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

by Belinda Jones

  And the supermodel or rich guy’s girlfriend you want to be – with the ‘stunning figure’/‘gym-honed body’ surfacing from the sea.

  When you imagine her life, it is perfect with rows of shoes in a walk-in wardrobe; she attends the parties you wish you could, that look such fun. She can never feel life is passing her by.

  That’s me. The Facebook photo album of my life is without defect. I am tagged in photos drinking champagne on yachts, dripping with diamonds at premieres, laughing on a beach. Isn’t that what everyone does? Showcase the highlights, the edited version of their lives for you to envy?

  A shadow looms as I rub lotion into my calves, blocking the sun. Heart quickening, I squint up and see the girl with freckles.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Oh, hullo,’ I say, glad it is not him.

  ‘Listen, it’s happy hour. You wanna join us for a drink?’

  I push my shades on top of my head, not wanting to seem rude and to meet her twinkling blue eyes with matching tripod creases at the sides.

  The girl hops from foot to foot on the baking hot ground and she says, ‘Cheers ears,’ as I hand her my flip-flops.

  Then: ‘It looks like Sal’s got them in.’

  She hands me a huge glass of gloopy, yellow liquid with a cherry and umbrella on top and sits on the empty sunlonger between me and her group of four.

  ‘Been to any of the beach parties? Should do. Koh Samui’s famous for ‘em. You staying here?’ I sip the drink, which tastes of coconut, pineapple and danger. It is delicious. ‘Lucky you. We’re at a cheaper place along the beach. Pay the daily rate to use the pool here. Zoe and Suze over there, they’re on the look-out for a millionaire to whisk them away. Me? I’m not so fussy, any cock’ll doodle doo.’

  Her laugh is dirty, contagious and cackling from the Marlboro Lights she chain-smokes.

  ‘I’m Annie by the way.’

  I tell her my name is Lucy.

  ‘Oi,’ Sal says as swings her legs round to face me.

  Her hair is fine, straight and strawberry blonde; shoulders a little burnt, pale eyes finely glazed from afternoon drinks. ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying but we’re all like, “Look at her. Look at her figure. Look at ‘er clothes. Must be loaded to stay here. And beautiful.” Make me a bit sick, you lucky cow.’

  I too used to look at that perfect woman and want to be her so badly it hurt.

  I had a vision of my future self, cruising down the King’s Road in a shiny four-by-four wearing a headscarf and oversized shades like the leading lady in an old Hollywood movie. I guess the image came true.

  In my own way, I thought I would be flying the flag for feminism, emancipated by this money that had come without graft.

  I was never in love, but I was ready to be and told myself this was it. A man who could provide for our family; give me the lifestyle I desperately desired. A fairytale for The X Factor generation entitled to that shortcut. An easy life.

  In the room, I tell him I popped out for a swim, needed to cool down after our afternoon antics and the corners of his mouth lift in the hint of a satisfied grin.

  At dinner, I watch people over his shoulder as he inhales his platter of lobster, head bent down to reveal a thinning pate, buttery sauce smearing his stubble and lips.

  There are no walls in the restaurant and the vast, black ocean is beautiful and terrifying. I imagine walking into it, the cool water above my head.

  Above, an awning is studded with twinkling stars.

  A stone Buddha keeps watch as candles flicker in the gentle sea breeze.

  The couple behind stare adoringly into each other’s eyes, her fork held to his mouth to taste her food and I wonder how that must feel – to be somewhere so beautiful with someone you love.

  When her boyfriend goes to the toilet, I feel her eyes on me, elevating to my face inch by inch.

  Shoes that cost two grand, impossibly glossed legs, dusky pink satin dress worn by that actress in her magazine, salon-perfect hair falling in tumbles of expensive, honeyed blondes.

  This is what she sees when she clicks on me.

  Everything has a price, but at what cost?

  I look down and trace the string of diamonds on my wrist.

  Click on the thumbnail image of me in the bath until my body prunes in the water, which has long turned cold, too afraid to get out.

