Meet Me at Marmaris Castle

  By Carla Kovach

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016, Meet Me at Marmaris Castle by Carla Kovach

  Disclaimer

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Many thanks to Nigel Buckley and Brooke Venables for all your help.

  Leopard print shoes

  I love the shoes. He will love the shoes, that’s if he turns up. I hope he loves me more than the shoes but the shoes would be a start. Do I want him to love me? A decade is a long time and now I have stretch marks. I know people make promises but sometimes circumstances dictate whether a person is able to fulfil those promises. “Meet me at Marmaris Castle,” he’d said. That was almost ten years ago. Had he since married like I had? Maybe he’s divorced like me. I trembled at the thought. I don’t have a plan if he doesn’t show. I suppose at the very least I’ll get a holiday. I haven’t really had much time to myself since having the girls so a holiday sounds okay, just not as okay as seeing Jason again. I stare at the shoes, admiring the heel and the leopard print pattern, and I grin. He will definitely love the shoes. I pack them in my case, ready to fly the day after tomorrow. Take me to Marmaris.

  Florida, the children and her

  Phillip's car pulled up on time. I paused and watched as he opened 'her' car door. Oh no, does she have to get out? My heart feels as though it's pumping at the back of my throat, making me feel like I need to gag. She’s getting out of the car. Yes, Miss younger, slimmer, and now just to top it off, pregnant, has just stepped out. Why is it that she looks like she’s been kitted out in the best that John Lewis can offer? When I was pregnant with the twins, I had to make do with leggings and his oversized tee-shirts. Oh yes, my wide-fit trainers were really glamorous; bloody puffy ankles. That’s how it goes when you’re pregnant and a bit hard up. I checked my reflection as they walked up the path. Hair at its best – check, loving the honey hi-lights. Make-up, tidy if not slightly foxy – check. Clothes – best in my price range – check. You can't go wrong with jeans and a fitted shirt. The doorbell rang. The girls ran down the stairs. “Daddy,” Emily shouted. Shelly followed closely, carrying her favourite teddy bear. I heard the door open.

  “Hello my lovely ladies. Are you excited?” Phillip asked. The girls yelled at the same time.

  At first I hadn’t been pleased about him taking them to Florida with ‘her.' It's a long way to go and I've never been apart from them for that long. Three weeks without their shrill voices and animated play was going to seem strange and then there's 'her.' Her has a name. Her is called Mallory. What kind of a name is Mallory? Mallory works in management. Mallory’s American father is some sort of business tycoon, IT sector I think. Mallory obviously works for Daddy’s company. Mallory has the shiniest hair and the firmest behind ever thanks to her personal trainer at the gym. Her gym has a steam room. I imagine her visiting the nutritionist just before getting her weekly manicure. My hands shake. I can see the attraction, I really can. Phillip and I did nothing but argue and Mallory has a fabulous house, a trim bottom and she has a swimming pool. I know this because my children come back from their country retreat and ask me why we can’t have a swimming pool too. I have no idea why Mallory wanted to put my husband in that lovely house but hey, what Mallory seems to want, Mallory gets. It was no good delaying the inevitable. I had to face them.

  I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs. Play it cool Annie. Take one step after another in the ridiculously high heels you’ve treated yourself to. Whatever you do, don’t stumble. Be elegant, walk tall and show them that air of confidence that you’ve been practising so well. They come into view and I notice that they both look so well preened. Had Phillip gotten a fake tan? I tut. I have to stop doing that. I’m allowing parts of Mallory to enter my mind. Mallory says gotten all the time. The children even come home saying gotten. I’m forever correcting them.

  Phillip smiled at me as he took Shelly’s case from the hall. He’d had his teeth whitened. That had to be Mallory’s influence.

