Wedding Night
Page 120
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
I mean, I know we used to have sex on the beach, but that was different. That was romantic.
“Where’s the boat guy?” I say, looking around. There used to be a lizard-like man who hired out his two boats every day, but I can’t see him anywhere. There’s a tall strapping guy pushing a boat out into the water, and I hurry over the sand to the sea.
“Hi! Excuse me! Hold on a minute.” He turns, his smile white in his tanned face, and I plant a hand on his dinghy.
“Could you tell me, do they still hire out boats here? Is this a hire boat?”
“Yes.” He nods. “But you have to get in early. They’re all gone. You could try tomorrow? The list is at the hostel.”
“I see.” I pause, then add plaintively, “The trouble is, we’re here only today. My husband and I. It’s our honeymoon. And we really did want a boat.”
I’m silently willing him to be gallant and offer us his boat. But he doesn’t. He just keeps pushing it out into the water and says pleasantly, “That’s tough.”
“The thing is, this is very special to us,” I explain, splashing after him. “We really, really wanted to go sailing. We wanted to visit this tiny secret cove we used to know.”
“The little cove that way?” He gestures round the headland.
“Yes!” I say. “Do you know it?”
“You don’t need to sail there.” He looks surprised. “You can get to it via the walkway.”
“The walkway?”
“It’s farther inland.” He points. “A big wooden walkway. They built it a few years ago. Opened up the whole area.”
I stare at him in horror. They built a walkway to the secret cove? This is desecration. It’s a travesty. I’m going to write a furious letter to … someone. It was our secret. It was supposed to stay secret. How are we supposed to have sex there now?
“Everyone goes there?”
“Oh yeah. It’s quite popular.” He grins. “Between you and me, it’s where people go to skin up.”
Skin up? I stare at him in even greater horror. Our perfect, romantic, idyllic cove is now Drug Central?
I rub my face, trying to adjust to this new, grim picture.
“So … there’ll be people there now?”
“Oh yeah. There was a party there last night. They’ll all be asleep now, though. See you.” He pushes off and unfurls his sail.
That’s it, then. Our whole plan, ruined. I paddle back through the shallows to where Ben is standing.
“It was so perfect,” I say in despair. “And now they’ve ruined it. I can’t bear it. I mean, look.” I gesture wildly. “It’s hideous! It’s a hellhole!”
“For God’s sake, Lottie!” says Ben, a little impatiently. “You’re overreacting. We used to party on the beach, remember? We used to leave rubbish around. Arthur was always complaining.”
“Not used condoms.”
“We probably did.” He shrugs.
“No, we didn’t!” I retort indignantly. “I was on the pill!”
“Oh.” He shrugs again. “I forgot.”
He forgot? How could you forget whether you used condoms or not with the love of your life?
I want to say, If you really loved me, you’d remember we didn’t use condoms, but I bite my tongue. An argument about condom use is not what you want on your honeymoon. Instead, I hunch my shoulders and stare mournfully out to sea.
I’m so disappointed, I want to cry. This is so absolutely not what I imagined. I suppose, to be honest, I didn’t imagine anyone on the beach at all. I imagined that we’d have it totally to ourselves. We would run over the deserted sand and leap through the foamy surf, landing in a perfect embrace while violins played. So maybe that was a tad unrealistic. But this is the opposite extreme.
“Well, what shall we do?” I say at last.
“We can still enjoy ourselves.” Ben pulls me close and gives me a kiss. “It’s good to be back, anyway, isn’t it? Still the same sand. Still the same sea.”
“Yes.” I gratefully sink into his kiss.
“Still the same Lottie. Same sexy shorts.” His hands cup my bum, and I feel a sudden urge to reclaim at least some of my fantasy.
“Remember this?” I give him my bag to hold. I take a deep breath, preparing myself, then give a light hop and a skip and launch into what is supposed to be a flawless series of cartwheels down the beach.
Ow. Oof.
Argh. Shit. My head.
I don’t know what happened, except my arms buckled beneath my weight, and there were a few shouts of alarm around me, and I landed hard on my head. Now I’m sprawled in an ungainly position on the sand, my breath coming short in shock.
