Janey considers calling Grace for dinner but decides to leave her friend to it. Besides, she had an outstanding choripan – an Argentinean hotdog – from a little café earlier on. The man bought it for her with a can of Coke. Not Diet Coke, like Grace always insists on them having, but full-fat, full-sugar, sweet, cold, chemical Coca-Cola straight from the bottle. Janey loves Grace but she is done with artificial sweeteners. They suck.
She stands by the window, smiling. She doesn’t even know the man’s name. They parted before it became too dark to cycle, saying that they’d maybe ‘see each other around’.
She doesn’t know if she will see him around. She hopes so, but what’s rather nice is that her world won’t end if she doesn’t. A new chapter has started; she’s certain of it. A good one. A happy one.
And that, she recognises, is a gift of inestimable value.
She has a shower and then gets into bed, grateful for an early night. She thinks briefly about turning on her phone to read her emails and then realises that she doesn’t care enough about her emails to bother. The sheets are soft and cool against her skin.
A deep, happy tiredness folds in.
She rolls over to turn the light off and finds Grace’s statue of Jesus looking at her.
I couldn’t have sex with Jesus watching, said a note underneath. Could you look after him for me tonight?
Janey turns off the light and laughs into the darkness. ‘I can’t even imagine what you’ve had to witness these last few days,’ she says to the statue. ‘I suspect you’re probably quite traumatised. But don’t you worry, Jesus, you’re very safe in this bedroom.’
When Janey wakes the next morning, she eyeballs Jesus for a few minutes and then sits bolt upright.
‘Jesus! You did it!’ she cries. ‘You answered my prayer!’
Jesus watches her serenely.
Just one day, she had asked for. Just one day in which she didn’t think about him. It had happened. Her first! Her second would come soon. And then her third, fourth, fifth – days turning into weeks until one day she would remember that flat in Ranelagh and think, ‘Oh, remember him? What was his name? Dick? Donald?’
Janey leaps out of bed and hugs the statue. ‘Thank you, Jesus,’ she says gratefully. ‘Thank you so very much.’
About the Author
Lucy Robinson writes laugh-out-loud romantic fiction for thinking women and is overly fond of long titles. Her first two novels, THE GREATEST LOVE STORY OF ALL TIME and A PASSIONATE LOVE AFFAIR WITH A TOTAL STRANGER, have been published by Penguin to great acclaim and her third is on its way.
Prior to writing, Lucy earned her crust in theatre production and then factual television, working on documentaries for all of the UK’s major broadcasters. Her writing career began when she started a dating blog for Marie Claire where she entertained readers with frank tales from her laughably unsuccessful foray into the world of Internet dating. Lucy recently returned to the UK after an eighteen-month stint being a bohemian novelist in South America. She lives in South London with her partner, The Man.
Website: www.lucy-robinson.co.uk
Twitter: @Lucy_Robinson
Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/lucy-robinson
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.
OVER THE HUMP
***
Talli Roland
Destination: Cairo, Egypt
‘Hey, beautiful, you want camel?’
Clare yanked her gaze from the pyramid in front of her and turned towards the eager man, her lips almost lifting in a smile. In all her life, she’d never imagined being called beautiful and asked about a camel in the same breath. But even that couldn’t lift the dark mood that had swamped her for the past few days. The past five days, to be exact: ever since she’d said yes to Jon’s proposal.
‘La, shokrun.’ Clare shook her head in case the man clutching the smelly animal didn’t understand her dodgy accent. If she’d actually planned on travelling to Cairo, she would have taken the trouble to learn more Arabic than ‘no’ and ‘thank you’. How ironic that those were the two words she should have uttered back in the UK, when Jon had asked her to marry him. She knew he wasn’t right for her – knew the traits she’d admired as ambitious and organized now seemed controlling and tedious – but she hadn’t been able to spit out the words. Instead, she’d clenched her jaw and nodded, the usual reaction when Jon wanted something she didn’t.
Clare glanced down at her finger, where a huge, princess-cut diamond sparkled in the scorching sun. It was everything she hadn’t wanted, despite the fact she’d told Jon she didn’t like flashy jewellery. He probably hadn’t listened in the first place.
Well, taking off to Egypt was something he couldn’t ignore, Clare thought, backing away from the man and beast still eyeing her hopefully. Even now, as she stared over at the decaying face of the Sphinx, she couldn’t believe she’d come here on a whim. Less a whim and more the urge to escape, she sighed. The sense of dread and claustrophobia at the thought of marrying Jon had propelled her from his self-satisfied smile and the congratulatory buzz of friends and relatives.
He’d insisted on driving to the airport, firing question after question at her as he tried to understand the hasty departure. Clare hadn’t even attempted to explain – if she spoke one word, he’d pounce on it and try to make her ‘see reason’ like he always did. She didn’t have the energy to fight her corner. In fact, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d bothered disagreeing with Jon. Usually, it wasn’t worth the effort.
Another sigh lifted Clare’s shoulders and she raised a hand to wipe away the sweat on her upper lip. November, and it was still above thirty degrees. Jon would have hated this; he got so cranky when he overheated.
