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

by Belinda Jones

‘Umm, so I’ve tried reaching you. Been wanting to return this.’ He held out her bracelet, the bracelet that she had infused with so much hope when she’d dropped it into that box that day.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, snatching it from his hand and starting to turn away.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said and she looked back at him.

  ‘Could we…have a word about…’

  She didn’t let him finish. ‘No. Sorry.’

  His face dropped, his shoulders slumped, and Penelope felt like she’d just kicked a puppy. Then she remembered the nightmares and her resolve hardened.

  ‘Well, okay – that’s fair enough,’ he said – and what more could he say? After all, it’s not like they really knew one another.

  ‘I wanted to give you this,’ he said then, and held out a small wrapped box. ‘I know it seems strange, being summer and all – but I just thought that maybe, with all the driving… you might like them.’

  He pushed the gift into her hands and then turned and walked away. She didn’t bother to call out thank you and she didn’t need to ask why he’d bought her a gift. She knew why: he was in love with her. It was impossible, really; how could you be in love with someone that you didn’t even know? But all the same it was true.

  Her teeth were firmly pressed against her bottom lip as she opened the package. Don’t be the gloves, don’t be the gloves, she silently begged. When she folded back the tissue paper and saw the red suede she sucked her breath in and let the box fall from her hands.

  Yes, a little dramatic, I know.

  *

  Four days later, Penelope and Lucy were driving together though the rain. Lucy was home from school with a bad cold. The deliveries were slow; all of the constant rain was causing drains to block up and water to gush along street gutters.

  ‘Where to next?’ asked Penelope, jumping back into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and shaking the water from her hair. Lucy squinted at the delivery slip, then slowly began sounding out the words to decipher the address.

  ‘Ca-rrring-ton Stt-reet,’ she said eventually.

  ‘That’s the other side of Belle’s River, God that’s going to take forever,’ said Penelope as she started up the engine and pulled out onto the road.

  They were almost at Belle’s River when Lucy reached down by her feet to pick something up. Penelope wasn’t really paying attention – she was keeping her eyes on the road, finding it hard to see through the rain – but in her peripheral vision she caught sight of a flash of red. She turned to look just as Lucy exclaimed, ‘Hey where’d these come from?’

  She was holding up the red gloves. As soon as Penelope saw them she felt that same stab of fear that her dreams kept instilling in her. ‘Oh, honey, please, just put those back. I don’t… I don’t like looking at them.’

  ‘Why? They’re pretty. I want to try them on,’ said Lucy, and without waiting for a response, she began pulling them over her small hands, pushing her fingers as far into the gloves as they would reach.

  ‘Lucy, please take them off.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because… I said so.’

  ‘Pfft,’ said Lucy crossly. ‘Because I said so is not an answer.’

  Penelope slowed down to take the left turn onto the bridge that crossed Belle’s River, taking a deep breath as she did to quell her agitation. Lucy had a point, Penelope didn’t know why she didn’t want her to wear the gloves, she just knew they gave her a bad feeling.

  ‘Okay fine – but… be quiet would you, I need to concentrate,’ said Penelope, because at that point she was starting to realise that there was something wrong. The Ute was slowing as they crossed the bridge. She had thought as they turned onto it that there was a bit of water on the road – just as there had been throughout the town – but now she realised that there was more than she had first anticipated.

  ‘Mum…’ said Lucy, her voice cautious.

  ‘Yeah, I know, I know,’ Penelope replied.

  ‘No, Mum, look,’ said Lucy. The waver in her voice made Penelope turn. Looking down the river on the passenger side, Penelope swallowed. The river was swelling rapidly, heading towards the bridge. She’d heard of this before – of how a flash flood could rise suddenly. Penelope pushed her foot down hard on the accelerator – but the weight of the rapidly rising water around them was taking control of the Ute. She threw the gears into reverse and tried again. The Ute started to move, but not in reverse – sideways.

  ‘Mum!’ Lucy’s tone was becoming more panicked.