  Look closely to see the loneliness that clings to my skin.

  ‘I want to go to bed,’ he tells me. ‘Early start tomorrow.’

  In the bedroom, which is huge, pristine and white, peppered with gold fixtures – taps that glisten in the bathroom, a chandelier at the foot of the bed – I wait for sleep.

  I think of the caravan holidays we had as kids, giggling with my sister in a single berth that smelled of damp, where the dinner table doubled up as a bed for my little brother. Only years later did I hate the experience because it marked us out as poor.

  In the morning, it takes a moment to realise I am alone, the sheets twisted and crumpled where he has been.

  He left early for Bangkok on business. I have three days here by myself before my flight to London.

  On the bedside table is a small grey box tied in a neat bow with a ribbon of pastel pink. Inside is the ring lined with tiny rubies from the jewellery shop downstairs. A brown paper envelope is stuffed with Thai Bhat.

  Quickly, I dress, mind racing and dizzy-drunk with liberation.

  I can’t stop thinking about her. The girl with freckles and mousy hair.

  Opening the balcony doors, I see her by the pool, head thrown back in laughter revealing the horseshoe of her teeth. Her face flickers and blurs in the heat of the sun. I wonder if she’ll think it too early for a drink.

  Racing down the stairs, two at a time, I cannot wait.

  Mismatched bikini, cheap sunglasses, cocktails, friends, hangover, regrettable drunken sex, shitty bedsit, job, authenticity, filthy jokes, college, pros and cons, bring it on, be alone; free and alive, know what it means; look for love, get it wrong, get it right, ‘get a room’, get a life.

  You are the woman I see and desperately want to be.

  About the Author

  Martel Maxwell is a redhead who hails from Dundee in Scotland. After training to be a criminal lawyer, she opted for a career in journalism, becoming the Sun's first graduate trainee. Spotting her love of partying, she became the paper's showbiz reporter and lost a few years to free bars and canapés. Martel drew on her experiences to write her debut novel SCANDALOUS, published by Michael Joseph (Penguin), about a showbiz reporter called Max who drinks too much and her posh half-sister Lucy who falls for Britain's most eligible bachelor. It was named Book of the Week by Heat and Piers Morgan described it as 'a brilliantly waspish insight into the mad world of showbiz.' Martel is a freelance presenter on television shows including Lorraine and The One Show and is writing her second novel.

  She recently gave birth to a baby boy Monty (the father is the first boy she kissed. He just took two decades to ask her out!) and she splits her time between Dundee and London.

  Website: www.martelmaxwell.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/martelmaxwell

  Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/martelmaxwell

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/martel-maxwell

  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.

  WATERFALLING IN LOVE

  ***

  Nigel May

  Destination: Brazil

  The first thing Keren noticed about the breathtakingly handsome man standing about five metres in front of her was his dazzling ice-white smile. It was picture perfect. The kind that shone out from leading men on movie posters. It reached east to west across the equally striking features surrounding it. The richness of his latte-brown skin, the full roundness of his wickedly inviting lips and the sculpted firm
ness of his topless body. The man, no more than mid-twenties in age, was a God and he appeared to be looking directly at Keren.

  He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

  So why did he have to be smiling at her at this very moment? Allowing herself an awkward lop-sided grin in his direction, she looked down at her own less-than-perfect appearance. Her clothes, a t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, were wet through, and one of her sandals was fraying at the edge. Two purple-blush bruises had already started to appear on her knees. Megan Fox eat your heart out she thought to herself, her mind twisting itself into a cringe.

  Not that Keren normally looked like this. She was walking along a dusty path in a Brazilian forest. The reason for being soaking wet? She’d just spent the afternoon being tossed around in an inflatable dinghy venturing into the teeming sprays of some of the 270 plus falls that made up her current location, the Iguazu Falls, housed within the Iguazu National Park on the border between Brazil and Argentina. She was not exactly dressed for a night out dancing Gangnam Style at one of her regular Manchester haunts back home in the UK. Today was definitely more Indiana Jones rather than Catherine Zeta...

