Beach Hut Surprise: Escape to Little Piddling this summer — six feel-good beach reads to make you smile, or even laugh out loud

by Libertà Books

  And his mind worked pretty well, it seemed. He got over the minor embarrassment of lying about his age and went back on the attack. "Do you have a name, Mr Vampire?"

  That was another first. MISTER Vampire? I choked down a laugh. I'm not Mr anything, of course. Over the centuries, one—er—acquires stuff. Money, land, mansions. That sort of thing. And titles. I have lots of those, bestowed by different royal houses, some quite willingly. My titles are mostly German-sounding. Many of them include von or zu; some of them even include von und zu as a job lot. Theobald Victor Heinrich, Graf von und zu Oberuntermittelbergthal has quite a ring to it, don't you think? And that's only the start of them.

  "Mr Vampire? You do have a name, don't you?"

  The little squirt was back in impertinent mode.

  I resisted the urge to squash him. "Theo," I said.

  "Theo what?"

  Oh, William would take the gold medal in the cheek Olympics.

  "If I told you, Just William, you'd be bored stiff and nodding off before I got to the end of the list. It goes on for hours. So let's stick to just Theo, shall we?"

  He nodded.

  "And while we're at it, what are you doing on the beach at this time of night? Aren't little boys supposed—?" No, not tactful. "Aren't young gentlemen of nearly nine supposed to be in bed when it's dark?"

  "Oh, I did that hours ago. Bedtime story, goodnight kiss, the whole nine yards."

  I gave him the eyebrow again. "Nine yards?"

  "Sorry, Mr Theo. Naval slang. My father was in the Navy, you see. It means the whole kit and caboodle."

  "Kit and caboodle. Uh. Right. I'm sure it does." I allowed myself a sigh. "And less of the Mr Theo, if you please. Let's do a deal, shall we? I'll call you William and you call me Theo. Just Theo."

  He stuck out a hand. "Fair enough. Just Theo." He grinned. We shook.

  "So, William, if you did the whole kit and caboodle in your bedroom, what are you doing here on the beach, making idle conversation with a passing vampire, may I enquire?"

  "Ah." He frowned, as if considering something momentous. "If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it a secret. OK, Just Theo?"

  "If you call me 'Just Theo' one more time," I said through gritted fangs, "I will change my mind about the succulence of nearly nine-year-old boys. Got it?"

  "Hm. OK. Got it. And do you promise to keep my secret, Theo?"

  What could be such a big deal for a child of his age? "I promise."

  "Cross your heart and hope to die?" That seemed to come out automatically.

  I drew in a long noisy breath through pursed lips. Theatrical, I know, but sometimes one does have to belabour the point. "Vampires can do many things, young man, but dying isn't one of them."

  "Oh. Um. Yes."

  "Not even to keep a promise to you. I've pledged you my word. And the word of a vampire is worth something. So now…give. What are you doing here? And how did you—er—escape?"

  "It's no biggie, but you mustn't let on to the grown-ups. I wait till Mum and Dad are sitting in front of the telly with a bottle of wine and I climb down the tree outside my bedroom window. Dad's a bit deaf—didn't always wear his ear defenders when he was in the Navy, Mum says—so he has the sound turned up loud. They wouldn't hear me if I was a herd of elephants."

  I resisted the urge to point out that elephants don't generally climb down trees. Instead, I asked very politely, "Don't they ever check up on you when you're supposed to be asleep?"

  "Come on, Theo. Didn't you ever heap up the bedclothes so it looked like you were still in there, fast asleep?"

  It was a very long time since I'd been William's age so I couldn't remember much. One thing I was sure of. As a child, I'd never, ever had a bedroom to myself. "When I was a lad, William, I was working so hard all day that I was asleep the instant I hit the mattress. So I had no energy left for silly pranks like yours."

  "It's not a silly prank," he protested. "I come down here at night because there's things to see. Weird things happen around these beach huts. I even saw a vampire, once." He was looking very knowing, all of a sudden.

  I'd had about enough by that stage. "If you keep on making clever-clever comments like that," I snapped, "this vampire may be the last thing you ever see." I flashed the fangs again, but this time he didn't show any fear at all. He just shook his head at me.

