Holly Martin
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One Hundred Proposals - Chapter 2
It's publication week for the lovely Holly Martin, so we have some special treats for you this week! Yesterday you could read the Prologue and the First Chapter of this Amazing Story. Today, the Second Chapter is here and tomorrow is Publication Day so I will be posting my review (hint: it's a 5 stars review) here! Now enjoy the extract of this lovely book. Warning, you'll fall in love 100 times!
Chapter
Two
I woke the
next day with a start, being quite simply torn from a dream about Jack – a
memory of playing with him on the beach as he tried to put wet seaweed down my
back. As I became more conscious, the loss of losing him hit me all over again.
I knew
immediately that someone was in the room with me. I was face down on my pillow
and I leaned up and swept my curtain of tangled brown hair off my face. Harry
was sitting next to me on the bed, sipping his coffee and reading my very dog-eared
copy of The Hobbit.
I scowled at
him. I wasn’t a morning person.
‘Do you not
knock?’
Harry’s
attention didn’t even waver from the page he was reading. ‘You gave me a key.’
‘I could have
been naked.’
He put his
book down and looked at me. ‘All the more reason for me not to knock.’
I blushed and
climbed off the bed.
Most mornings
I woke to this. I must admit, it was a lovely way to wake up. One night, after
these early morning visits had become more regular, I went to bed in my sexiest
lingerie in the hope that the following morning he would come in and be so
turned on that he might immediately ravish me. But not only did he not even bat an eyelid
when he saw me in my black, satin nightie, he was more excited about his
McDonalds breakfast and the free hash brown he had been given by the girl
flirting with him behind the counter than what I had to offer. To add insult to
injury, as I tried to arrange myself subtly into a sexy pose on the bed next to
him as he chomped through his Bacon and Egg McMuffin, I had simply slithered
off the bed into a crumpled heap on the floor. Nowadays it seemed much easier
and more comfortable to sleep in my regular pyjamas.
Harry handed
me a coffee fresh from the café round the corner. I took a sip – it was made
exactly how I liked it, with three sugars and a dash of hazelnut syrup. As I
went to take another sip, I realised that a small heart had been drawn in the
froth on the top. I smiled and hovered near his side, peering round him to the
brown paper bag I could see tucked by his hip.
He was busy
reading so I coughed loudly to gain his attention. When he glanced up, I looked
deliberately at the bag.
‘How do you
know this is for you?’
‘Because you
always bring me nice things from the café. What is it this morning, an apricot
Danish, ooh a walnut plait or…’
He whisked it
out the bag and showed it to me, and the words dried in my throat. Iced into
the top of my favourite cinnamon swirl were the words ‘Marry Me.’
I had almost
forgotten about this silly hundred proposals thing. I’d hoped he’d forgotten as
well. But now it looked like he really did mean to torture me. One hundred
days. One hundred different ways to break my heart.
I looked at
him and he was watching me hopefully.
‘It’s certainly
unique.’ I took the bun from him, and picked a currant out of it, averting my
gaze from his. I forced my voice to sound normal before I spoke again. ‘If I
bite into this am I at risk of swallowing a diamond ring?’
He shook his head. ‘No ring. You said a ring
was clichéd. Besides, why propose with diamonds when you can propose with
cinnamon and coffee?’
‘You should
take a picture of it before I eat it. Put it on the blog.’ I had a huge lump in
my throat.
‘Good idea.’
He whipped out his phone, pressed a few buttons and pointed it in my direction.
I held it out for him to get a good angle and realised my hands were shaking. Harry
realised it too. To my shame, tears swam in my eyes.
Harry was off
the bed in a second. ‘What’s wrong, what’s happened?’
‘Nothing, I’m
fine. Just tired.’ I stepped away from him but he pulled me back, holding me
tight and squashing the bun between us. I breathed him in, his wonderful earthy
smell as he started to stroke my back.
‘Did something
happen with Tiny Tim?’
I couldn’t
keep up with the lie any longer and it had achieved nothing anyway.
‘We broke up,’
I said into his chest, hoping that would explain why I was soaking his shirt
with my tears.
