Yesterday I posted a sneak preview of the prologue and first chapter of Holly Martin's One Hundred Proposals. Today I'm sneak peeking chapter 2!
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.
