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

by Belinda Jones

  After my third drink I do.

  ‘You’ve seen how good looking he is!’ she forces a smile.

  ‘I have,’ I admit. ‘But I’ve also seen how good looking you are. You could get a dozen Jareds with one eyelash flutter.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Definitely.’ I confirm. ‘So what is it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looks away.

  ‘People usually do.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When they say they don’t know, they usually do. They just don’t want to say. Which is fine. It’s none of my business.’

  She thinks for a moment and then says quietly, ‘Sometimes I think he’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I sit forward.

  ‘Well, he’s the only constant in my life. We’re always on the go. The only people we meet up with are his friends or colleagues. A few of the wives are nice but we only get to spend an evening or two with them before we’re on the move again.’

  I nod.

  ‘I do wonder sometimes, about leaving…’ She drifts off for a second. ‘But I can’t think of where I’d go. I’ve lost touch with my old friends and besides, I don’t want to go back to Minnesota. So where? If I was alone again, I wouldn’t know where to start.’ She rattles the fast-melting ice-cubes at the bottom of her cup. ‘Besides, lots of women would kill to be in my position. He’s very generous.’

  ‘But your jewellery business is going well?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’m not with him for the money,’ she assures me. ‘I mean, I couldn’t live like he does but I can get by.’

  ‘Well, if you need any help finding a new apartment, it’s what I do!’

  She gives me a ‘thanks but it’s never going to happen’ look. ‘The thing is, I’ve had enough uncertainty in my life. At least with Jared I know where I am.’

  ‘Even if it’s where you don’t want to be?’

  ‘Excuse me, please…’ A man with an eastern European accent leans in, oblivious to what he is interrupting. ‘Would you mind to take a picture?’

  ‘Of course!’ I say, hopping up to find he has his entire family with him. I have to do a bit of re-arranging to get all nine of them in frame but he’s so happy with the result he rewards us with their spare drink tickets.

  ‘And you would also like a photograph?’

  ‘Oh thank you!’ I say, returning to Willow’s side.

  We make a multi-cup cheers to the camera-phone.

  The sunshine, the booze, the out-sized grins – anyone would think this was a picture of two carefree friends on their annual girlie holiday.

  ‘Oh my god!’ I jump as a text pops up onto the screen. ‘Willow! It’s her!’

  ‘Ali?’

  I nod.

  ‘What does she say?’ She huddles closer.

  ‘Exactly what you said: she misses me, hopes we can get past this…’ I lean back in my chair. ‘Wow.’

  ‘What are you going to reply?’

  I try to get in touch with all my rage and resentment but it’s just not forthcoming. And why would I want it to be? I have all the time in the world to deal with this when I get home.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, returning my phone to my bag.

  ‘Nothing?’ Willow looks surprised.

  ‘I don’t want to get into all that right now.’ My gaze drifts to the bar. ‘I’m really more interested in finding out more about this Dragonberry flavour…’

  We really are shamefully staggery as we take the ferry back to Old Town. Willow insists we stop at Caficultura to get a couple of caramel lattes before her meetings.

  ‘We can grab some dinner after but you have to share this sandwich with me…’ She says, ordering the brie, honey and roasted pecans on seven-grain bread. ‘It’s not remotely Puerto Rican but it’s heaven.’

  She’s right. ‘You have great taste!’ I tell her.

  In everything except men, I think to myself.

  He rings half a dozen times while Willow is taking her meetings. I can see the phone lighting up at the top of her bag and sense his mounting irritation.

  ‘Oh he can wait on me for a change,’ she wafts away any concern as we progress down Calle del Cristo. ‘He knows I’m working.’

  ‘Is he supportive of that?’ I sound like a counsellor.

  ‘Of the online aspect, yes.’

  ‘You’ve never wanted to have your own boutique?’

  ‘Oh I’d love it!’ she confirms. ‘But Jared has made it clear that he doesn’t want to be dating a shop girl.’

  ‘But you’d be a shop owner!’