‘Oh honey, I’m
sorry.’ His hand moved to my hair and my breath caught in my throat. ‘Had you
been seeing him long?’
Oh what a
tangled web we weave.
‘A few weeks.
It wasn’t serious, but I really liked him. But obviously I liked him more than
he liked me.’
‘Well then the
man’s an idiot. Who wouldn’t love a girl in a cow print onesie?’
I giggled.
He tilted my
face up to look at him.
‘Right, enough
tears. Any man who makes you cry is not worth it.’
If only he
knew.
‘Anyway, I
have a day out planned for you today, so stop moping around and get yourself
showered and dressed.’
He released me
and we both looked at the squashed bun. Although it looked a bit worse for
wear, the words ‘Marry Me’ were still very obvious on the top. Harry took a
photo and I quickly ate it so I wouldn’t have to stare at the empty words any
longer. It tasted good, despite the fact that with every mouthful my heart
broke a little bit more.
‘So, as
proposals go, is this what you imagined for yourself?’ Harry asked, when it was
gone.
‘Undoubtedly. The
perfect proposal. So you don’t have to bother with the other ninety-eight
different ways now. Write on the blog that you bought me a cinnamon swirl and I
caved. I’m a cheap date, easily pleased.’
Harry pulled a
face. ‘It was a bit cheap and naff, wasn’t it? Ok, for my next one it will be
something huge.’
‘Really, the
cinnamon swirl was cute… and don’t underestimate the value of cute.’
But Harry was
already walking away into the office, scrolling through his phone as he went.
‘Harry, are
you listening? Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a personalised cinnamon swirl.’
‘Get in the shower,
woman, I need to make some calls.’
I sighed. I
had to sway him from this path. Ninety-eight heart-breaking days stretched
ahead of me like an endless desert, with no respite from the sun.
I got in the
shower and stuck my head under the stream.
No, I could do
this. Proposals were my entire waking life. My dreams were plagued by them too.
Something like this could only be good for business. I just had to become
immune to the words. They were empty and meaningless. And now I knew that I was
to expect it every day, I could prepare myself for it, pretend in my head the
words meant something else.
I got dressed
quickly and walked into the office.
‘Hey.’ Harry
was busy typing. ‘Our blog has nineteen followers already.’
‘Our Proposer’s
Blog? This hundred proposals malarkey?’
‘Malarkey? I’m
offended.’ He smiled up at me briefly before returning his attention to the
screen. ‘Yes, I guess they want to see what I come up with next.’
I leaned over
him to see what he had written and caught a whiff of his wonderful clean earthy
smell. There was the close-up picture of my squashed bun, and another picture I
hadn’t realised he had taken – of me eating it, my hair a full bird’s nest, my
face red and blotchy from the tears, dressed in my rather unflattering cow
print onesie. Great!
Under the
picture was Harry’s blog.
Proposer’s Blog
Day 2: The Cinnamon Swirl Proposal. Location:
Suzie’s bedroom (I assure you, nothing saucy going on here).
Is the way to a woman’s heart through her
stomach?
Our Suzie McKenzie has a very sweet tooth and
so I thought to charm her with a sweet proposal of her own. Nadia’s Bakery, St
Patrick’s Road makes the best Cinnamon Swirls in the world and it’s one of
Suzie’s all-time favourite things to eat for breakfast. So when I explained the
situation to the lovely Nadia this morning she was more than happy to provide
me with a personalised one along with a heart-topped latte.
So what was Suzie’s reaction? She seemed a bit
blasé about it actually. Wolfed it down and barely registered the words.
That wasn’t
true of course, but it was better he wrote that than writing that I burst into
tears.
I always thought those proposers that pop the
question with a ring at the bottom of the champagne glass were silly –
who wants to fish the diamond ring out of the toilet a few days later? Though
now Suzie’s eaten my proposal, there’s nothing left of it apart from the icing
on her lips.
I immediately
checked my lips and I saw Harry smirk out of the corner of my eye.
Next time, I will do something grand. Something
she can’t possibly miss. Plus, who would really say yes over a 59p Cinnamon
Swirl?