  "Oh, I didn't mean you, Theo. I meant the other one."

  Chapter Two

  William couldn't tell me much about the other vampire. It didn't sound like anyone I knew. In fact, it didn't sound like a vampire at all.

  "What did you actually see, William?"

  "He was wearing one of those huge black swirly cloaks. Like yours. But he had a big hat, too, so I couldn't see his face."

  "Huh. No face, no fangs, no vampire, I'd say. You saw someone in a cloak and you assumed he was a vampire. You've got too many fantasy stories tumbling around in that head of yours, young man."

  "No, I haven't. I know he was a vampire. Like I knew you were a vampire. I did, didn't I? Straight off."

  He had me there. I changed the subject. "Where did you see him? When did you see him? More than once?"

  "Only the once," he admitted sadly.

  "So what made you decide he was a vampire? Rather than—oh, I don't know—a ghost, or something?"

  "Because ghosts don't turn into bats and fly away."

  Ah. "He—um—did the bat bit, did he?"

  William nodded. "Just the one bat, mind." He sounded disappointed.

  "Did you expect more than one?" Honestly, I was mystified by the way this lad's mind worked. Sometimes, he seemed far too clever for eight. Sometimes, like now, he was just plain daft. "One vampire, one bat. Tends to be the way things pan out."

  "Not necessarily," William said very seriously. "Well, I read a theory that a full-sized vampire body needs to convert into the same mass of bats. Which would be quite a lot of bats, I suppose."

  "Where on earth did you get that nonsense from?"

  "Um. I think…I think it was Terry Pratchett. It might have been a joke, though." He sniffed.

  "The joke would be on the vampire. How on earth would one vampire brain run a whole swarm of bats? I'm beginning to think your man Pratchett isn't worth adding to my To Be Read pile after all."

  "Oh, he is. Honestly. And he's funny, too."

  I drew myself up to my full height. "I don't approve of making jokes at the expense of respectable vampires, William."

  My dignity act didn't seem to work. "Respectable, blood-sucking vampires, you mean, Theo?"

  "Cheeky little toad," I said. "Yes, I suppose I do. But you should be aware, in case you meet this other vampire again, that our kind can be a little—um—thin-skinned when it comes to people who take the p—" I stopped in mid-word, reminding myself yet again that he was only a child.

  "Take the piss, Theo?"

  "That's not the sort of expression that a lad of your age should know."

  "Oh, I know much worse than that. I know—"

  "That will do, William. If we are to be friends, as you might say, I will promise not to fang you, but you will need to remember your manners."

  "Must I? Oh. All right then."

  "And it's really very late now. Tomorrow's Monday. I presume you have to go to school? So don't you think you should be climbing back up your tree?"

  "I s'pose so. Can I have a look at your coffin first, though? Where do you keep it? In our beach hut?"

  His beach hut? That was a complication I hadn't bargained on. "I told you, ages ago, I don't sleep in a coffin. Not here, anyway. I sleep in this excellent beach hut. Number 23a. There's a Welcome sign on the door inviting people in, so I took your family at their word. Kind of you all to ask me to stay. And it's very well sealed. It's even got wooden shutters on the windows. No sunlight problem during the day."

  William considered. "Yes, I can see why you like it. But what will you do when my family want to use the hut? My sister Sylvie likes to come down in the
Spring, as soon as there's a sunny day. So does my mum. If Mum finds you…"

  "If she finds me, I'll deal with her."

  William grabbed my arm. "Don't kill my mum, Theo. Please don't."

  That's the problem with being fair to humans. You decide to be fair—kind, maybe?—to one of them, and they tie you up in knots. I shook off his hand. "I won't hurt your mother, boy." He didn't know as much about vampires as he thought. Like most vampires, I don't make a habit of killing humans. And I never turn them into vampires, either. I might indulge in a little gentle blood-sucking, but it never does them any real harm. No different from donating blood to a blood bank, really. "If she starts to open up the beach hut, I'll transform into a bat and hide in the roof. With luck, she'll get such a fright, she'll run away and I'll be left in peace."

  "But wouldn't the sunlight get to you, even in the roof?"

