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

by Belinda Jones

  ‘Helen put in three bedrooms and a private pool. She said this is the only thing that came up in our budget,’ said the best-looking man of the three.

  ‘You’re going to have to have a word with your missus when you get home,’ said Chorizo Boy.

  ‘She’s not my missus.’

  ‘She’s stitched us up, is what she’s done. Helen doesn’t trust you so she’s sent all three of us on holiday to a flippin’ monastery.’

  ‘You could have looked for accommodation yourself,’ the good-looking one pointed out. ‘I don’t see why I should get all the blame. Anyway,’ he sighed. ‘Letting her do it has saved me some earache. Now she knows there’s no chance of me spending a week looking at other girls’ tits. This place is full of bloody hikers.’

  Kelly knew she shouldn’t be listening in, but she couldn’t help it. She supressed a smile.

  Chorizo Boy launched into an impression of the good-looking one’s girlfriend. ‘Geee-orge! Geee-orgy boy! You’ve left your balls back in Birmingham! Geee-orgy!’

  Kelly sat up a little straighter. George. Helen. Birmingham? It couldn’t be. Could it? Kelly turned her head ever so slightly to get a better look. She’d never met Helen’s boyfriend in the flesh but she had seen plenty of pictures. As if on cue, he took off his sunglasses. It was him!

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ George told his friend.

  ‘If you marry her,’ said Chorizo Boy, ‘she’s going to have your balls on the canapés at the reception.’

  That was enough to send poor George storming into the darkness of the bar to get himself another beer. Kelly had to pay her bill. She followed.

  Kelly and George found themselves side by side at the bar. George gave Kelly the once-over. Kelly nodded.

  ‘Having a nice holiday?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘Only got here yesterday. Thought this place would be a bit, er, I don’t know, busier.’

  ‘I quite like the peace and quiet.’

  George looked at Kelly as though she’d said she liked banging her head against a wall. But because Kelly was the only woman under thirty that the three lads had seen since they arrived in the village, she was soon invited to join their table. The lads put aside their disappointment that they were an hour’s taxi ride from Magaluf and competed with each other to impress their new female friend. They sat outside the café for a couple of hours, making Kelly laugh with their tall tales. Chorizo Face and the one Kelly came to think of as Stripey for the lines cut into the side of his hair were both single and obviously making a play for her. But the one who made Kelly laugh most of all was George.

  ‘I’m off,’ Kelly said at last. ‘I planned to spend this afternoon in Soller.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ George asked.

  ‘Not far from here. It’s supposed to be beautiful. There’s a little train to take you from the village on the hill down to the sea.’

  ‘Can I come?’ George asked.

  Kelly decided that he could. This could be very interesting.

  It was clear to Kelly that George did not have a clue how they might be connected. He was not at all secretive about his life back in Birmingham. The other lads had already mentioned Helen a hundred times with the express purpose of preventing George from scoring with the only single girl in the village. He didn’t seem embarrassed by their antics. Not even when they accused him of being less than a man when he expressed an interest in seeing Soller’s cathedral.

  ‘Helen didn’t really mean for you to join the church!’ said Stripey.

  ‘Yeah,’ George said, as Kelly drove them back to the village after a lovely afternoon in Soller. ‘Me and Helen have been together for four years. I suppose that’s long enough to know, isn’t it really? And sometimes I really do love her but then she goes and says something that makes me think ‘what the hell’? It’s like she’s really beautiful on the outside but there’s something inside that’s not quite right. She hates other girls. Really hates them. For instance, there’s this girl in her office called Kelly, and she calls her Kelly Car Crash, on account of her being obese.’

  Kelly felt her cheeks colour.

  ‘She goes on and on about her. It gets really nasty. At first I thought it was funny when she used to do impressions of how this Kelly girl walked.’

  George puffed out his cheeks and rocked from side to side in the passenger seat in a little demonstration. ‘But then it got tired and I started to think, what’s this girl ever done to her? What does it matter to Helen if this girl’s enormous and she’s got BO and yellow teeth? Helen shouldn’t be making fun of her; she should be trying to help her out. Suggest some diet tips or something. Teeth-whitening.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kelly, keeping her teeth firmly covered.

  George continued. ‘I mean, sometimes it even makes me wonder if she’d be a good mother. If she’s that critical of a girl she works with, what would she be like if we had a daughter? Would she be on at her all the time about her hair or her weight?’

  Kelly glanced at George from the corner of her eye. She had not expected him to be so insightful.

  ‘It’s nearly sunset,’ he observed. ‘I know it sounds a bit soppy but would you mind if we stopped the car and watched it? We can still see the sea from here. The lads won’t want to do that kind of thing but I actually like it. Being in nature and stuff.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Kelly. She parked the car and they found themselves a view-point on top of a rock. It was a bit of a scramble to get up there but Kelly had been a tom-boy as a child and climbing held no fear for her.

  ‘You seem like a really sorted girl,’ said George, as the sun dipped into the ocean. ‘You’re really natural. You don’t care too much about your hair and your nails. I’d never have got Helen to climb up here. She’d be too worried about messing up her acrylics. You though, you seem like someone who likes to get down and dirty.’