‘That makes me
sound shallow,’ I said, squeezing past him to log on to my own computer.
‘Not shallow,
just greedy. And don’t bother logging on, we’re going out.’
‘I can’t, it’s
our busiest time of the year, you know that. Three days before Valentine’s Day,
all those last minute Larrys will be phoning us up for support.’
‘I’ve already
diverted the calls to your mobile and you can still pick up your emails,
besides today is completely work orientated – we’re sourcing new locations, so
stop making excuses and get your boots on.’
When I hesitated,
he grabbed my hand and pulled me out the office.
I laughed. ‘Where
are we going?’
‘First stop,
we’re going to buy you some decent pyjamas, so the next boyfriend won’t be
scared off by seeing you in that onesie.’
I stopped dead
and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were kind.
‘Jack bought
it for me,’ I said, quietly.
‘I know.’
‘I’m not
getting rid of it.’
‘I’m not
saying throw it out. But I know Jack, he had a wicked sense of humour and you
know as well as I do that he bought it for you as a joke because you used to
take the piss out of onesies and people that wore them. You know that he never
intended for you to wear it at all let alone every day since his death. If you
want to keep it, keep it. All I’m talking about is options. Something else you
could wear that would show off that fabulous figure of yours.’
I opened my
mouth to protest as the last words he said slammed into my brain. Fabulous
figure?
He moved his
hands to my shoulders and when he spoke his voice was soft.
‘I know you’re
trying to keep your brother alive, keep him close, but he would be cringing if
he could see you wearing that thing and you know that. Keep him close with your
memories of him, not by compromising who you are.’
I blinked. That
was very profound for half nine on a Thursday morning.
‘I’m just
saying, the Suzie McKenzie I know and love wouldn’t be caught dead in something
like that.’
‘I think it’s
funny.’ I knew I sounded like a petulant child.
‘Yes, for
about five minutes after you opened your present – it’s not quite so funny
eight months later.’
He had a
point. I’d washed it so many times that the white patches were now grey and the
udders were looking decidedly limp.
‘And while
we’re on the subject. You can stop wearing black as well. We’re not in the
Victorian times anymore.’
He pulled me
into the bedroom and I followed, still in shock over his brutal honesty. He
opened my wardrobe and pulled out my favourite scarlet jumper dress. ‘You can
wear this today with those purple leggings.’
They would
clash horribly. I smiled
‘And you can
wear them with those Barbie pink boots you love so much and…’ He rooted around
in one of my drawers, finally found what he had been looking for, pulled it out
and thrust it into my face. ‘This. You’ll wear this.’
‘But –’
‘No buts. Get
changed. You have five minutes.’
I stared after
his retreating back and then down at the black shirt and black trousers I had
put on out of habit. In the months after Jack’s death my taste in bright and
garish clothes had seemed disrespectful somehow. Was one month too soon to
return back to my colourful spots, stripes and swirls? Was two months? But now
it had been eight months and I had seemingly been wearing black ever since. My
bright clothes even seemed to have a thin layer of dust on them as they hung
forgotten in my wardrobe. Harry had a point. Again.
I came
downstairs a few minutes later, dressed in my purple leggings, scarlet jumper,
pink boots and my red and gold spotted sequinned beret that I adored and Jack
hated because he said I looked like a toadstool. I felt lighter already.
Harry grinned
when he saw me. ‘You look beautiful.’ He offered me his arm. ‘Now let’s go.’
I leaned into
him and walked out into the early morning sunshine.
*
‘No way. I’m
not doing that,’ I said, staring at the scene before me in horror. ‘There’s
nothing romantic about that.’
‘Who says
proposals have to be romantic?’ Harry said as he bent down to forcefully remove
my boots.
‘It’s the
rules. Flowers, fireworks, chocolates. A stuffed teddy with the words emblazoned
across a red heart. Not this. Never this.’
‘I disagree.’
‘You would,’ I
said as Harry pushed me gently but forcibly forwards in the queue.
‘I think
proposals can be weird, funny or in the case of this little adventure,
adrenaline filled.’
I was next.