  When Keren’s dad had offered to take her to Brazil on a business trip – he was currently clinching some megabucks wine import deal at a hotel in Sao Paulo for the family vino business, Naipier Wines – she had leapt at the chance. When she’d spotted Iguazu in her Brazilian guide book she’d left her dad for a two-day solo jaunt to the most famous of Iguazu’s falls, The Devil’s Throat, a U-shaped waterfall almost 500 feet across and well over 300 feet in height. It’s lure was too great and appealed much more to her inner sense of thrill-seeker than traipsing around endless designer shops in Sao Paulo.

  But now, standing in her wet clothes that seemed to be clinging to every unwanted curve on her 23-year-old body (she’d secured a deep-seated liking for Dulce de Leche, a sugary calorie-laden Brazilian dessert since her arrival in the country several days ago and was now regretting every delicious mouthful), Keren was willing the ground to open up and swallow her. Why wasn’t she wearing one of her figure-flattering tops, a designer heel and a beautifully applied mascara? Oh crap! She placed her hand to her eyes and rubbed gently. Black streaks of non-waterproof mascara and a hint of smoky eye shadow smudged across her digits.

  The man really was a thing of beauty and he didn't seem in any hurry to quit with his divine smile which was as enticing and as potently, seductively lethal as a Brazilian Jalapeno Caipirinha cocktail. Suddenly aware that neither of them had actually spoken as yet, Keren attempted to ransack her brain to find a suitable ice-breaker. Something that would befit both the tropical temperatures and the frisson of sexuality she felt in the air. As her mind started to wander off into lustful daydreams, she allowed herself to scan down the entirety of his chiselled torso.

  ‘Oh my goodness, you have a snake in your hand!’ The words had spilled from Keren’s lips before she had even had a chance to consider any potential innuendo in her opening gambit. The fact of the matter was that the young man in front of her did indeed have a snake in his hand. ‘It’s massive!’ Again, she shooed away the ripple of would-be smut pin-balling around her mind. Once more her words were true. The man did have a somewhat sizable, brightly coloured serpent wrapped around his hand and looping up his muscular forearm.

  ‘Hello there. This is a river serpent, but they can live out of water for a bit so he doesn’t mind being with me. This one is a baby. He’s called Boi. They can grow to quite a monstrous size if need be.’ He waggled the creature towards Keren as he spoke. There was nothing menacing about the action, but it still caused Keren to catch her breath. The last time she had been this close to a snake was at the UK’s Paradise Wildlife Park and at least that had been behind a rather comforting pane of glass. She couldn’t help but stare, somewhat mesmerised, at both the creature and the deity holding it.

  The man spotted the look of worry across Keren’s face and seemed keen to put her at ease. ‘I’m Taroba by the way, I grew up around here so I guess I’m a little more used to the wildlife than you. Did you enjoy the boat trip? I love hearing the screams from everyone as you get bounced around and soaking wet. It looks like you sampled the complete experience!’ he joked, nodding at her clothes and the few drips that still seemed to be cascading from the bottom of her shorts onto the forest floor with a hearty plop.

  ‘Yes, you could say that. I did attempt to dry myself off but I figured the sunshine would do that for me anyway. My name’s Keren by the way. Like Karen but with an ’e’. My mum was a Bananarama fan. Not that you probably know them, seeing as you live in the middle of the Brazilian forest. Guess 80s pop might have passed you by...she loved them...’ Keren’s words petered out, suddenly aware that she was gibbering on about a subject matter that would be as alien to someone like Taroba as trying to discuss the storylines of Made In Chelsea. Eager to change the subject, she tried another line of conversation. ‘Do you work here at the falls?’ It seemed a lot safer and a better springboard for common ground.

  ‘I know this area like the back of my hand. I have been here all my life. It’s an amazing place, full of mystery and wonder. If a person can’t find beauty here then I truly believe that they have no beauty in their heart. I consider it to be one of the most incredible places in the world. If I remain in this very spot for my entire life then I would still be happy. I feel it within me, the power of the falls, the diversity of the fauna, the magic of the landscape. It’s unique. It’s the most spectacular secret of the natural world.’