“Where’s the boat guy?” I say, looking around. There used to be a lizard-like man who hired out his two boats every day, but I can’t see him anywhere. There’s a tall strapping guy pushing a boat out into the water, and I hurry over the sand to the sea.
“Hi! Excuse me! Hold on a minute.” He turns, his smile white in his tanned face, and I plant a hand on his dinghy.
“Could you tell me, do they still hire out boats here? Is this a hire boat?”
“Yes.” He nods. “But you have to get in early. They’re all gone. You could try tomorrow? The list is at the hostel.”
“I see.” I pause, then add plaintively, “The trouble is, we’re here only today. My husband and I. It’s our honeymoon. And we really did want a boat.”
I’m silently willing him to be gallant and offer us his boat. But he doesn’t. He just keeps pushing it out into the water and says pleasantly, “That’s tough.”
“The thing is, this is very special to us,” I explain, splashing after him. “We really, really wanted to go sailing. We wanted to visit this tiny secret cove we used to know.”
“The little cove that way?” He gestures round the headland.
“Yes!” I say. “Do you know it?”
“You don’t need to sail there.” He looks surprised. “You can get to it via the walkway.”
“The walkway?”
“It’s farther inland.” He points. “A big wooden walkway. They built it a few years ago. Opened up the whole area.”
I stare at him in horror. They built a walkway to the secret cove? This is desecration. It’s a travesty. I’m going to write a furious letter to … someone. It was our secret. It was supposed to stay secret. How are we supposed to have sex there now?
“Everyone goes there?”
“Oh yeah. It’s quite popular.” He grins. “Between you and me, it’s where people go to skin up.”
Skin up? I stare at him in even greater horror. Our perfect, romantic, idyllic cove is now Drug Central?
I rub my face, trying to adjust to this new, grim picture.
“So … there’ll be people there now?”
“Oh yeah. There was a party there last night. They’ll all be asleep now, though. See you.” He pushes off and unfurls his sail.
That’s it, then. Our whole plan, ruined. I paddle back through the shallows to where Ben is standing.
“It was so perfect,” I say in despair. “And now they’ve ruined it. I can’t bear it. I mean, look.” I gesture wildly. “It’s hideous! It’s a hellhole!”
“For God’s sake, Lottie!” says Ben, a little impatiently. “You’re overreacting. We used to party on the beach, remember? We used to leave rubbish around. Arthur was always complaining.”
“Not used condoms.”
“We probably did.” He shrugs.
“No, we didn’t!” I retort indignantly. “I was on the pill!”
“Oh.” He shrugs again. “I forgot.”
He forgot? How could you forget whether you used condoms or not with the love of your life?
I want to say, If you really loved me, you’d remember we didn’t use condoms, but I bite my tongue. An argument about condom use is not what you want on your honeymoon. Instead, I hunch my shoulders and stare mournfully out to sea.
I’m so disappointed, I want to cry. This is so absolutely not what I imagined. I suppose, to be honest, I didn’t imagine anyone on the beach at all. I imagined that we’d have it totally to ourselves. We would run over the deserted sand and leap through the foamy surf, landing in a perfect embrace while violins played. So maybe that was a tad unrealistic. But this is the opposite extreme.
“Well, what shall we do?” I say at last.
“We can still enjoy ourselves.” Ben pulls me close and gives me a kiss. “It’s good to be back, anyway, isn’t it? Still the same sand. Still the same sea.”
“Yes.” I gratefully sink into his kiss.
“Still the same Lottie. Same sexy shorts.” His hands cup my bum, and I feel a sudden urge to reclaim at least some of my fantasy.
“Remember this?” I give him my bag to hold. I take a deep breath, preparing myself, then give a light hop and a skip and launch into what is supposed to be a flawless series of cartwheels down the beach.
Ow. Oof.
Argh. Shit. My head.
I don’t know what happened, except my arms buckled beneath my weight, and there were a few shouts of alarm around me, and I landed hard on my head. Now I’m sprawled in an ungainly position on the sand, my breath coming short in shock.