‘If I die –’
‘I’ll wear a
cow print onesie to your funeral. Now get up there.’
My phone rang
in my pocket.
‘Oh I have to
get that, shame I’ll miss my turn.’
But to my
annoyance, Harry had already wrestled my phone from my pocket and had answered
it. He was more than capable of dealing with our customers and he knew I knew
that.
‘Are you going
or what, love?’ asked a big gruff man whose face looked like it had been
punched several times. His nose was bent in two places and he had a huge scar
across his forehead. Had he sustained these injuries doing this? I shrunk back
but Harry pushed me forward.
‘Yes she is,
and send her as high as you can.’
The man
nodded, somewhat evilly I thought.
I climbed the
steps to my doom and they attached thin rubber cables to my harness. I kept my
eyes on Harry as the man bounced behind me for a few seconds, causing me to
bounce as well. A moment later I was propelled some ten feet into the air, a
scream tearing from my throat. I fell back to the earth but no sooner had I
touched the ground than I was sent back into the air again, this time even
higher than the last.
We had been
walking along the Thames when the sounds of screams had attracted us. As we
rounded the corner, we saw the bungee trampolines and watched with amusement as
we saw people screaming, being bounced higher and higher in the air. My
amusement had quickly turned to horror when I realised Harry had paid for me to
have a go, and that we had come here deliberately for this reason.
I screamed
again as I flailed in the air, kicking my legs helplessly in the hope that it
would slow my descent. Each time I thought I was going to crash into the
ground, I came to a slow stop, bounced gracefully off the trampoline and was
propelled back into the air again. As I was thrust into the air for the fifth
time, a bubble of laughter escaped my throat. It was a rush – a terrifying,
brilliant rush. The man bounced with me, sending me higher, and I roared with
joy.
All too soon
the experience was over, and the man slowed me down and stopped me. He unhooked
me and I quickly clambered down the steps and ran straight into Harry’s arms,
still laughing uncontrollably.
Finally my
laughter subsided.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very
welcome,’ he said, into my forehead. ‘You see, at this point, while your heart
is still pounding furiously and with the grin plastered on your face, I would
propose.’
‘And I would
say yes.’
I felt him
smile into my hair.
‘So one we can
definitely add to our repertoire?’
‘Yes, I take
it all back. I love it.’
‘They’re not
here all the time, but the guy is going to give me his card as they go all
round the UK. We can phone them up if need be and find out where they are.’
‘Excellent,
it’s great to get contacts like this.’
‘Are you ready
for the next part of our day?’
I pulled back,
intrigued. ‘There’s more?’
‘Yes.’ He
chivalrously picked up the bag containing the pyjamas he had bought me earlier.
Very simple, very elegant satin pyjamas. I’d liked the black but Harry put his
foot down and we’d eventually agreed on a dusty rose.
‘Was the phone
call anything good?’
‘I’ve emailed
over to him our basic package.’
I sighed. ‘That’s
the fourth today.’
‘Hey, the
basic package is a good little money earner. You know – on average – half the
customers that buy the twenty pound package from us, come back and spend ten
times that on a big extravagant proposal.’
‘I know, but
at this time of year I kind of expect to get more big proposals rather than so
many basic packages.’
Harry was right,
we earned quite a bit from our basic package. For twenty pounds, we sent our
customers a brochure of our top fifty proposals. Ideas ranging from the
romantic to the ridiculous, top class restaurants to tiny little tucked away
cafés strewn with fairy lights. We included days out, fun experiences and
romantic getaways. We also included vouchers for discounts and special offers
at these hotels and restaurants and if our customers went there, we also got
ten percent of their final bill from the companies for introducing our
customers to them in the first place. It also gave brief details of more
elaborate proposals, something only we could organise, with the promise of a
refund of the twenty pounds if they were to book one of the grander proposals
with us.
‘Romance isn’t
always about big gestures though,’ Harry said. ‘Sometimes it’s the words the
man finds or the effort that he has gone to. It doesn’t have to be something
expensive.’