  Keren could feel her heart skip a beat as he spoke. His voice, rich and layered with respect for his surroundings, was that of a storyteller. He was one of those people you immediately knew you could listen to and look at all day. Despite the solitude of their situation, Keren felt no danger being alone with the stranger.

  ‘It's breathtaking,’ she said, still keeping one eye on the snake while allowing her other to take in as much of Taroba’s body and face as possible without seeming overly hankering and desperate. She hadn’t felt such a strong initial attraction to somebody since her teenage days, and then the object of her affection had been Robbie Williams at the stage door after a concert in Manchester. The fifteen-second crazed-fan clinch, rapidly interrupted by one of Robbie’s security team, had left her on cloud nine for weeks. But Robbie was rock fantasy. The forest vision in front of her now was very much a reality. Trust Keren to start swooning over someone a mere 6000 miles away from home.

  ‘This place is a Natural World Heritage Site, isn’t it? UNESCO deemed it so. And it’s been named as one of the seven natural wonders of the world. I may have only just arrived today but I can understand why. It’s so beautiful. In fact, everything about it is....even the people I’ve met.’ Keren put a flirty emphasis on the word everything. She may not have been looking her best, given her wet clothes/smudged make-up combo but opportunities with drop-dead gorgeous strangers didn’t come along very often and she was determined to flirt as much as she could. She’d only planned to stay in Iguazu for another two nights but Taroba could be a very welcome addition to Keren’s list of ‘must-sees’ for her visit.

  Taroba was still leaning against the tree where Keren had first spotted him. The lushness of the green leaves and the strong chocolate hues of the bark seemed to suit him. He was at one with his surroundings. There was an air of calm about him. It was no wonder he worked within the confines of the Iguazu Park, she thought to herself. They fitted together.

  ‘May I walk with you, Keren? I can tell you more about the area. I’ll just let Boi loose first.’ Taroba leant down and unwrapped the serpent from around his arm. As he did so, the snake slithered its multi-coloured way through the greenery and headed towards the river. ‘The serpent wishes to swim. I shall meet Boi again when the snake desires.’

  ‘You’re telling me the snake can search you out? I didn’t think they were like dogs, able to sniff their way back to their master. How does Boi know where to find you
?’ Could snakes sniff? Could they slide back to humans like reptilian homing pigeons? Keren was beginning to wish she’d watched more David Attenborough programmes. Shame they always seemed to clash with one of the soaps.

  ‘I am not Boi’s master. The snake searches out his family in the water and then maybe joins me later.’

  ‘How? I’m sure I read in my guide book that this place has some of the densest vegetation around and that there are over 2000 different species of plant in Iguazu. How will a baby snake work its way through that lot to find you?’

  ‘We meet by the tree. My tree. Where you found me.’ He pointed at its trunk before adding, ‘Where I found you.’

  Keren was sure she spotted a sudden twinkle in his deep green eyes.

  ‘Isn’t the plant life here some of the most lush in the world thanks to the mass of water surrounding it?’ she asked. ‘I read that during the wet season enough water goes over the falls to provide London with its entire water supply for a whole year!’

  ‘Everything about this area is lush. It is nourished by the vast and continuous cloud of fine spray from the falls. ‘Iguazu’ means ‘Big Water’ – it is everywhere.’ The two of them were walking alongside each other, not close enough to touch but close enough to seem cosy and intimate. Keren could feel the heat of the Brazilian sun finding its welcome way through the overhead canopy of leaves and warming her skin. She was happy to listen to her new friend as they walked. Who needed a guide book when you had someone like Taroba, an expert?

  ‘The plants are strange and diverse, as in the wildlife. You will see toucans. They are more likely to be seen in the early morning or late in the afternoon. Always look at the tops of the trees, mostly as you make your way to Devil’s Throat. There are monkeys, weasels and hundreds of butterflies that light up the sky with their pearlescent wings like a flying circus. It’s magnificent.’