  “Hello Sweetie,” Mallory said as she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I allowed her to hug me. “They are going to have such an awesome time. I don’t want you to worry about them for a single moment. You know I have an Aunt Ellie living in Miami, we’ll be staying at her beach house for one of the weeks. They will have such an amazing experience,” she said. I inhaled her perfume. I didn’t recognise the smell but it was no eau de toilette. It had a depth and a sweetness, which left me needing to inhale again. Her clothes felt soft to the touch. There was no colour fading or bobbling on her light shawl. It was then I realised that the size twelve high street jeans that were holding in my size fourteen stomach had nothing on her. I’ll get my own back when she reaches the third trimester.

  Emily left the house and began walking down the path. “Do I get a hug Emily,” I called. She giggled and ran back.

  “Sorry Mummy,” she said as she threw her arms around my waist. I kneeled and kissed her soft cheek.

  “I think they’re just so excited to go and see Micky and Minnie, aren’t you girls?” Mallory shouted.

  The twins yelled again. Big grins spread across their faces. “Even Ernie is looking forward to it,” Emily said as she held up her scruffy teddy bear, the bear that Phillip and I had given her on her first birthday. The girls still looked so tiny. My heart missed a beat at the thought of them leaving me for a whole three weeks but despite our previous differences, Phillip is an excellent father. I just hoped in the meantime that Emily and Shelly would still think I was a good mother, after all, buying that swimming pool will never be on the cards.

  “Mummy, I forgot Bertie,” Shelly said as she hugged me. Bertie is Emily's first birthday bear. My girls rarely go anywhere without their special bears.

  “That’s okay Love. I’ll go and get Bertie for you,” I said as I left her at the door and ran up the stairs. I ran into their room and started lifting the bedding and opening the cupboards. Bertie was nowhere to be seen. I’ve never known anything else get so lost, so many times. Shelly certainly was the forgetful one. I paced up and down as I tried to think back. She’d had Bertie at breakfast and then she'd taken Bertie upstairs when she was getting dressed.

  “We have to get going soon. Can you hurry up?” Phillip called.

  “I’m trying,” I said. I heard him murmuring to Mallory. The girls were giggling and running around on the drive, no doubt excited to be going to Disney World. I kneeled down and looked under the bed. How had Bertie ended up there, flush against the wall? I fell onto my front and reached as far as I could. I touched the bear’s arm. Just a bit further and I’d have the bear in my hand. I reached again and managed to grab it. “Ouch,” I yelled as I went to kneel up. My hair was stuck in a bed spring.

  “Annie. I’m real sorry to hurry you but we have a flight to catch,” Mallory said.

  I wrenched my hair from the spring and yelped as a few strands ripped out. Gripping Bertie, I hurried along the landing and ran down the stairs. That’s when time stopped; that's how it seemed anyway. Halfway down, I missed the step in my ridiculous shoes. No longer did I feel hot, I felt steaming, stuffy, rushed and flustered. I remember slinging the bear and grabbing the bannister. I remember Phillip and Mallory staring at me as I slid on my bum, hair everywhere, arms flaying, grabbing anything. Then, I landed with my legs apart at the bottom of the stairs. Keep smiling, I thought. Don't let them see your pain. As I went to stand, the top button on my jeans pinged and hit the front door, allowing my stomach to escape over my waistband.

  “Are you okay Sweetie?” Mallory said as she ran over to me.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, smiling as I tried to rake my fingers through my hair.

  “Here, don’t try to lift her in your condition,” Phillip called as he ran over and offered me a hand up. The cheek of it. How heavy did he think I was? Did he think I would break little Mallory?

  “I said I’m fine.” I grabbed the bannister and pulled myself up. My arm ached at the socket and my rear felt as though I’d taken a kicking but I wouldn’t show them my pain. “See, no damage done,” I said as I gasped for breath and placed a mass of tangled hair behind my ear.

  The girls were still running around in the garden. Phillip bent down and picked Bertie up. Shelly ran up to him and he passed her the bear. “Thank you Daddy.” Thank Daddy why don’t you. I wanted to cry but I knew that would be silly. It wasn’t Shelly’s fault I’d fallen down the stars while trying to reunite her with her bear.

  Phillip looked up at me and said, “Mummy found the bear.” At least he had some decency in there.

  Mallory touched him on the arm, displaying her fiery red nails. “We have to go, really. Girls, say goodbye to your Mummy.”