‘I know that,
the smaller gestures are sometimes the best, a message written in the sand on a
favourite beach or a personalised cinnamon swirl.’ I nudged him as we walked
along the road and he smiled. ‘But from a business point of view I’m not sure
people paying us twenty pounds to send them to propose elsewhere is the best
idea. They could spend a hundred pounds or more at these posh places. That’s a
hundred pounds they could have spent with us.’
Harry switched
sides with me and I wondered why as he put himself between me and two men who
were arguing, placing his hand on the small of my back as he nudged me round
them. I felt embarrassed by the goose bumps that suddenly exploded over my body
at his touch.
Harry
continued on as if he hadn’t noticed my heart leap out of my chest. ‘Most
people have in their mind what kind of proposal they want to do before they
contact us. For most of them it would involve some kind of romantic meal, so
they’re not likely to spend their money with us anyway. By providing them with
a list of romantic places to eat, not only do we get the twenty pounds but also
any kickbacks from the restaurants too. We’ve probably earned more money from
the basic package than we have from the big proposals – so I wouldn’t knock the
smaller gestures if I were you. Come on, through here.’
Harry ducked
into a tiny alleyway that wound round the corner out of sight. He knew London
like the back of his hand and very rarely went on the underground. There was
always so much more to see when on foot. I followed him, his hulking frame
almost filling the alley wall to wall. The walls were covered in graffiti and
chewing gum, but some of the pictures sprayed on the bricks were very skilful. As
we came to an old boarded-up window, he stopped and as I drew near he pulled me
to his side, with his hand at my waist, sending delicious shivers down my
spine.
‘There’s a
place called Bubblegum Alley in California, and a Chewing Gum Wall in Seattle,
where millions of pieces of gum have been stuck on the walls. It’s so bright
and colourful that what started as something gross has now been declared an official
tourist attraction. People travel from miles around to see it and to add their
own gum to it. Some have even created little works of art amongst the thousands
of globules.’
He stood back
a bit and pointed to the wall. There in a heart made from pink chewing gum were
the words ‘Annie, marry me,’ also made from chewing gum.
‘Love can be
found in the most unlikely of places, you just have to look for it.’
He stared down
at me and for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was talking about him, or about me
and him.
‘It doesn’t
need to be about romance, just little heartfelt gestures.’
I smiled. ‘I
wonder if she said yes.’
Harry pointed
to the green letters written in globules of chewing gum underneath the heart. In
big proud letters, the word ‘Yes’, stood out.
‘I like it.’ I
grabbed my phone from my pocket and took a few shots. I had to put this on the
website.
‘I knew you
would.’
‘You see, I
don’t need big gestures, so whatever you have planned for our next proposal, it
doesn’t need to be a big yacht or a trip to the moon.’
He walked
away, heading towards the sunlight that was piercing our gloom.
‘I’ll cancel
the space rocket then.’
‘Harry, I’m
serious. Don’t waste your money on me.’
He ignored me
as we stepped out into the sunlight. He was incredibly generous with his money
and he had a lot of it. He didn’t get a very good salary from me but he didn’t
really need it. Years before, whilst travelling around America, he’d had the
foresight to invest in a tiny little up-and-coming online social media site called Connected. He’d given a thousand dollars at
the time, money he had won at a casino, and years later, when Connected had been the biggest
social media site in America and probably the world, he had sold his shares for a huge
sum. He’d never told me how much he got
from that little endeavour. But it was enough that he could afford the huge
house on the other side of the green from me, bought when the property prices
had plummeted. And he always seemed to have enough money for little gifts and
meals out.
‘Spending
money on you is never a waste. And we’re running late now so we’re going to
have to run.’
He grabbed my
hand and started jogging through the streets, winding his way expertly through
the other people.
‘We could
catch the tube,’ I whined, as I tried to keep up with his long-legged pace.
‘Running’s
much more fun,’ Harry said, without breaking his stride.