  ‘Yes, but he says people coming in off the street wouldn’t know that.’

  I go to object to his objection but Willow quickly adds, ‘It’s redundant anyway – we’re never in one place long enough. Hungry?’

  While dining on red snapper at El Convento (former nunnery, now the airy hotel where Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony spent their wedding night!) I learn more about Willow’s travels. It makes me realize just how much more of the world there is to see. Ali only ever wanted to return to the same resort in Cyprus each year and I never objected because we always had such fun. But now…

  ‘Have you ever been to Rome?’ I ask as we scrape up the last traces of our dessert – a kind of bread pudding oozing guava jam and ricotta.

  ‘Never!’ she says as she sets down her spoon. ‘But I’ve always wanted to. Did you know it’s the sixtieth anniversary of Roman Holiday this year?’

  ‘I was just about to say that!’ I gasp.

  ‘I love Audrey Hepburn!’

  ‘Me too!’ I bite my lip. ‘I wonder—’

  ‘Hold on a sec!’ She reaches for her phone, which has practically buzzed its way onto the table. ‘Jared…’

  She flushes a little as he talks over her.

  ‘I’m going to step outside,’ she excuses herself.

  From her pacing and her body language, it doesn’t look like a breezy conversation. Every now and again she stops, raises a hand in exasperation and then flinches at whatever is going on at the other end of the line. Her eyes are a little teary as she returns to her seat.

  ‘Do you have to go?’ I ask softly.

  ‘Well. Seeing as he says I’ve already ruined his evening, I think we should go dancing.’

  ‘What?’ I laugh out loud.

  ‘I just don’t want today to end.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ I have a feeling the consequences won’t be pretty.

  ‘I’m only one rum away from being sure, come on!’

  Café Nuyorican is smaller than I was expecting, with the feel of a student bar except for the broad age range. The drinks are cheap, or better yet free when you’re with a woman like Willow.

  Three men from three different generations offer to buy her a cocktail and, from what I can gather, she says yes to all of them.

  The eldest motions to me.

  ‘She’ll have a Paco Rabanne and Coke,’ Willow answers on my behalf and then bursts out laughing.

  I’m laughing too, insisting I’m strictly an Old Spice girl.

  We’re still giggling as we weave over to the dancefloor, a cluster of plastic cups in our hands, keeping true to our promise of staying drunk all day.

  ‘Can you imagine being able to dance like that?’ We’re both instantly transfixed by the slick, sassy salsa moves punctuating every bongo beat and trumpet flair from the band wedged into the corner. One guy in particular stands out – he’s the most handsome, most flashy dancer. But after a while we notice that he’s not really engaging with his partners, just flinging them hither and thither in a series of attention-seeking poses.

  ‘Reminds me of Jared,’ Willow notes as she drains her first cup.

  ‘Look how sweet that one is though…’ I nod over to a more natural, laid-back mover taking a novice through the basic steps. Regardless of the experience-level of his partner he remains smiling and encouraging and courteous. ‘You know you’re getting old when kindness is a major turn-on…’
/>
  ‘Old or wise?’ Willow ponders.

  ‘Oh I love him!’ I exclaim as he reaches for an older lady. ‘He’s like the club’s goodwill ambassador!’

  I don’t know if it’s the rum but he gets progressively more handsome to me with each passing song and loose-limbed flex. And that smile…

  ‘Oh God!’ I blanche. He’s caught me staring! He’s heading directly for me!

  ‘Tell him I can’t dance!’ I beg Willow as I attempt to burrow into the nearest pillar.

  She does as I ask but then shrugs, ‘He says there’s only one way to learn!’ and propels me into his arms.

  I hear her call after him in Spanish but I don’t know what she says, other than perhaps, ‘Make her feel like the only woman in the world, soothed yet electrified, nervous but in the best hands, self-conscious yet giddily happy.’

  Because that’s exactly how I feel in his arms.

