I suppose it’s quite pretty, if you are completely boring.

  The cab takes one final turn and we pull up at a tranquil harbour where moored boats, big and small, rock gently in the dainty breeze. And – hurrah – there is a pretty taverna, inside of which are Jane’s family and friends.

  They rush to hug her, squealing and yelling and twirling her around. I stand and watch, unable to keep the grin off my face at my friend’s happiness in this moment.

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ she laughs over and over.

  ‘Hi everyone!’ I wave to Jane’s family. ‘What a surprise, eh!’

  ‘Bet you didn’t think you’d get to come somewhere as glorious as this?’ Penny, Jane’s boring friend, says. ‘They say this island casts magical spells, you know?’

  ‘Right. Cool.’

  I wonder if it can magic me all the way back to Skiathos?

  Jane’s sister Katy hurries over with a map of the island. ‘There are some totally amazing hikes here, Ginger. Maybe we could get up at dawn try one together tomorrow?’

  My hope of Katy as a substitute Party Jane fades away like a cheap home hair colour.

  I make a non-committal noise. If I see in my thirtieth year with a hilly walk then I really should give up on life in general.

  Ordering myself a soul-soothing ouzo from the bar, I take a look around at the taverna. Its bright Tiffany green tables and chairs fill up a courtyard lined with flowering bushes and huge pots full of basil and mint. It’s not exactly pulsating with sex and energy, but I can see the appeal. Dan would like it here.

  ‘Ginger!’

  It’s Jane’s mum, making her way towards me with a sympathetic look on her face.

  ‘I heard about you and Dan. You poor lass. I really thought you’d be the next one to marry, not our Jane.’

  I smile and shrug. ‘Thanks. It sucks, I suppose, but it wasn’t right in the end.’ I sip my ouzo and grimace at its strength. ‘Ah well. I’m still young! There’s plenty of time.’

  She tuts and pats my arm, a grimace playing around her mouth. ‘Not really, love. I saw this thing on This Morning where they said wombs don’t last as long these days.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Let’s celebrate!’ I suddenly yell to the taverna at large. ‘To Jane and Knob, er, um, Pete! Ouzos are on me!’

  The cheer of agreement I expect doesn’t happen, but a few of the group agree that a small carafe of white wine might be quite nice.

  By nine o’clock everyone bar me has left to get an early night. Tedious buggers.

  I look around for someone to talk to, but everyone in here is in a couple or three times my age.

  Pah.

  I order another half-kilo carafe of wine because I absolutely can not go home yet; Cool Ginger is always the last to leave a party! Though, this isn’t exactly a party…

  Shit.

  I try to check my phone for any tweets or texts but wouldn’t you know it – no reception. Of course.

  Well, this is rubbish, isn’t it? No friends, no music, no phone reception, no hot men rubbing sun cream onto me, no 18–30s. Nowt.

  Without anything else at all to do, I find myself looking out at the harbour and the various boats, swaying to and fro in the breeze.

  To and fro. To and fro. To and fro.

  ‘Yasou? Hello? Excuse me?’

  I jump as someone pinches my arm.

  ‘It unclips at the front!’ I grumble inexplicably, and sit up to find myself still in the taverna and looking into the glinting green eyes of a large tanned man wearing a navy blue bandana.

  ‘The bar is about to close, miss,’ he says, handing me a napkin. ‘You will have to go home.’

  Ugh. I’m napping now? And why has he given me a napkin? I look at him and then at it and then back at him.

  He rolls his eyes, takes it off me and dabs at the side of my mouth.

  Sleep drool.

  I bury my head into my hands. I should be at a foam party right now, dirty dancing with an overflowing fishbowl of mai tai being supped through a willy straw. Instead I’m napping in a strange, silent village and having my own spit wiped off my face by a stranger.

  ‘You are sad?’ the stranger says with a rolling Greek accent.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘A real sad act. Don’t worry. I’m going now.’

  ‘No, no, I mean sad, aaaah, like… boo hoo sad. Boo hoo hoo. I’m so sad.’

