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.
Until next time,
Ginger
Landry Prince is in love with Mala. He watches her from a distance, never having the courage to talk to her let alone speak his true feelings. However when he discovers that Mala might have information on his sisters brutal murder he will stop at nothing to find out the truth, even if that means proving that Mala herself had something to do with it.