  Shelly and Emily ran up to me. I hugged them both at the same time. My girls were going away with their dad, without me, for the first time. I was going away without them for the first time since I’d had them too. I felt a tear welling up in the corner of my eye. Mallory looked at me. “We’ll take real good care of them, really we will,” she said as she hugged me. I hugged her back.

  Phillip and Mallory have been together for two years. He had cheated on me with her, but we hadn’t been happy. I’d known for a long time he wasn’t the one but we'd planned to have a baby anyway. Foolish, I know, but neither of us were getting younger and we both saw children as being a p art of our future. That baby had ended up being two babies. We made a go of it and it hadn’t worked. Our lack of love wasn’t Mallory’s fault. Her timing sucked but it wasn’t her fault. I felt like hitting myself for using another one of her words. Since when had I ever used the word sucked apart from in past tense when referring to how one consumed a popsicle? I blushed, there were other times. Anyway, moving on swiftly, I could slap myself again. It’s an ice-lolly. Why did the girls keep bringing these damn words home?

  I watched as they all got in the car and buckled up. I waved to the girls. The car left the street and they were gone. A tear trickled down my face. I promised myself I wouldn't cry and look at me now. I sobbed in the doorway, smearing all the make-up I'd spent ages applying. I closed the door and grabbed my phone from the side. What does a woman do when she's sobbing her heart out like a baby? She calls her best friend and has a good natter. "Beverley, can you talk?" I said as I bawled down the phone.

  Up the buff

  Children in flight, due to arrive in Florida this evening. Bags packed. Advanced Passenger Information completed. Passport, insurance, hotel and travel documents – all in the envelope on top of the case. I opened the envelope just to make sure. I’d opened it three times and three times I’d confirmed that I had everything. Taxi booked. Cash exchanged. Bikini packed – yes, I have a bikini for the first time since giving birth.

  With several hours to spare, I needed to get beach buff and my friend Beverley took great delight in telling me that this begins with a bikini wax. Beverley thinks that as soon as I see him, we’ll jump into bed together, have the wildest night I’ve ever had in my life and then I’ll get over this historical, holiday-guy, obsession. I keep reminding her that it was ten years ago and anything could’ve happened. Deep down, I’m pretty sure, all the flattery he'd bestowed upon me was empty talk after a few Brandy Alexanders, and a smoking hot two-day fling. I keep telling her he won’t turn up and that's okay by me. I have three hundred books on my Kindle and I'm looking forward to a bit of me time. Lying on a beach, reading, eating ice-cream and drinking cocktails, sounds perfect to me; man or no man.

  I remember Beverley giving me a confused look after I told her I’d had this fling. It had been obvious by her sniggering that she'd never imagined me to be the holiday fling type, and she was right. What happened with Jason was a one off, totally out of character.

  Beverley and I work in a school together. I teach reception class, she is the bursar. We meet for coffee on the high street every other Saturday. I wear cardies, in fact, I have one for every day of the week. The children adore the bright coloured ones. For my forty-fifth birthday, Beverley and the other staff surprised me with a cake in the shape of a cardigan. That’s why Beverley gave me the look when I mentioned my fling. I haven’t even had a date since my divorce. Beverley had never seen me as the type of person to have a wild moment. If I'm honest I can barely believe that 'Annie the holiday fling bandit' ever existed. I’m not hip, I'm not cool, and I haven’t entered a nightclub in at least fifteen years, except for that one time with Jason, in Marmaris. As a rule, I don’t like clubs but I liked being with Jason. I'd have followed Jason anywhere.