  For someone who is supposed to be so unbalanced I even manage to stay upright during a particularly dizzying sequence of turns. As the music slows to a more sensual tempo he eases me closer. I feel my eyes close as my temple meets his jaw. This is so weirdly relaxing, like he’s rocking me. For a moment I forget where I am and who I’m with. All I know is that I want this blurry contentment to last forever…

  Jostled by a less synchronised couple, I glance back at Willow, expecting to find her encircled by suitors but instead she is consulting her phone with a look of anguish.

  ‘Um…’ I point in her direction. ‘I just need to check on her…’

  He releases me with a gracious bow and I hurry to her side.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  She gulps back at me. ‘He’s started throwing my things off the balcony…’

  ‘He hasn’t!’ I gasp. ‘Not the face creams?’

  She laughs. ‘I can live without those. I always preferred Olay anyway.’

  ‘But what about your jewellery?’

  ‘I shipped what I had to my distributor this morning.’

  ‘Oh thank goodness!’ I puff. ‘So what do you want to do?’

  Her face clouds with resignation. ‘I have to go back. Right now.’ She turns to one of her suitors. I hear her mention the word taxi but another pipes up – from what I gather his friend has a car and will happily drive her to the ends of the earth if she so pleases.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ I announce.

  ‘No, no,’ she insists. ‘Jared is so much worse with an audience.’

  ‘Then I’ll hide in a bush. I have to know you’ll be safe.’

  She doesn’t look convinced but her trembling hands fuel my insistence. ‘I want to go back to the Bio Bay anyway…’ I wheedle.

  ‘Bio Bay?’ one of the men perks up, excitedly nudging his friends.

  Willow sighs. ‘Now they all want to come.’

  ‘The more the merrier, I say!’ I rather like the idea of arriving with half a dozen Puerto Rican henchmen in tow. If they could just look a little more menacing and a little less obliging.

  I look for my dance partner to say goodbye but it turns out he is part of the pack – Mateo, they call him. My heart does a little leap. Already I’m craving a return to the comfort of his touch. I have butterflies as we file over to the car but somehow I find myself seated two guys away from him. Now I really feel off-balance. I turn and rest my head on the juddering window, trying to make sense of it all.

  This is the third time I’ve travelled this route. Once in the sunshine, passing all the smokey-sizzly food shacks along the way, once in the dark when I was mostly preoccupied with my bracelet (which Willow has said I can keep) and now with a sense of grave foreboding.

  I lean forward and touch Willow’s shoulder.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  She turns her head, but only partially. ‘I go back, I apologise, he yells for a bit, then falls asleep and in the morning it will be like it never happened.’

  That seems the worst part of all to me – to have such a wonderful evening erased, just like that.

  I slump back in my seat. And then I become aware that Mateo is staring at me.

  Before I can begin to interpret the look in his eyes, the driver swings into the hotel driveway.

  ‘Estamos aqui!’

  Everyone piles out to hug Willow goodbye. It’s a bit like one of those comedy sketches where they keep going to the back of the queue to get another hug. And then another…

  ‘Alright!’ she laughs. ‘I have to go.’

  She turns to me. ‘Thank you. For the best day.’

  I can’t even speak. I hug her and tell myself over and over that this is her choice. I can’t impose my will on her. It’s not my decision to make. I don’t know all the details. I’ve only known her two days. Not even that.

  Mateo is beside me now.

  ‘You know there’s a good chance he’s going to do more than just yell at her, don’t you?’

  My heart chills. I decide to ignore, for now at least, the fact that his accent is more Scottish than Spanish and instead call out, ‘Willow! Wait!’

  She looks wary as she turns back to face me.

  I don’t want to make things any harder on her but I have to say my piece.

  ‘You know this is a really good chance to leave him,’ I urge as I catch up to her. ‘Look at the support system you have here!’

  She glances fondly at her doting bodyguards. ‘For tonight. What about—’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I straighten up. ‘Tomorrow I was thinking we might visit the other rum attraction on the island – Don Q’s castle?’