  Kelly burst out laughing.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ said George. He seemed almost affronted.

  Over the next six days, George and Kelly spent quite a bit of time together. Though Kelly admitted that she too was from Birmingham, she steered George away from the ‘people in common’ conversation and her connection with Helen didn’t come up. Which isn’t to say that Kelly stopped thinking about the things Helen had said to her boyfriend. As George had described Kelly through Helen’s words, Kelly wondered what sort of picture George had in his mind’s eye. It clearly wasn’t the girl sitting in front of him. Helen had made her sound like a monster.

  ‘You’re really beautiful,’ he told her on the fourth day of their acquaintance.

  On the fifth day, they kissed.

  Kelly refused to feel bad. The portrait of Kelly that Helen had drawn for her boyfriend was of the kind of girl who couldn’t get a bloke to spill a drink on her, let alone buy one. Helen’s version of Kelly definitely couldn’t have expected to spend a balmy Mediterranean night in bed with Gorgeous George.

  The following morning, George told Kelly he wanted to see her again when they got back to Birmingham.

  ‘I’ve got to break up with Helen,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked a mini-break to stop her giving me earache about this lads’ trip but I don’t want to get her hopes up. I don’t want her to think I’ll propose.’

  Kelly said nothing.

  The last day of George’s holiday arrived. Kelly still had a few more nights before she flew home again herself. George was very romantic as he and Kelly strolled along the bustling waterfront at Puerto Pollensa but Kelly had no illusions about carrying on their holiday romance back in the grim grey Midlands.

  ‘Will you help me pack tonight?’ George asked her.

  ‘Sure,’ said Kelly. ‘Why not?’

  They came to a market.

  ‘Do you mind if we look?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘I’m used to being dragged around the shops,’ George assured her.

  There was a magnificent fish stall, piled high with the glittering treasure of the sea.
George took a photo of it.

  ‘How beautiful are those sardines?’ said Kelly. ‘I think I might buy two or three.’

  ‘What do you want to do that for?’ George asked. ‘I hate fish.’

  ‘But I love it. I’m going to cook myself some after you’ve gone. Keep my mind off missing you.’

  George was happy enough with that.

  Later that evening in George’s apartment, Kelly carefully folded George’s clothes while he sat on the closed loo seat and talked to Helen over the phone. He didn’t shut the bathroom door and Kelly could hear almost everything. Their conversation did not sound like a prelude to a break up.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve really missed you too, babe. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to do in this place.’

  Kelly felt stung as she remembered all the things they had done. What about the hair-raising drive down the hill-road to the Bounty ad beach at Formentor? How about snorkelling in the clear blue water off the coast there? Or marvelling at the stalactites in the Caves of Drach? Ambling through the old town at Palma? Sharing a cocktail at one of the classier clubs down on the beach there? Watching the sunset every evening? The list went on and on. But Helen would never know. George would never tell her, just as Kelly knew that he would never tell her their relationship was over.

  While George droned on about how boring he found Majorca, Kelly found herself staring at his suitcase. His borrowed suitcase. What kind of man went on holiday with his girlfriend’s lipstick pink Lulu Guinness suitcase? A man who was under the thumb, that’s what.

  Quick as a flash, while George was still talking, Kelly folded the fish she had bought at the market into a pile of George’s t-shirts. She put the t-shirts into the case and piled his jeans and shorts and hoodies on top of them. She tucked his shoes around them. The finished result was so neat and tidy, Kelly knew George wouldn’t bother to move any of it before he checked the bag in for the flight home. In fact, he would probably leave the suitcase zipped up until Helen was ready to take the contents out to put them in the wash. How long might that be? A couple of days? Even twenty-four hours would be long enough for the fish to make a lasting impression on George’s t-shirts and the Lulu Guiness wheelie. Kelly couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

  The following day, George flew back to Birmingham. Meanwhile, Kelly extended her stay at the lovely apartment in Fornalutx for the rest of the month. She then called to tell her boss at Whiteley’s Accountants that she would not be coming back. Her rolling temporary contract meant she didn’t need to give notice. She had some money saved. She’d been learning Spanish for months. She’d look for a job on the island and make the summer last. The only thing she regretted was not being able to ask Helen if Gorgeous George had been careful with her suitcase.

  About the Author

  Chrissie Manby is the author of sixteen romantic comedies including GETTING PERSONAL, THE MATCHBREAKER and SEVEN SUNNY DAYS. She has had several Sunday Times bestsellers and her recent novel about behaving badly after a break-up, GETTING OVER MR RIGHT, was nominated for the 2011 Melissa Nathan Award. Chrissie was raised in Gloucester and now lives in London. Contrary to the popular conception of chick-lit writers, she is such a bad home-baker that her own father threatened to put her last creation on www.cakewrecks.com. She is, however, partial to white wine and shoes she can’t walk in.

  Website: www.chrissiemanby.co.uk

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/ChrisManby

  Twitter: @chrissiemanby

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/chrissie-manby

  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.