  ‘I know! I know!’ Penelope held still for a moment, thinking. She never should have turned onto the bridge – why hadn’t she noticed the water first? What should they do now? Stay in the car? Try and climb out onto the roof? Wade through the water, back to the road? Lucy could swim – but if the water rose too high she wouldn’t be strong enough in these currents. Penelope had to make a decision – the car was getting pushed further towards the railing of the bridge and the water was about to reach their windows.

  ‘I think we have to climb out,’ Penelope said. She began frantically winding down her window. ‘Undo your seatbelt and climb over to me,’ she instructed. ‘I think if we can reach the railing we’ll be able to climb up and hold onto that cement pylon until someone comes and helps us. I think that’s the best thing we can do.’

  Penelope hesitated and looked back at her daughter. Seeing her pale, frightened face, she realised that she needed to sound a lot surer of herself. ‘It’s fine Lucy, it’s going to be fine. There are always cars driving along Mason road. Someone will see us and they’ll get help and we’ll be fine.’

  The water was starting to pour into the cab of the Ute as Penelope pulled Lucy across onto her lap. ‘I’ll push you up out of the window so you can climb onto the roof, then I’ll follow. When the car’s a little closer to the railing, we’ll jump across.’ Penelope began to hoist her daughter out through the window, supporting her legs as she clambered up onto the roof.

  Once Lucy was safely up above the water, clinging to the Ute, Penelope reached out, grabbed hold of the top of the vehicle and began to squeeze her way out through the window, as more and more water was pouring its way in.

  On the roof, Penelope hesitated – should they just stay where they were now? Was this the safest option? But the water was rising further and faster. It seemed likely that it might soon reach the top of the Ute – and if that happened it would be hard to hold on. Wrapping their arms around the pylon was more secure.

  Slowly, Penelope turned onto her hands and knees, then on trembling legs she stood and looked across at the pylon. ‘I’m going to jump across. Then you’ll jump over to me,’ she said to Lucy. The terrified look on Lucy’s face told her that she was questioning the plan, but Penelope stood firm. ‘It’s the best plan, Luce,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’

  Penelope steadied herself, she would have liked more time – more time to think it all through, to make sure she was doing the right thing, to measure the distance, to be certain that they could both jump that far, to know for sure that she would be able to keep hold of the pylon and also catch Lucy when she jumped. But the river was swelling further in the pouring rain. There was no time to think, no second chances. She needed to jump.

  She bent her knees, gritted her teeth, and leapt across to the railing. She landed awkwardly, banging her shoulder hard against the pylon. But she was there, balanced on top of the railing, with the water already up to her knees. She looked back at Lucy, cowering on the roof of the car.

  ‘Okay, Luce,’ she yelled out over the roaring of the water. ‘You need to jump to me. Just stand up and jump.’

  It was as Lucy was shakily trying to get to her feet, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the rain, that Penelope realised something. Lucy was still wearing the red gloves. As the image of those red gloves surrounded by the flooding waters sunk into Penelope’s mind, a connection was made – all of Penelope’s horrific nightmares came rushing bac
k to her, this time with the events sketched out in terrifying detail. She hadn’t been dreaming about Mike all of those nights. She’d been dreaming about this. About today. And she saw with complete clarity exactly what was about to happen. Lucy was going to leap across to her, but her fear was going to make her misjudge. Penelope would reach out and just manage to catch Lucy by the hand. But that glove, that ill-fitting red glove was going to slip – because they were never meant for Lucy. And no matter how hard Penelope tried to hold on tight, Lucy’s hand was going to slide right through her fingers, and Penelope would be left holding onto nothing but a single red glove as her six-year-old daughter was swept away by this monstrous river.

  Penelope’s head snapped up to look at Lucy, arms out, legs bent, body poised ready to jump.

  ‘LUCY!’ she screamed. ‘LUCY, WAIT!’

  Lucy wobbled precariously – but stopped. ‘Take the gloves off!’ Penelope yelled. ‘You need to take the gloves off first. Take them off and throw them away.’