*
The Glade at
Sketch was like nothing I’d ever seen before. With its white bricked front,
Sketch looked like a simple townhouse – and we’d actually walked past the place
before we’d realised it was there. But down the darkened staircase and to the
left, a tranquil wooded glade had been transported from some fairy tale forest
to this seemingly unassuming restaurant in central London. Trees covered every
wall and surface, the leaves of which were painted in every shade of green and
gold imaginable. A huge chandelier dominated the ceiling, casting delicate
lights over every surface from its tangle of branches. Tiny gold fireflies
danced around the walls and floor. Mirrored panels near the roof moved slowly,
catching the light from the huge sun roof above us and sending its rays across
the room as if the sun was moving through the trees. Wicker chairs, tables and
sofas with huge green embroidered cushions were placed casually throughout the
room as if they were garden furniture and we were all just simply sitting out
in the garden somewhere, enjoying the sun.
‘Harry Forbes,
we have a reservation for afternoon tea.’ Harry said to the beautiful waitress who
looked like a woodland nymph with the plaits and twists in her hair, and her
floaty dress.
The waitress
showed us to our table and we quickly placed an order for tea. Breakfast tea
for me, something that sounded like a rare tropical disease for Harry.
‘Harry, this
place is beautiful.’ I couldn’t stop looking around, until my eyes met with his
and I realised he’d been watching me. ‘Thank you for today.’
‘My pleasure. I
just wanted you to have some fun. You’ve been so down lately.’ He paused,
awkwardly, while he rearranged the cups on the table. ‘The food here is
amazing.’
I reached
across and squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.’
The afternoon
tea arrived just as Harry was poised to say something else. I reluctantly let
him go so there was room for our cake stand on the table.
Harry was
right, the food looked and tasted amazing. The sandwiches were all topped with
extras like quail eggs and caviar, bringing a simple egg mayonnaise sandwich
alive with an assault of different flavours.
There was an
array of cakes, all tiny, mouth-watering bites of pure pleasure, some kind of
trifle and of course delicious fresh fruit scones.
‘So tell me,’
Harry said around a mouthful of something chocolaty, ‘Tiny Tim, did you and
he…?’
Oh God, Tiny
Tim was going to come back and haunt me forever.
I picked up
some kind of pink meringue that literally dissolved as soon as it touched my
tongue. I licked my lips as I played for time.
‘Did we what?’
I smirked as Harry shifted uncomfortably, waving his hands around in what I
presumed was some kind of representation of the act. The man had no problem
discussing his sordid sex life but he was still awkward when discussing mine. I
wanted to play him at his own game.
‘He liked to
dress up,’ I said as I popped some kind of fruit tart in my mouth. The fruit
was crystalized and was like an explosion on my tongue.
Harry’s eyes
widened. ‘Like air hostess, police woman, cheerleader, that kind of thing?’
I shook my
head. ‘Lots of different things really. One of my favourites was dressing up as
a unicorn and he was a lion. He liked to take me from behind and he would roar
when he came.’
Harry stared
at me, his face unblinking. I picked up a tiny coffee éclair and caught the eye
of a tiny little old lady sitting at the next table, her fruit tart poised
halfway to her mouth. I blushed, realising she had heard every word.
Still, there
was no going back now.
‘He liked to
dress up as one of the flower pot men, Bill normally, I’m not sure why. I was
always the flower, Weed. Then Bill would come at me with his big hose.’
The old lady
leaned over to me. ‘Dear, do you have the name of the shop where you bought
these costumes?’
‘I don’t I’m
afraid, Tim always brought them with him. I will miss his big hose.’
Harry was
still staring at me. ‘I didn’t realise you were into all that weird stuff.’
I licked the
icing off the top of the éclair and popped it in my mouth, trying desperately
to suppress my laughter but it was to no avail. I snorted so hard that a bubble
of snot burst from my nose and I quickly had to wipe it away on my beautiful
cotton serviette.
‘You’re
joking?’ Harry looked almost relieved.
‘Of course I
am.’
‘So you guys…
didn’t…’
‘It’s none of
your business. Just because you like to talk about all your sexploits, doesn’t
mean the rest of us do.’
‘That’s a ‘no’
if ever I heard one.’ He smiled smugly. I wasn’t going to let him get away with
that.