  ‘Alright, alright, I get it,’ I huff. ‘I’ll be fine.’ Standing up, I wobble on my heels, still tipsy.

  ‘Where are you staying, lady?’

  ‘Somewhere called Angie’s Place.’

  ‘I will walk you there.’

  ‘I don’t know you. You could be a murderer.’

  ‘I won’t murder you. I don’t like the murder. I’m a sailor. I like the sailing.’

  ‘Where’s your boat?’ I ask, lifting my chin.

  He laughs. ‘It is that one.’ He points at the smallest, rickitiest boat on the harbour.

  ‘Fine.’

  I only agree because I have no clue where on earth Angie’s Place is and getting lost here would really not be a good ending to this already craptastic day.

  ‘Thanks.’ I say and link the arm he proffers.

  We stroll down the harbour and, apart from the occasional knock of boat against the quay, it’s completely serene.

  ‘I’m Aris,’ he says. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Ginger,’ I answer. ‘Cool Ginger,’ I mutter under my breath sadly.

  ‘A lovely name. Like your hair, yes?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We climb the harbour steps and about halfway up I have to stop for a breather. Wow. I’m really unfit! When did I get so unfit?

  ‘Are you okay, Ginger?’ Aris says, amusement flashing in his eyes.

  I sit down on one of the steps and sigh, my bottom lip wobbling. The jet lag, combined with the ouzo, plus the fact that my best friend has abandoned me and I can’t even get up these steps without a near asthma attack leads to an embarrassing onslaught of tears.

  ‘My friend is getting married not tomorrow but the day after. I didn’t know about it until today. We were supposed to be in Skiathos partying for my birthday. And now we’re he-he-here!’

  ‘Your friend has found love?’ he says. ‘Surely time for a celebration?’

  ‘Of course,’ I sniff. ‘I’m glad she’s happy but… it’s all changing! Everything is changing so quickly.’

  ‘Change, it is exciting!’ he grins annoyingly. ‘I once heard a person say that man cannot discover the new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.’

  ‘Er… thanks, I think,’ I sniff.

  What is he on about?

  ‘You are very welcome.’

  I wipe my eyes on the corner of my top and sigh deeply. It’s so quiet here that the sound of my sigh seems to be amplified by a million.

  ‘I want to know,’ I say to the man. ‘Why on earth do you live here? You’re so young. And this place is…old.’

  He sits down beside me, his knee touching mine. I get a little crackle of static and jump.

  ‘I do not live here, Ginger,’ he says. ‘Though I plan to eventually. It is the most glorious of all the Greek Islands, I believe. The people, they are good people. The sea here is the clearest.’

  ‘Yeah…the sea here is pretty nice,’ I admit begrudgi
ngly. ‘Where do you live then?’

  ‘I live everywhere. My house is a boat. I can live anywhere I wish to.’

  ‘But isn’t that weird? Not knowing where you’ll end up?’

  His eyes light up. ‘That is the best part!’

  I squint at him. Is he mental? ‘It sounds scary.’

  ‘The best things of life are often scary, you know. They make your heart beat faster.’

  ‘Like bungee jumping.’

  ‘Exactly. Or meeting a beautiful woman in an unexpected way.’

  I laugh. ‘You’re a charmer, eh?’

  He holds his hand out to help me up. It’s a nice hand. Attached to a nice tanned arm. I peer at his face again. It really is a very nice face. Pale, twinkling eyes, light blond stubble, short beachy hair beneath the bandana. He could definitely be described as talent, in any country. And I’m 99% sure there’s a six pack under that crisp white shirt.

  If we were at the 18–30s in Skiathos I would just snog him without any preamble.

  Well, we’re not that far from Skiathos…

  I grab the top of his shirt and pull him to me, planting my lips on his. I see his eyes widen in shock and then close. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me back.

  Wow.

  This bloke is hot.

  What was his name again?

  I don’t know his name! Result. We could practically be in a nightclub right now! Cool Ginger is about to score.

