A SMALL ADVENTURE

Amy trudged through the woods, hands in pockets, head tucked into her hood. Summer rain fell in light drizzle so that the leaves glistened on the trees and cobwebs were exposed in their bejewelled splendour.  Birds chorused in the highest branches and Amy’s heart should have sang with them, but it felt as heavy as her mud coated boots.  So this was her life? Late forties, children grown up, husband busy at work, travelling so much he was rarely at home – and when he was, she felt more like a domestic than a wife, cooking, washing and ironing in a monotonous cycle.  Did she love him? If she did, it was a familiar love that is barely aware of itself.  She trudged on, gazing bleakly into her future.  Was this as good as it was going to get?

When she got home she made a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table to read the papers.  She should be a journalist, she thought, remembering how she had edited her university rag and written the odd piece for her local paper.  But what would she write about? She had lost her imagination somewhere on her journey, along with her sense of fun.

The telephone rang and she sensed it was John calling to say he’d be home late.  She picked it up and answered flatly. 

            “Hi, Amy.”

            “Eloise!” Amy was surprised to hear the familiar voice ringing down the line from America.  It had been months since she had last spoken to her old friend from university.  Eloise had gone straight from Exeter to New York to work for an art dealer, married the art dealer, given birth to three boys, divorced ten years later and kept in touch through it all. 

            “I’m getting married!”

            “Again?”

            “Yes, but it’s different this time. It’s Big Love, honey.”  She even sounded American now.

            “Who is he?”

            “I can’t wait for you to meet him.  I miss you, Amy! Goddamnit.  No one makes me laugh like you do.  Please say you’ll come to the wedding. It’s only small, just my very good friends at his house on Harbour Island. We’re getting married on the beach! Bring John. It’s very romantic.”       

John and romantic clashed horribly in the same sentence.  “I doubt he’ll be able to go, he’s so busy. When is it?”

            “Last weekend in June.”

            “That’s in two weeks time.”

            “At our age we can’t afford to hang around. Please say you’ll come!”  She gave a throaty laugh.  “It’s not like you have anything else to do!”

            Well, she was right about that.  “Okay, I’ll come.”

            “I’m so pleased. It wouldn’t be the same without you!”

Amy hung up and stared into her teacup.  Why was it that Eloise’s life was always full of adventure? If Amy could have another life, would she marry John? She wasn’t so sure anymore. 

As she expected, John was due to be in Milan the last weekend in June.  He didn’t mind at all that she go alone, he even suggested she hook up with friends who were also going and make a week of it.  “You deserve a holiday, Amy.  It’ll do you good to get away.” 

So, with increasing excitement she bought her plane ticket and packed her bag with summer dresses she never got to wear.  She had her hair cut and highlighted and braved a leg wax in anticipation of bearing them on those sandy white beaches. At last, she was on the plane to the Bahamas, from where a smaller plane would take her the short distance to Harbour Island.  She left England behind without a single regret and sat back in her seat, sipping Chardonnay and relishing the beginning of what was sure to be a small adventure.  It had been years since she had travelled on her own; she felt young again, and free. 

As they were about to land at Nassau airport the plane began to judder and jump.  Amy gripped the seat.  The pilot informed the passengers in his most unflustered voice that they were on the tip of the tail of hurricane Horace.  They’d be lucky to land at all.  Amy thought of her children and sent up a quick prayer.  I promise I’ll appreciate my life if you let me live, she muttered.  I’ll even try and appreciate John.  Suddenly she longed for his unflappable presence.  He was always good in a crisis.

Miraculously the plane landed in Nassau.  They were the last flight permitted onto the island.  So relieved was she that her prayer had been granted, she didn’t mind at all that her connecting flight to Harbour Island was cancelled.  She collected her bag and took a taxi to the nearest hotel.  Palm trees bent their elegant bodies with nonchalance and even the taxi driver didn’t seem at all concerned that his car might be blown across the road.  He’d weathered it all before.

She bathed and dressed and decided to eat downstairs.  After all, she was on holiday.  She sat at the bar and ordered a cocktail.  There was something delicious about being alone in a strange hotel the other side of the world and she found herself laughing out loud.  “What are you laughing at?” The voice was heavily accented.  She turned to see a handsome, dark-haired man sitting alone at the other end of the bar.

            “Nothing really,” she replied, taking a sip of her Margarita. 

            “You’re lucky you find your own company so amusing,” he said and she noticed a melancholy shadow in his eyes in spite of his smile.

            “I’m on holiday.”

            He observed her curiously.  “You might not have noticed, but there’s a hurricane outside.”

            “Horace. I know. We’ve already met, thank you.”

            He laughed, the shadow lifting as his eyes filled with mirth.     “So, who’s the lucky man?”

            “What man?” she looked around.

            “Are you on your own?”

            “Well, you’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

“Mind if I join you, then? I’m alone, too.”

            “Have I stumbled into the lonely hearts’ club?”

            “The ante room before a public hanging.” 

She didn’t understand his joke, but smiled anyway.

            He brought his drink over and sat on the stool beside her.  “What are you having?”