  I have her interest.

  ‘Of course you can stay with me at the Gallery Inn and every morning we can sit on the canopy daybed and brainstorm brilliant new futures.’ I step closer. ‘You know my company does business properties too? I have my laptop with me, we can sip Puerto Rican coffee and look up bijou boutiques in Rome…’

  ‘Oh my god!’

  ‘Sounds good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You have no idea!’ Her eyes gleam.

  But then her phone bleeps again. She holds it out for me to see: a photo of her clothes now sinking in the pool.

  I take a breath. ‘Well, you do like shopping…’

  She blinks back at me. ‘You’re saying this would be a good excuse for me to shop for a new wardrobe?’

  ‘I am.’

  She looks at me in wonder. ‘Why would you do all this – take so much trouble to help me?’

  I give a little shrug. ‘I’ve got some friendship tokens going spare at the moment.’ My voice wobbles unexpectedly.

  I see Willow’s expression change. She wouldn’t just be doing this for her, she would be helping me too.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ she exclaims, seemingly surprising herself. ‘I’m going to leave him!’ She’s giddy now – grabbing my hand, doing an excited little liberation dance. ‘But we need to add one more clause to the deal.’

  ‘Anything!’

  ‘For as long as we know each other we only kiss nice boys. No more duds, no more time-wasters.’

  ‘No more hotties with ugly insides?’

  ‘Just the kind ones,’ Willow confirms.

  ‘It’s a deal!’ I cheer. ‘In fact…’ I reach into my bag and pull out two Bacardi miniatures. ‘Let’s make this a rum deal!’

  We chink. We swig.

  And then we salsa-step our way back to the kisses that will signal the beginning of our brilliant new life!

  About the Author

  Belinda Jones is the author of ten vacation-for-the-price-of-a-paperback novels, one travel memoir, ON THE ROAD TO MR RIGHT (which made The Sunday Times top ten chart alongside her hero Bill Bryson) and a Peter Andre annual. Though not remotely summery, her most recent novel WINTER WONDERLAND was short-listed as Best Romantic Comedy by the Romantic Novelists' Association. Prior to writing books, Belinda spent ten years feature-writing for magazines including New Woman, more! and Empire. She lives in the USA with her Navy husband Jonathan and ever-grinning dog Bodie.<
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  Website: www.va-va-vacation.com

  Facebook: Belinda Jones Travel Club

  Twitter: @belindatravels

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/belinda-jones

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

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  Return to the contents list.

  FRENCH FOLLIES

  ***

  Lucy Lord

  Destination: St Tropez, France

  Lunch at Club 55 has to be one of life’s great pleasures. We’re sitting in the dappled shade of an ancient tamarisk tree, the Mediterranean sun so bright it renders the sand under our feet almost blindingly white. The linen cloth covering our bleached wooden table is a pleasingly sun-faded blue, a pale echo of the dark denim sky.

  I lift the half-empty bottle of rosé out of its moisture-beaded silver bucket and divide its contents between our two glasses.

  ‘Another?’ I ask, taking a sip.

  ‘Silly not to,’ Poppy grins. My oldest friend is looking as gorgeous as ever in white denim hot pants over a sage green string bikini that matches her eyes. We’ve only been swanning around St Tropez for a few days, but she’s already golden, her silky blonde hair streaked white by the sun. I’m wearing a short, floaty hot pink kaftan over my pale pink bikini, my long dark hair piled up on top of my head to keep my neck cool. At the grand old age of 27, we’re lapping up the glamour.

  I normally wouldn’t be able to afford such luxury, but Poppy’s TV production company owns a gorgeous bijou apartment in the old quarter, and the fact of staying there, rent free, combined with our Ryanair (fairly hellish, but thankfully short) flight, means we can treat ourselves to the odd extravagance. Hence Club 55, named after its inaugural year, when Brigitte Bardot and Roger Vadim arrived on the beach to film Et Dieu Crea La Femme.