  The hottie’s right hand snakes across my ribcage while the left weaves up into my hair and pulls a little.

  A little moan escapes me.

  ‘Do you want to come back to mine?’ I pant.

  He pulls back. ‘I don’t know you,’ he says, pupils dilated.

  ‘So what? It’s called a one-night stand, mister. It’s fun! It’s carefree! You’ll like it, I promise.’

  He frowns slightly.

  ‘I think you are very beautiful. But no. Thank you. One-night stand is not in my style.’

  My face flushes crimson. This has never happened before. Is this… Is this my first rejection? God.

  ‘It is lovely to meet you, Ginger. I will help you to your home now. Maybe see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh...’

  Mortified.

  Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me up the rest of the steps, across an empty, tree-lined road and deposits me in front of a pretty white house with a wooden sign that declares it ‘Angie’s Place’.

  ‘You are home, Ginger,’ he says and shakes my hand before turning on his heel and jogging off into the night.

  Who is that guy?

  I wake up to warm sunshine spilling into the bedroom though sheer muslin curtains. I was so tired and humiliated last night that I slumped into bed without even looking around. I rub my crusty eyes, pull on my dressing gown and head up the stairs to a large open-plan kitchen and living space.

  It’s gorgeous and airy; certainly an improvement on the scratty but cheaply priced apartment I had booked on Skiathos.

  While I wait for a cafetière of strong coffee to brew, I head out onto the balcony.

  ‘Wow!’ I exclaim out loud. I’m looking at an uninterrupted, panoramic view of the sea. There are green hilly islands on each side of the house and two boats sailing through the channel. If I were into this sort of thing I would definitely be impressed – it’s pretty beautiful. I inhale and catch the scent of fresh basil growing in the garden below. Grabbing the cafetière, I sit in a large wicker armchair, face turned up to the sun. At least I’ll still get a tan…

  I’m thinking about what Dan’s up to right now, when Katy, Jane’s little sister, bursts in, her face already flushed and freckly from the sun.

  ‘Morning, Ginger!’ she trills. ‘I came to get you for the hike this morning, but you told me to fuck off. Do you remember?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Yeah. You were totally grumpy. Hungover?’

  ‘Only old people get hungover,’ I scoff, ignoring the vague thumping in my head. ‘I’m hardcore, you know? Totes.’

  ‘There’s loads to do! We’re meeting down at the taverna in ten minutes.’

  ‘What time is it now?’

  ‘Nine a.m.’

  ‘Ugh.’

  She giggles and bounds out, full of the vim and vigour that comes with being eighteen.

  I shuffle back downstairs to the bedroom of this topsy turvy house and pull out my favourite summer dress. It’s strappy and pink and has turquoise butterflies all over it. On last year’s holiday I copped off with three guys in this dress. No rejections for me today. Hot sailor guy can go sail up his own backside.

  I pull the dress over my head and down across my waist, but then it gets stuck on my hips.

  ‘What?’ I ask myself with despair.

  I yank the slinky fabric down, craning my neck to see if it’s caught on my bra or something.

  But it’s not.

  I lie down on the bed and after much shimmying and panting eventually get it over my thighs.

  I examine myself in the mirror. It’s tight. Not obscenely so, but enough to tell me that I’ve gone up at least a dress size since last year’s holiday.

  Midde-aged spread.

  What the hell is happening?

  ‘I want to be the person who chooses which books get published,’ Katy says happily, pushing a needle through a square of yellow fabric.

  Katy, Jane, their mum and I are sitting around an outside table at the taverna, drinking bottled water and sewing bunting together. Katy is telling us about the publishing course she’ll be doing at university in September. Her eyes are sparkling with the excitement of all that’s to come.

  ‘I wonder what I’ll be when I grow up,’ I muse idly, cutting off a length of duck-egg blue ribbon from a roll.

  The table falls quiet.

  I look up and see everyone staring at me with an odd expression.

  ‘What?’ I laugh.