‘It’s a ‘yes’
actually, but it was just regular sex.’ I wanted to expand on that, regular sex
sounded so boring. ‘Well as regular as three hour sex marathons can be. He had
the stamina of a horse. We’d do it all over the flat. On the dining table, up
against a wall, in the shower, in the kitchen, on top of the washing machine,
backwards, forwards, sideways, doggy style.’
The old lady
choked on her fruit scone.
‘Sideways?’
asked Harry.
‘Yes. You
should try it, it’s great fun. Can you pass the sugar?’
I stared down
at my tea. Sideways, how exactly would that work?
‘Tell me about
your plans for the summer. You said you were thinking about going to New
Zealand.’
Harry recovered
himself well. ‘The land of the hobbits. I would love to. Maybe hire a camper
van and drive from North to South. There’s so many things I want to do, but
it’s more fun doing them with someone else.’
‘Sexy Samantha
not keen?’
‘She’s
definitely not the camper van sort. She’s more of the ‘five star hotel with
daily spa treatments’ kind of girl. We should go.’
‘I would love
that, I want to see the world, every tiny little pocket of it, but no
girlfriend of yours is going to be happy about you taking another woman off on
holiday. Sleeping together in the back of the camper van.’ I blushed as Harry’s
eyebrows shot up. ‘I meant actually sleeping – not having sex.’
The old lady
leaned in closer again, ready to catch the next instalment in my sex life.
‘I should hope
not,’ Harry said, his tongue licking seductively up the side of his éclair. ‘I
don’t have a lion costume.’
*
I sat back and
watched the gold fireflies chase each other up the walls. I was so
uncomfortably full, but everything was so hard to resist, that I’d had to eat
it all.
We’d had a
lovely time, chatting all afternoon, but one of the main topics of conversation
from the other guests was the toilets and how funny they were. I had to check
them out myself.
I excused
myself from the table and, following the directions of the woodland nymph
waitress, I walked through another restaurant to a very white room on the other
side.
The stairs
leading up to the toilets were a brilliant opulent white – looking like they
led to somewhere much grander than just some toilets. I walked upstairs to a
brightly lit room, the ceiling decorated with beautiful rainbow tiles, but as I
reached the top I stopped in my tracks. Several pods sat in a white chamber at
the top of the stairs, looking like white cocoons from an alien spaceship. They
were about seven foot tall and tapered off like eggs at the top.
I looked
around for the toilets but there was nothing else up here. On the other side of
the room were several more pods. These pods were clearly the toilets and were
obviously the reason for such amusement from the other guests.
I opened the
door on one of them, expecting to hear some kind of space age whoosh and was
slightly disappointed when I didn’t.
Inside was the
weirdest toilet I had ever seen. There was no seat at all. I walked in and
closed the door behind me. It was obviously some foreign kind of toilet where
you stand. A long ceramic oval hung from the wall jutting out at the bottom to
catch the waste. I stared at it – how on earth was I supposed to pee in that? Backwards
seemed the only safe option. With a bit of negotiating I pointed my bum in the
right direction and leaned forward into a sort of half squat. I quickly
finished and after redressing I left the pod, dying to tell Harry about the
very weird toilets. He was standing right outside and looked shocked to see me
coming out of one of the pods.
‘What?’ I said
‘These are the
boys’ toilets.’
I laughed. ‘No
they’re not, the waitress pointed me up these stairs.’
‘Yes, the
girls’ pods are over there.’ He pointed to the other side of the stairs where
several pods were bathed in pink lights in comparison to the pods where I was
that were bathed in blue.
Harry peered
over my shoulder and burst out laughing. ‘Did the urinals not give you a clue?’
I looked back
and gasped in horror. I had just peed in a urinal. Now he had pointed it out to
me it was obvious. It wasn’t some weird foreign type toilet at all, just a bog
standard urinal. I felt my cheeks glow crimson.
‘I’m
intrigued. How exactly did you manage to pee in there?’
I quickly
hurried to the sinks and washed my hands. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
I heard Harry
go into one of the pods, his laughter so loud I could hear him from the
outside.
To see the
rest of the story pre –order your copy of One Hundred Proposals now.
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