‘Miss? You want camel? I take you for a ride!’ The man shook the camel’s reins and the animal shifted uneasily.
The only place that camel looked set to go was off to the slaughterhouse, Clare thought, eyeing the animal’s skinny, weathered flanks. It furled back its lips, revealing yellow teeth. The expression in its large brown eyes was something like boredom and condescension, the same way Jon regarded her when she annoyed him. Or was she just imagining things?
‘No, thanks.’ She responded in English this time, then turned and plodded through the sand towards the back of the pyramid, where the hoard had thinned. The site was like a fairground, with coaches of tourists from every nation; an assortment of camels, donkeys and horses; and ragtag teens and men plying everything from t-shirts to soft drinks. So much for her idealistic vision of windswept orbs in the desert – the city almost came right up to the foot of the Pyramids! In fact, from where she was standing, she could see the countless minarets and high-rises dotting the skyline. Nothing was as she’d pictured.
Cairo wasn’t exactly providing the escape she’d hoped for, Clare mused, dodging a pudgy man with a video camera. No matter how she filled her days – felucca on the Nile, the Cairo Tower, mummies at the museum – that moment she’d said yes to Jon’s proposal hovered in the air, taunting her. If only she could go back in time, gather her strength, and say no…
She shuddered, picturing what lay before her when she returned to England: Jon would have already plotted all wedding-related details on his trusty Excel spreadsheet, the same way he’d plotted every other major life event in their nine years together. Clare grimaced at the memory of their ‘spontaneous’ beach holiday in Majorca broken down into Excel-cell-sized bits.
‘Camel! Miss! Camel!’
Oh my God, were they following her? She picked up pace, hurrying towards the golden rocks of the pyramid’s wall. From far away, they appeared so neat and ordered. Up close, though, it almost seemed like they’d been heaped on top of each other. A wry smile tugged Clare’s lips as she pictured Jon’s disapproving reaction to the tumbling st
ones, quickly replaced by a frown as anger curled through her. She’d come all this way to get away from her fiancé, but still he invaded every thought. How had she got to the point where she couldn’t even look at a pile of rocks without being reminded of him? And forget rocks – had she really agreed to a marriage proposal she didn’t want just because it was easier?
‘Miss!’
Right up against the side of the pyramid now, Clare had no choice but to reluctantly face the duo. Maybe she should say yes, take the bloody camel ride, and then they’d leave her alone. But she didn’t want to climb on the back of the smelly, fly-swarmed animal. God damn it, she shouldn’t have to say yes for a minute’s peace!
‘Only one hundred Egyptian pounds. Best deal at Pyramids! Here, you get on now.’ The man advanced but Clare stood her ground, an unfamiliar spurt of determination rushing through her. Enough was enough. If this bloke thought he could bully her into camel-riding, he’d better think again.
‘I. Don’t. Want. A. Camel. Ride.’ The words shot out of her like bullets.
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘No? No camel?’
Clare shook her head. ‘No. No camel.’ God, she sounded quite… certain. It’d been ages since she’d been so assertive.
‘You could have just said so,’ the man grumbled, taking the animal’s reins and leading it away.
Incredulously, Clare watched them go. She could have just said so? How many times had she said no? As if running away hadn’t been clear enough . . . She dropped her head to study the sand as a thought struck her: running away from Jon wasn’t the answer, either. If she wanted to end their relationship, she needed to face him head-on.
Clare breathed in, feeling her lungs expand with hot, gritty Cairo air. Jon would listen when she got home, because she was going to tell him no, thank you. No, she didn’t want to marry him and his spreadsheets. The two of them might have worked at one time, but now – standing in the shadow of the huge pyramid – Clare knew beyond a doubt they didn’t any more. She’d found her voice, and she’d say the words she needed to get her life back on track.
And all it had taken was one mangy camel.
About the Author
Talli Roland writes fun, romantic fiction. Born and raised in Canada, Talli now lives in London, where she savours the great cultural life (coffee and wine). Despite training as a journalist, Talli soon found she preferred making up her own stories – complete with happy endings. Talli's debut novel, THE HATING GAME, was selected as an Amazon Customer Favourite. Her novels have also been chosen as top books of the year by industry review websites and have been bestsellers in Britain and the United States.
Her most recent novel is THE POLLYANNA PLAN.
Website: www.talliroland.com
Twitter: @talliroland
Blog: www.talliroland.blogspot.com
Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/talli-roland
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.
PABLO
***
Ruth Saberton
Destination: Spain
Ellie didn’t mean to swim out quite so far, right beyond the shelter of the bay and into the vast expanse of glittering blue. No, swimming this distance had happened totally by accident and simply because she was tired of sitting on the beach with only her knotted thoughts for company. Normally nothing would tear her away from drowsing on her sunlounger and enjoying the Spanish sun toasting her limbs but today, the fourth of this nightmare holiday, found her every cell itching with the longing for something, anything, to happen.