  Lucy stared back at her, bewildered by the strange instructions. But she listened anyway. She tore the gloves off, tossed them to the side, and then she jumped.

  Just like in her dreams, Penelope watched as Lucy misjudged, jumping out to her left side. Penelope flung her arm out and caught hold of Lucy’s hand. But unlike her dream, their hands gripped tight. She pulled her in close, and together, they wrapped their arms around the pylon, with Penelope’s body pressed against her daughter’s – holding her tight, thinking how she would never let her baby girl go.

  When they were finally pulled to safety, after Trudy Davis spotted them from Mason Road, Penelope found herself lying on her back on the sopping wet grass of the riverbank, her body weak with the relief as she thought to herself, ‘Perhaps I really should call Mike after all.’

  *

  Now I did tell you at the beginning that the story couldn’t simply end happily with Penelope and Mike meeting in that butcher shop. And I still can’t guarantee a happily ever after – because, well, you just don’t know how things are going to turn out as time goes on, do you? But what I can tell you is where things are heading, and you could probably just make up your own mind.

  Penelope stopped blaming Mike for those terrible dreams, although she asked that he never again in her life buy her a pair of red gloves. They started dating and Penelope began to consider extending her extended holiday.

  Their first date was at Collito’s Italian restaurant.

  About the Author

  Nicola Moriarty lives in Sydney's North West with her husband and two small (but remarkably strong-willed) daughters. She is the younger sister of bestselling authors Liane Moriarty and Jaclyn Moriarty. In between various career changes, becoming a mum and studying at Macquarie University, she began to write. Now, she can't seem to stop. She has published two novels with Random House Australia (FREE-FALLING and PAPER CHAINS) and has a novella titled CAPTIVATION due out in July.

  Website: www.nicolamoriarty.com.au

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/NicolaMoriartyAuthor

  Twitter: @NikkiM3

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/nicola-moriarty

  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.

  MIDNIGHT AT THE OASIS

  ***

  Tamsyn Murray

  Destination: Marrakech, Morrocco

  It was supposed to be the mother of all hen parties, the ultimate girly mini-break before marriage stopped play. Milly was the first of the awesome foursome to be heading down the aisle and it felt natural to want to mark the occasion with a weekend they’d never forget. When Natalia had started planning it, back in frost-bitten February, she’d looked at more traditional locations like Rome and Paris. Then she’d been faced with an unscheduled check-in at Heartbreak Hotel and the urge to go somewhere totally different had struck. The red walls of sun-drenched Marrakech seemed like the perfect choice; exotic, mysterious and, crucially, somewhere she’d never been with Dan. At the very least, the temperature would be above zero.

  Breaking up with Dan had been the first crack in the dam – others had swiftly followed. Concentrating on the organisation of the hen do gave Nat a focus but it seemed like everything she touched went wrong. One of the women at Milly’s work backed out without paying, and the travel agent claimed it was too late to cancel her place. It had taken all Nat’s powers of persuasion and a three-hour sit-in to get Theresa at Sunseekers to remove the eighth name from the itinerary but she’d done it for Milly’s sake. Then baggage handlers called a strike at Gatwick for the day they were due to fly out and, short of offering to throw their bags aboard herself, there was nothing Nat could do. Begrudgingly, they’d rearranged the trip; that did for another two attendees. And perhaps unsurprisingly, given all the messing around, Jess from Milly’s uni days had got the wrong time and missed the flight entirely.

  ‘Looks like it’s just the four of us,’ Lisa said, as the flight attendant closed the door and the fasten seatbelt sign came on overhead.

  ‘Like in Mr Glover’s French class,’ Sibel said, leaning across the aisle with a nostalgic sigh. ‘Except with better hair.’

  Milly smiled but Nat couldn’t help feeling it was forced.

  ‘I’m sorry this has been such a balls-up,’ she mumbled. ‘I know you wanted the others here.’

  Milly squeezed her hand. ‘The important people made it.’