  AN INDECENT PROPOSAL

  ***

  Louise Marley

  Destination: Sorrento, Italy

  Ryan March Dumps Girlfriend, said the magazine cover. Sure enough, there was a photo of Ryan at the Grammys, looking his usual sexy rumpled self, cuddled up with some singer called Destiny. And beside it was a photo of me, rumpled but not remotely sexy in pyjamas, bed hair and no make-up – because I was stupid enough to open my door to the paparazzi at six o’clock in the morning.

  Even I would have dumped me.

  There ought to be lessons in dating rock stars. Never look anything less than stunning, and never open the door to the paparazzi before breakfast. Better still, never leave the house at all.

  ‘Megan!’ I heard a familiar female voice shouting through my letter box. ‘I know you’re in there. Let me in right now!’

  There was no point in ignoring Gina. She was likely to keep yelling until I opened the door. So I did – just a crack, to check it was really her.

  Whereupon she announced, ‘I’m not that bloody skinny,’ and shoved the door wide open.

  ‘I was checking you weren’t the paparazzi,’ I told her.

  ‘There are no paparazzi, Megan. There was just one photographer who got lucky. Get a grip. It’s been what, three months?’

  ‘Four months, three weeks, six days,’ I said dolefully.

  ‘Whatever. I’m sick of seeing you moping about. I’m off to visit my father on Friday and you’re coming with me.’

  I stared at her open-mouthed. Gina was half-Italian, which meant her father lived in—

  ‘Sorrento? I can’t go all the way to Sorrento! I have a deadline! Some of us have to work for our living.’

  Gina worked in the London office of her father’s company, which meant she didn’t really work at all.

  Her gaze flicked towards my laptop lying closed on the table. ‘How much of that book have you actually written?’

  ‘I’ve got as far as chapter six—’

  ‘You were writing chapter six last week. Come to Sorrento. Bring your laptop, if you must. Judging from the amount of dust on the thing, I expect it would like a holiday too.’

  In the end I agreed. It was the only way to get rid of her. But when Gina had gone, I took out the dog-eared magazine I’d hidden beneath the sofa and looked again at the photo of Ryan and Destiny.

  Four months, three weeks, six days.

  Maybe it was time to move on.

  Gina’s father Stefano lived in a beautiful old villa, surrounded by lemon groves and nestled in the hills above Sorrento. The villa had been built by Gina’s great-grandfather, who had also founded the fruit-growing business that Stefano had transformed into a multi-media corporation – although it still had a lemon tree as its logo.

  Stefano had sent his driver to meet us at the airport, but when we finally arrived at the villa on Friday evening, it was to find every light on and the door wide open. I stepped out of the car onto the drive, and was almost knocked sideways by the loud music.

  Gina, as unruffled as ever, said, ‘My brother must be back from touring the States,’ and went inside.

  I paused long enough to see a man dive from one of the upstairs balconies into the swimming pool, before I hurried after her.

  Her brother Luca wasn’t just back home, he was having a party. Each room was heaving with the kind of people you usually only see in magazines. Gina, with her stunning figure and designer-label jeans, blended right in. Me, hot and tired in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, not so much.

  Thankfully Gina caught one look at my appalled face and dragged me through the crowd and up the stairs. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ she told me. ‘Take a shower and a few moments to relax, and then join us. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said doubtfully. Did I really have the confidence to fling myself into a night of wild partying? ‘Is there anyone here that I actually know?’

  ‘Loads,’ she said airily. ‘Now, I asked my father if you could have your usual room but, because it’s a suite, I had to tell him your boyfriend would be joining you later.’

  ‘You know I don’t have a boyfriend.’

  For a split second her dark eyes were completely without guile, a
nd then she spoilt it by winking. ‘Maybe you’ll meet someone while you’re here?’

  ‘Gina—’

  She spoke over the top of me. ‘Put your party dress on and I’ll see you downstairs! You’re here to have fun, remember?’

  I wasn’t sure I remembered how to have fun, but I certainly remembered this room, with its cream walls, dark furniture and beautiful Italian art. I remembered everything that had happened in that bed too, because Ryan had been in it with me.

  Now thoroughly depressed, I went out onto the balcony. I could see the lights of Sorrento stretching down the hill, and a pearly-white moon hanging so low in the sky I could have reached out and squeezed it.

  As I leaned against the stone balustrade I felt the tension ease away. Up here the music was not so loud. My fingers tapped out the beat, although I was hardly aware I was doing it. I’d always loved music. It was one of the things that had brought me and Ryan together. He and Luca were in a band together and I’d met Ryan during one of my previous visits here.

  The party had relocated to the garden. It was illuminated with pretty glass lanterns and, if I leaned right over the balustrade, I could see couples dancing.

  Beyond the terrace was a large swimming pool, now filled with men and women in various states of undress, splashing about and having a good time. All except for the man standing in the shallow end, his unbuttoned shirt swirling in the water around him. He was holding a wine glass in his hand, which wasn’t the smartest thing to have in a pool. As he was the same man I’d seen jump from the balcony earlier, presumably common sense wasn’t his forte.

  He must have sensed me watching him, because the next moment he was staring up at my balcony as though he’d seen a ghost.

  From his point of view he probably had. The ghost of a girlfriend past.