            “Was having a margarita.”  She lifted her empty glass.

            “Can I buy you another?  Nothing like a cocktail to make you feel like you’re on vacation.”

            “Are you Italian?”

            “Is it that obvious?”

            “You’re a long way from home.”

            “I was sitting there wishing I was home.  Then I saw you.”

She looked into his eyes and noticed how engaging they were.  Green like autumn leaves just beginning to turn.  He had a sensual face, full lips that curled at the corners, prominent chin with a dimple in the middle.  “You know what that means, don’t you?” she said, staring at it.

            “What?”

            “Well, when you’re on the great conveyer belt about to be born, God presses his finger into each belly, like this.”  She gently prodded his shirt.  “You’re done, you’re done,  then, to the very few he puts his thumb here…”  She placed hers in the crook of his chin.  “…And says softly, ‘But you’re special’.” 

He laughed.  “I like it.”

            “Sweet, isn’t it?”

            “No, I like the way you touched me.”

            She was surprised she didn’t blush.  “I’m married.”

            “I’m not.” 

            “Why not?”

            “Because no one has ever caught me. I’m a lone wolf.”

            She chuckled.  “Maybe you’re not worth catching.”

            “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

            “You’re a terrible flirt.”

            “So are you.”

            “There’s a hurricane outside.  We might not make it through the night.  Tonight might be our last.” 

            “If it was our last, what would you do with it?”

            She narrowed her eyes, appraising his broad shoulders, open neck shirt, brown skin and those deeply drawn laughter lines fanning across his temples.  “I wouldn’t waste it,” she replied softly, feeling young and brave and reckless.

They dined together then made their way up to Amy’s room.  She felt light-headed with alcohol and excitement.  Far away from home she was also far away from herself. They fell into the room and onto each other.  Pinned against the wall he buried his face in her neck, tasting the scent of orange blossom on her skin.  She closed her eyes and gave way to the sensation of tiny butterfly wings in her belly, so long forgotten it might as well have been another lifetime.  He unzipped her dress, and she allowed it to fall into a pool of cotton at her feet.  She stood in her panties and bra, head thrown back, aware only of his tongue on her collar bone and his hands on her waist, slowly travelling up towards her breasts.  What happened next was the ride of her life.  He made love to her with the patience and the skill Italian men are famous for, and she was swept away on her senses to a place where she was beautiful and valued and as abandoned as a woman who lives only for pleasure.

In the morning, he was gone.  She lay in the bright sunlight that tumbled in through the window and smiled at the recollection.  She didn’t feel guilty.  After all, she would never see him again.  He had been beautiful stranger who had stepped into her life to remind her that she was still desirable.  Hurricane Horace had moved on, leaving the sky a cerulean blue. 

She boarded the little plane in a daze of post coital bliss.  Everything was exquisite, from the crying baby in the front row, to the feathery clouds that wafted beneath the plane.  The sea sparkled below and from her heavenly vantage point she knew that her life would never be the same, because she would never again take it for granted.  Life was what she made of it. 

Eloise looked ravishing in a demur white dress, walking up the beach towards her prince.  Then Amy spotted him. It couldn’t be.  He couldn’t have.  But he was and he had.  It was the Italian from the night before, standing before the vicar, poised to marry her old friend, Eloise.  She felt the blood rush to her face to burn her cheeks with shame and panic. 

Before he spotted her she had to have a plan.  She thought quickly.  Finding a bedroom in the luxurious villa she hastily cut her hair into a fringe, painted her lips scarlet and covered her lashes in thick mascara.  Eloise didn’t notice the difference but Riccardo, her husband, blanched at the sight of her.  When Eloise was out of ear shot he hissed at her.  “Last night never happened.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “In Nassau.”

            “I wasn’t in Nassau.”

            “You weren’t?”  He looked confused.

            “No. I’ve been here for a few days, but my twin sister Abigail was stuck in some hotel last night due to Hurricane Horace.”

            “Your twin sister?” He looked incredulous.

            “Yes, must have been her you met?”

            “Perhaps.”  He studied her features, searching for the woman he had made love to the night before.  But she did look different.  “We had a drink at the bar, that’s all.”

            “Great. I’m meeting her tonight.  We’re booked into a week at the One & Only.”

            “Right.”

            “Congratulations, by the way. I hope you make Eloise very happy.” He watched in bewilderment as she walked away.  He didn’t notice her legs shaking beneath her sundress.

“She’s really lost her looks,” said Eloise when Riccardo caught up with her.  “Big mistake cutting her fringe like that.”

            “I agree. Her sister is much prettier.”

            Eloise frowned.  “Sister?”

            “I met her in Nassau last night.  We had a drink.”

            “Honey, she doesn’t have a sister.”

            He felt the ground fall away beneath him.  “A twin…”  His gaze found her in the crowd, and he shook his head at his foolishness.  The lone wolf just got caught, he thought to himself, then turned sheepishly back to his wife.

OUT NOW IN HARDBACK - PAPERBACK RELEASE IN FEBRUARY 2025

THE FIRST BOOK IN A BRAND NEW SERIES