Lola had escaped the hotel conference: a deliberate turn of events where the timetable was so rigid it was as if the company responsible had been ordering a nation for eternity. Without escape, what chance did she have to breath a different sort of air, clear her head? She walked the moonlit shore in all its glorious silvery reflection, blurred by a prosecco-embrace.
She had lived a life of routine, structured and discaplined, but now with the warm breeze chasing her sparkle-ass jeans along the shore line she felt she had grown wings and could fly away from all that restraint.
He was leaning on a carousel and when his wolf-whistle elicited a smile from her he pushed off from his mooring and approached at a lazy trot until he fell in step beside her offering a cigarette before she bolted. She craved the heart flutter of that first drag more than he could understand. She succumbed. He smiled, his teeth a surreal fluorescent in the u-v flare and she couldn’t help but smile back.
They walked and she talked until the lights dropped away from garish to gaudy and then further so that they hung on the horizon like a rope of stars in another galaxy. She didn’t know why she found herself talking about the cumulative years she and her husband had tried to have children. It was painful to think of the slow destruction of their hopes, the torturous dissent into blame and recrimination. They each became the embodiment of the others disappointments and how could you make it work from there? She shrugged. She was over it she said. She laughed it off unconvincingly, her eyes shining in the moon’s gaze. They sat among the quiet secret of the dunes and he put a hand about her shoulder coaxing her to lean in to his warm embrace. He was a good listener, didn’t say much. She wondered suddenly whether he spoke any English at all. She could tell he was chancing his arm when he said in a thick accent,
“If you need me, let me know’.
It sounded cheesy: like a line he’d heard in a film, but actually, she thought, why not? A carnival for the senses would blot away the pain. That’s what she craved: a white noise experience, an escape.
She knelt and swung one leg over both of his and pushed him down into the dunes. Instantly his hands reached for the swell of her ass as she leaned down to kiss him. How far and how near will this take us she thought. If she could hold this moment of brandished love she would take it, no questions asked. Opportunities like this came seldom to a girl of structure and routine.
In reality, there was nothing romantic about the combination of body fluids and wind-blown sand but they made the best of it before falling back, sated and gritty, staring at the stars. A comet blinked in the firmament and a shooting star gave chase. “Should I make a wish,” she thought. They held out for a moment both in their own solitude then Shakespeare took them: ‘To sleep, perchance to dream.’
When she woke he had already gone- ridden into the night with bloody intentions. Neither of them knew he had gifted her the conception-key she had always longed for.
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