  "Nope. Or not enough to do me any real harm. I'm not daft. I did a decent recce on this hut before I moved in." I shouldn't have told him that. Because then I got…

  "Why did you come here anyway? It's not exactly… I mean, you said you've got all these titles, and money, and stuff. Haven't you got a Dracula's Castle in Transylvania or somewhere to hang out in?"

  I laughed. "Several, actually. But they keep being invaded by tourists. And it's impossible to get a wink of sleep."

  "But you could turn into a bat, couldn't you?"

  I sighed. "That can be a problem, these days. Either the sight of my leathery wings sends the poor dears screaming for the hills—which makes the chaps running the tour companies very stroppy and difficult to manage. Or they start cooing over me and wanting to conserve me because I'm an endangered species."

  "Oh. Like great crested newts, you mean?"

  Definitely too clever by half. Especially for eight.

  "You, young man, are a precocious and annoying brat. And it's time you were back in bed." I pointed imperiously in the direction of the town where I assumed his home was.

  He didn't move a step. "Can I come and see you again, Theo? I'd really like to—"

  "Only if you go back to bed now." I was still pointing.

  William finally took the hint. "OK. I'll go home now."

  Result! "And back to bed," I added sternly. I knew about logic-twisting little boys. I'd tried to be one, once.

  "OK. Back to bed," he agreed. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. You will still be here, won't you, Theo?"

  I nodded. "For a while, anyway. Now, get lost, boy, before I change my mind."

  He grinned and ran up the beach towards the road.

  It was well after midnight. Not safe for little boys to be out on their own. Especially if there were unknown and unpredictable vampires about. So I translated into a bat—just the one, I would stress—and followed him. I wanted to make sure he got home safely.

  Yes, OK. I also wanted to find out where the owners of my temporary residence were to be found.

  He didn't run all the way home. After a while, he simply strolled along, whistling to himself. I overtook him easily as he got to his tree, outside Number 23, Gaol Street. Which explained the beach hut. Clever, but not pretentious.

  By the time he started to climb, I was neatly suspended from one of the highest branches, doing a passable impression of a shrivelled leaf.

  He was a good climber, I'll give him that. Up that tree in a trice and hardly a sound while he did it. The branch nearest to his window didn't look strong enough to bear even his slight weight but he crawled along it without hesitating. Until he got to his window and had one leg over the sill. Then he turned round, grinned up at the top of the tree, and whispered, "Night, Theo."

  Any sharper and he'd cut himself. But he'd won that round.

  I shrugged.

  Well, no. Actually, I tried to shrug. But bats don't.

  So I flew back to William's beach hut where I could shrug to my heart's content.

  Chapter Three

  Sylvie ran across to the beach hut. She was late. She'd told Karl ten o'clock and it was long past that. Would he be waiting, tapping his foot and frowning?

  He wasn't there at all.

  Relief flooded her. Then annoyance. Then uncertainty. Maybe he'd stood her up?

  She'd give him ten minutes, tops.

  She unlocked the beach hut door so she could wait out of the wind. Her eye was caught by something on the floor, shiny in the light from outside. Sylvie looked closer. It was a piece of bright gold embroidery thread. But no one in her family did embroidery, so how had it got there?

  Footsteps sounded on the duckboards outside. She turned instantly. And was bowled over by what she saw. "Wow!" Her breath came out long and slow, full of amazement. Talk about fit!

  Karl doffed his gleaming top hat and bowed low, in a very old-world way. He'd told her he was an actor. From London. She hadn't known whether to believe him then, but she did now. He had the moves. And the glamour.

  "I take it you approve?" He waited for her smile of agreement. "So may I come in?"

  "Course." She stood aside and then closed the door behind him. She wanted to have him all to herself. And she would. The beach hut was a much cooler place to meet him than last night's noisy wine bar.

  At first, she simply gazed wide-eyed at the apparition filling Number 23a. "Wow," she said again. "Just wow. Where did you get all that fabulous gear?"

  He said nothing but he spun round slowly so that his long black cape billowed into sensuous folds. They seemed to absorb the light. And the upright collar cast a shadow on his face and neck. The effect was overpowering. And a tiny bit sinister.

  "You like?"

  She reached out to stroke a hand down the fabric. It felt silky smooth. Almost alive. "What's it made of? And what's it for?"