While the playa filled with sun-reddened holiday makers, Ellie had flicked through Grazia and watched the glittering water beyond the slither of sand prickled with sunshades like hedgehog spikes. Every now and then a jet ski zoomed past, lacing the indigo sea with white frills and towing screaming tourists on inflatables. It looked like a lot of fun and she quite fancied a go herself – almost as much as she fancied the look of the muscled and tanned guys who drove them! Up and down the coastline they went, the screeches and laughter of their passengers drifting towards the shore, as they drove with the flair and panache that came from a lifetime spent on the water and beneath the sun.
Ellie had sighed as she watched. Their life in the sunshine was certainly a world away from the leaden skies and endless rooftops of Uxbridge, and the pulse-racing speed of their personal watercraft far removed from her days data inputting. Talk about a different world. And what a waste of her Spanish degree! Whatever happened to her dreams of living in Spain? Crushed, that was what had happened to them. They’d been buried beneath bills, rent payments and the demands of a boyfriend whose idea of adventure was ordering from Dominos rather than Pizza Hut.
Ellie sat up and squinted at the horizon, pushing her Oakley’s up her nose with her forefinger. Another jet ski growled by and she couldn’t help thinking how different the driver was to Tim. It was maybe a disloyal thought but nevertheless one she couldn’t quite push away once it had surfaced. Smooth olive skin, glossy ebony hair and a ripped physique in board shorts were as far removed from Tim’s pink, sunburned limbs, peeling nose and clashing scarlet England shirt as it was possible for anything to be. Not that there was any sign of Tim so far today. He hated the heat as much as he hated foreign food and had opted to stay at the hotel where she knew from experience he’d park himself in the sports bar with a pint of lager and Sky Sports on tap. He may as well be back at home and in the Coach and Horses. In fact, she strongly suspected he would be much happier back home in the Coach.
Ellie frowned. So much for a holiday bringing them closer together. Coming here with Tim had been a mistake. Within hours of unpacking their cases the bright Spanish sunshine had illuminated all the cracks in their relationship that the drizzle and gloom and daily routine hid most of the time. While Ellie loved soaking up the sun, Tim was constantly moaning about the heat, shouting at the waiters in that cringe-making English way that implied they were all idiots and that increasing his volume would leap any language barrier, and scratching his mosquito bites. He moaned about the food, spent every spare minute in the bar and yesterday she had even caught him surfing the adult channels. After dinner – paella for her beer and chips for him – Tim had passed out leaving Ellie feeling uneasy and tearful. Maybe it was just the heat getting to him? Perhaps tomorrow they could skip the beach and take a trip to the hills instead. It would be cooler up there; that would cheer Tim up.
Oh who was she trying to kid? It wasn’t working. It hadn’t been for ages, if she was honest. If only she could leap onto one of those jet skis and zoom off into the distance, with the spray on her face and adventures in front of her. Not that there was much hope of that today. Those rides set off from the next resort along the coast, Playa Julio, a far more expensive spot where power boats bobbed idly in swish marinas and women with Caramac tans and giant sunglasses sipped cocktails with men in white suits and gold chains. Ellie’s hotel was in neighbouring Puerto Blanca, a resort so sleepy it should be wearing pajamas. This was another bone of contention as Tim was tired of the beach and wanting more bars to visit. If he whinged one more time about not going to Benidorm she would be in serious danger of beating him to death with his Man U season ticket. Couldn’t he see that real Spain, the Spain of shocking pink geraniums, white walls and sloe-eye Señoritas was much more interesting than trawling the English bars?
But, rather like Don Quixote tilting at Windmills, Ellie was wasting her time. Tim had made it clear that he was not venturing out into the heat anytime soon. It looked like she’d be spending this holiday alone.
To escape her whirling thoughts Ellie had abandoned her magazine and sarong and wandered down to the water’s edge. The cold sea was lemon sharp against her hot skin but she waded in anyway and started to swim. It was odd but with each stroke her thoughts seemed to calm. Ell
ie wasn’t a keen swimmer – several lengths of the slow lane with her head carefully held at an awkward angle to avoid wrecking her hair was generally enough – but today she just found herself swimming and swimming, loving the way the water sparkled like the Swarovski factory. There was something so enjoyable about physical exercise after being cooped up with her thoughts that she carried on.
A mile or so out of the bay and around the headland something changed. At first Ellie didn’t really notice that the waves were slightly choppier because the welcome breeze that whipped them into sharp peaks was blissfully cool against her cheeks. Lost in thought she didn’t notice either that her arms were pulling harder against the swell or that the waves were growing larger. By the time she did start to tire Ellie was surprised to discover just how far out she was. The beach was just a distant slice of gold and her hotel a white Lego brick amidst greenery. For a moment she trod water, struck by how the distance changed perspective. Even the nagging unease that was her relationship with Tim had receded. She’d sort it. She had to.
The breeze picked up and Ellie shivered. Although the sun was a gold coin in the bright blue sky the water was icicle cold and her limbs rippled with goose bumps. It was time to turn back. She’d dry out on her sun lounger, read a bit more of Grazia and then check out the buffet. She flipped around and started to strike out for the shore but to her horror discovered that the tide was against her. Even doubling her efforts seemed to make little difference and no matter how hard she swam, she was barely moving. Within minutes her muscles were screaming and she was starting to shiver, her teeth chattering like castanets.
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