  She was being kind, Nat thought, and her eyes swam with sudden tears. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Stop blaming yourself,’ Milly said. ‘I really appreciate everything you’ve done, Nat. Especially after—’

  She stopped and Nat felt her heart constrict, as though Dan’s fist was squeezing it. Milly had no idea how hard it had really been, planning to send your best friend off into married bliss when your own future was in tatters. Lisa and Sibel had been brilliant at mopping up her misery but, by silent agreement, they’d hidden a lot of the emotional fallout from Milly. Nat was ashamed to admit that she’d avoided Milly on more than one occasion. She’d even thought of pulling out of the wedding, in spite of Milly’s assurance that she could bring someone else if she wanted to; Dan was the best man and standing near him as their friends exchanged vows would be almost too much, not to mention seeing him with his new girlfriend. But Nat was chief bridesmaid and one of Milly’s best friends – she couldn’t desert her. Now all she had to do was survive three days of in-your-face-bridality. And the actual wedding, of course, but she had another two weeks to figure out how to do that. Drugs, maybe, or a vat-load of wine.

  ‘No problem,’ she said, and summoned up a grin.

  Lisa leaned forwards. ‘Wait until you see the stripper we’ve got lined up for you,’ she said, with a lascivious wink. ‘They don’t call him the Snake Charmer for nothing!’

  *

  The contrast between the cool, air-conditioned airport and the midday heat that enveloped them the moment they stepped outside was incredible. Natalia felt herself wilt almost immediately and wondered if it was possible to melt in forty degree heat. Lisa stretched out her arms, though, and lifted her face to the sun.

  ‘Come to mamma!’

  Sibel was ready for the heat too. Within seconds, she’d turned the cotton scarf around her neck into a loose headscarf and slipped a pair of oversized sunglasses onto her face. Even Milly, who’d been known to burn on a cloudy day in Clapham, had the look of a cat unfurling in the sun.

  Feeling beads of sweat pop onto her upper lip, Nat scanned the waiting cabs; Sunseekers had promised that their guest house would send a taxi for them but how was she supposed to know which one was theirs? There were cars everywhere and no discernible system. Her eyes came to rest on a horse-drawn cart. The driver gave her a friendly smile. Oh, surely not...

  ‘What’s the name of our hotel again?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘It’s
not a hotel, it’s a riad,’ Nat explained. ‘The old part of town is full of them, they’re like small guest houses. Ours is called Riad Oasis. Why?’

  Lisa pointed. ‘There’s a guy holding a sign that says Oasis on it. Either he’s selling a well-known fruit drink or he’s our ride.’

  Nat felt a surge of relief as she led the way towards the cab driver and tried to ignore the trickle of perspiration snaking its way between her shoulder blades. The car was a beige Mercedes, although she couldn’t tell if that was the actual colour or a layer of dirt, with an eye-melting heat haze over the roof. It had to have air-conditioning, she decided as he nodded hello and hefted their cases to the boot. They’d cook like sardines without it.

  Her over-riding memory of the drive to the old city was that she was glad it wasn’t her behind the wheel. The streets were thronging with motorbikes, carts and cars and the air was filled with the blare of horns. She made a mental note to avoid crossing any major roads on foot. If they survived the drive, that was.

  Once inside the red walls, the roads grew narrower the further into the old town they got. When the car finally stopped, all four women peered out uncertainly at the run-down street.

  ‘Are you sure this is it?’ Nat asked.

  ‘Oui, Riad Oasis,’ the driver replied, getting out. He deposited their cases on the cobbles outside a crumbling orange building and Milly saw a faded tile beside the carved wooden door that confirmed this was indeed their home for the next three days.

  The others stood beside her as the driver rang the bell and let out a torrent of rapid French at the young woman who answered. She replied, speaking so fast that Nat could only catch a few words here and there but she gathered the driver was trying to renegotiate the cost of the journey. Trying to ignore the anxious twist of her stomach, she listened as the young woman haggled with long-practised skill. She peeled off a sheaf of dirhams and handed them over, making Nat glad all over again that she’d booked the taxi through the riad – imagine trying to negotiate using only ‘J’habite a La Rochelle’ as a starting point.