  ‘You’re a receptionist at Paul’s Quality Rims,’ Jane chuckles. ‘That’s what you get to be when you grow up!’

  ‘Ew. No!’ I say. ‘That’s a temporary job. It’s not my career.’

  ‘You’ve been there for, like five years!’ Katy says, smirking a little.

  I narrow my eyes and have a think. Oh god. It will have been five years at Christmas...

  Oh dear.

  ‘I just have to nip to the loo!’ I say overly brightly, and totter off in my heeled flip-flops to the inside of the taverna. As if this moment isn’t bad enough, the Greek guy who dismissed me last night is sitting at the bar, sipping a tiny cup of coffee.

  ‘Hello!’ he says, grinning at me. ‘Ginger! I am glad to see you. How are you enjoying magical Alonnisis?’

  ‘Yeah! Great! Magical!’ I choke before diving into the loo.

  I look into the mirror and stare myself out. I can’t believe I’ve been working at Paul’s Quality Rims for five years. How did I not realise it had been that long? I sigh at myself and pull a face. Wait a minute. Is that…? I gaze more closely into the mirror. Is that a GREY HAIR? I spot the offending silver lock at the crown of my head.

  It IS a grey hair!

  Shit.

  An odd thought occurs. Ever since I got here weird things have been happening. Rubbish fitness, low alcohol tolerance, weight gain, napping and now grey hair. I didn’t notice any of these things last week. They seem to have happened overnight. Alonissos is making me old!

  I almost jump out of my skin when my phone beeps with a text. That’s strange. This island barely has any reception. I open it up.

  TEXT FROM: DAN

  I miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t want to come clubbing with you. But it’s not my thing any more. I’m settled, I’m happy. I wish you could be too. x

  I turn off my phone.

  ‘I forgot your name,’ I say to the Greek man as I pass him on the way back out.

  ‘Aris.’

  ‘I need to ask you a question, Aris.’

  ‘
Go ahead.’ he does an annoyingly sexy grin and takes a sip out of his tiny cup.

  Gad, why does he have to be so hot? Especially since what I am about to say is going to make me sound like an absolute chump.

  ‘You know how you said Alonissos is magical?’ I begin.

  ‘Yes. It is both beautiful and magical.’

  ‘Well. Can it do bad magic? Like, for instance, if I thought bad things about it, and said I didn’t want to be here, would it…curse me?’

  ‘Curse?’

  ‘I don’t know… make me old. Make me age at a really quick pace.’

  I look down, the tips of my ears growing hot. What on earth do I sound like?

  Aris laughs and takes my hand. ‘The Alonissos magic is only good. It gives a person clarity. The island will make you see what needs to be seen. It will also give you courage to act on what you have seen.’

  I nod slowly, taking it in.

  Hmm.

  ‘I think the island might be showing me that I’m getting older. And that it’s time to accept it and grow up before it’s too late.’ I pull a face.

  Aris shrugs and says simply, ‘It will show you what you need to see.’

  At 4pm we are back at Angie’s Place and getting ready for the wedding at 6pm. I pull on my floatiest, wedding-iest dress: a pink chiffon thingy, which, with my new middle-aged spread, is still a little tight around my hips but the best of a too-small bunch.

  Jane is sitting at the large wooden dining table while her mum fusses over her hair, curling into a chubby bun at the nape of her neck. Katy paints her nails, and I do some light, pretty makeup.

  I brush coral pink blusher onto Jane’s cheeks when suddenly she jumps up, knocking the nail polish bottle over the floor.

  ‘WAIT!’ she cries out. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, guys!’ Her eyes are wide with terror and her hands start to shake. ‘I don’t know if I should get married. Shit. This has all happened so quickly! What if it’s a mistake? What if we don’t work out and have to get a divorce?’

  Has she seen the light? Could this be a second chance?

  I’m about to tell her that we can still get the boat to Skiathos, that there is no magic on this island, that she doesn’t have to do this, that it can be just us two, painting the town red once more…