  Last week, when Beverley and I met for our regular coffee, she said I needed to ‘up the buff.’ She has a way of saying things with a dirty little snigger. I tried to explain that my child bearing days were behind me but she just laughed. “The buff,” she repeated, elongating every letter. That’s when she took me shopping and turned me into the foxy, heel wearing, slick-haired siren that I am today. Beverley said the kitten heels were too small and the killer heels would be a dead cert in the bedroom department. How many times did I have to tell her? I didn’t anticipate that the bedroom department was going to happen. But I agreed with her on her shoe choice, maybe part of me was hopeful. My safe wardrobe was no good for Marmaris. I purchased both the killer and the kitten heels. I needed summer dresses, shorts and vest tops. I'd endured her diet plan of grapefruit, coffee, cabbage soup and some mystery powder you dissolve in water, made from seaweed I think. To her credit, I’d been grumpy for several weeks, but I’d lost a whole eighteen pounds and now I felt epic, at least I had until she insisted I was wearing a bikini. “But I have a baby belly,” I remember yelling at her. She passed me a fifties style, sailor girl, pin-up bikini and pushed me into the dressing room. Beverley was right. New hairdo in honey tones, a light tanning cream, the perfect fitting bikini; I’d been underestimating my siren powers all these years, hiding safely under my chunky knitwear. Beverley did try to get me to ditch the knitwear. We argued for a whole ten minutes but I won the battle. My trusty knitwear remains hanging up in the wardrobe, ready for my return.

  The doorbell rang, dragging me back to reality. Where was I? Bikini wax. Why had I agreed to this? I have razors and soap. Why go through the indignity of revealing your barely concealed lady bits to some young thing whose aim is to attack you with hot wax and tweezers? The tweezers are for my eyebrows by the way. As far as I’m aware, my landing strip, as Beverley calls it, will not be achieved by using tweezers, thank goodness. I opened the door. “Right, I suppose there’s no getting out of this,” I said as I left the house and pulled the door closed.

  “Not if you want to up the buff. Have I been right so far in everything that I’ve helped you with?” As always, she looked foxy. Tight leggings and peep-toe shoes were her casual wardrobe staples. Considering she was fifty-two and a few years older than me, she always looked younger and definitely turned more heads. She had what I'd consider to be a balanced core. She could bend and stretch with ease, maybe it was down to her weekly yoga sessions. If I did too much bending and stretching, tendons were likely to snap. I admired her confidence. She regularly attended a few dates per month through various dating sites. She's my inspiration. If I had the energy, I'd choose to be more like Beverley. Since becoming best friends with her after my divorce, I'm almost a changed woman. I nodded, smiled, and got in her car, ready for my complete Beverley inspired transformation.

  I stared out of the car window, wondering where the past ten years had gone. My girls had been my entire life for the past four years and playing house with Phillip had zapped away the years previous to that. Having them had changed me in ways I'd never imagined. Two little ones who were constantly full of energy had drained me to the point of exhaustion. I love them more than anything, but I'd let myself go. When I found out they were going to Florida, that special date rang in my head. I could make the date. I could meet Jason at Marmaris Castle or should I say, I could get myself to Marmaris Castle, alone, and see if he turned up.

  I’d thought about Jason many times over the years. I’d imagined what my life would’ve been like if we’d have swapped numbers instead of making silly drunken small talk. I hadn't wanted to appear too desperate. I wanted him to ask for my number, but he never did. I hadn’t told him where I lived or worked and he hadn’t told me anything either. I wonder if he’d thought about me as many times as I had him. As I'd stepped on the coach to leave for the airport all those years ago, I remember him running up to the window. I opened it and he shouted. “Meet me at Marmaris Castle, this date, ten years from now. Seven in the evening, I’ll be there,” he'd called as the coach pulled off. I should’ve asked the driver to pull over and then I should've taken a taxi to the airport after speaking to him, but I remained seated and the coach left. I remember watching him getting smaller and smaller as the coach continued down the main run of Marmaris, leaving him and the hotel I'd been staying at in the distance. I remember my heart pounding and wanting to cry. We’d had a fantastic two days but was two days enough to really get to know someone? I may not have known him well, but I do know that a day hasn’t passed without those words ringing through my head. “Meet me at Marmaris Castle.”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry Bev, I was in a world of my own.”

  “Wendy’s Waxing Salon awaits your arrival,” she said as she got out of the car. “I think if I was meeting some lover guy in paradise, I’d be in my own world.”

 

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