  "Whitby."

  Sylvie was stumped. "Whitby? What's Whitby?"

  "Don't you know?" He shook his head at her. "Your education, sweetie, is sadly lacking."

  He was being patronising. Again. OK, he was a fair bit older than she was—and a lot more sophisticated—but that didn't give him the right to treat her like a child. And there was nothing wrong with her education. In fact, it was probably better than his. She'd won a scholarship to the best school in the county and she had an offer from Oxford. Had he done anything like that? She wasn't sure he'd even been to drama school. She narrowed her eyes at him. Would he get the message?

  He didn't. He droned on, like the worst of her teachers. "Whitby is famous. It's where Dracula landed in England. The vampire, you know? You have heard of Dracula, haven't you?"

  "Course I have. But I haven't actually read the book. Horror's not my thing."

  "You should. It's good. There've been some fantastic plays, too."

  She ignored that. "And Whitby? What's Whitby got to do with your flashy new threads?"

  "I'll be wearing this at Whitby. At the next Goth weekend. Whitby does them twice a year, April and October. Loads of people go. And it matters—a lot—what you wear. Like to come with me?" He raised one eyebrow at her. But before she had a chance to get a word out, he went on, "You'd need to have the right gear, of course. Lots of black lace and stiff petticoats. High-heeled boots. Black make-up. Probably a corset. With your black hair, you're a natural to be a Goth."

  Her pulse had begun to race. They'd only known each other a week, and he was inviting her to take a trip with him. Whitby's Goth weekend sounded exciting and very grown-up. Miles away from boring old Piddling, too. But April was bang in the middle of final revisions for her A-levels.

  "Um. The timing's not great. I've got exams to think about. If I don't get the right grades, I won't—" She stopped, remembering she hadn't told him about Oxford. He'd probably be patronising about that, too. "Anyway, I've never really fancied being a Goth," she finished. "All that posturing and play-acting." She hoped it came out as a challenge.

  He ignored it. "No big deal. I'll take someone else if you want to wimp out."

  She gave him her best death stare. "I don't give in to
threats. Not from anyone."

  He shrugged. "Whitby'll be a blast. Stupid to miss it."

  "I'll think about it. But no promises, Karl. OK?"

  He gave her a half-smile. In the dim light, his black hair gleamed like satin. She found herself wondering idly what kind of gel he'd used to get that 40s-film-star look. And then wondering why she was being so logical. Why wasn't she grabbing him and kissing that gorgeous mouth? After all, she'd spent most of the night dreaming about him. And most of the day anticipating the moment when they'd be together again.

  Dracula. That was it. The thought of Dracula—and fangs—was a real turnoff. Especially when the man on offer looked too much like one of the undead himself.

  And then she remembered what she'd been intending to ask him, before. "Why didn't you answer my text last night?" She'd sent him directions to the beach hut almost as soon as she got home. They'd been apart for less than half an hour by then. Had he ignored her because she sounded too needy?

  "I was busy."

  "At one in the morning?"

  "I'd gone for a walk. And there was no signal. By the time I got back, it was too late." He smiled down at her. "Didn't want to spoil your beauty sleep, Sylve."

  "Yeah, right. And don't call me 'Sylve'. You know I hate it."

  "Why? It's no worse that 'Sylvia'."

  "I hate my name. Especially 'Sylve'. It's old-fashioned and everyone laughs at it. When was the last time you met anyone called 'Sylvia'?"

  He chortled. "What were your parents thinking about?"

  Sylvie groaned and shook her head. "My mother. My culture-mad mother. I think she was going through her Schubert phase when she had me. Used to go around the house, Dad says, singing 'Who is Sylvia?' She has a really good voice, too. Had lessons and everything."

  "Um. 'Who is Sylvia?' Doesn't ring a bell."

  "If that was a joke, it was rubbish." Sylvie grinned up at him. "Shakespeare. You must know it. You're an actor. It's a song in one of his plays. And Schubert set it to music. Schubert, the composer? He has to be at least as famous as your precious Dracula." Still grinning, she reached up and patted him gently on the cheek.

  He didn't react. For a moment, he was like a marble statue shrouded in black silk. Then the statue spoke. "Don't you have a middle name you could use instead?"