by Rue Chapman
Christmas in Australia - baking heat, cicada's shrill songs in the trees, and Christmas dinner round the barbeque, or a cold seafood platter with heaps of huge prawns and juicy oysters. And then January is perfect beach time - school holidays are on, with tribes of children loose everywhere you look; hot days interspersed with even hotter days; and everyone wants to recover from the pressure of Christmas fun. The beach. The perfect way to relax. And what could be more relaxing than a holiday house on the beach, with all the family having fun...
"Just what is that?"
"The coffee maker."
"You're packing the coffee maker?"
"Well, of course. You like coffee, don't you?"
"Becka, we're going on holidays to get away from it all. But we seem to be taking most of it with us."
"Just the things we really need."
"We really need the portable TV, the VCR, the laptop, the coffee maker...?"
Becka stopped wrapping the egg poacher in bubble wrap and looked at the love of her life, "Greg, for the next three weeks we're sharing a holiday house with your parents, your brother, his charming fiancee and her two interesting children. I NEED those things. For sanity. Ok?"
Greg frowned at her, his dark eyes serious. "For the next three weeks you'll behave perfectly, no matter what, ok?"
Becka tossed her long ponytail over one shoulder. "Sure. I'll behave. So long as I have coffee and my laptop."
Greg took her by the shoulders, turned her around towards the doorway and swatted the seat of her shorts gently. "Go. Pack. Get all the bags ready. And remember we have a car, not a truck."
Becka giggled at him and hurried off to finish the packing. She loved the beach, and three precious weeks to laze around were going to be wonderful. And she'd always got on well with Greg's parents, Molly and Frank. And with his brother Nick.
But Nick was engaged. To Melissa. The sister-in-law-to-be from hell. With two spoilt brat demon spawn in tow.
And three weeks of Melissa and her offspring were going to be a real strain.
Melissa was tall and slender. Becka was short and rounded. ("Full-figured" as the shop assistants said tactfully. "Built like a real woman" as Greg called it. "I need another diet" was how Becka saw it.)
Melissa had thick, wavy hair, black as midnight, with deep blue eyes and fine, fair skin. (She was probably an alien.) Becka had long, straight, fine, hair in an indeterminate mousy brown, and hazel eyes that couldn't seem to decide what colour they were meant to be. And skin that, according to Becka, went from sallow to muddy olive depending on the state of her tan.
Melissa was a model, most of her work consisted of waving at the latest product and looking suitably attractive and impressed while some hyperactive photographer tried for an even more flattering shot than the last one.
Becka ran her own business, catering for special events, mainly working for large corporations. Melissa referred to it as 'Working as some kind of cook, aren't you dear?'
When Melissa wasn't around Becka felt like a normal, reasonably attractive and confident young woman. When Melissa was in the vicinity, Becka felt like a troll.
Three weeks.
Well, they didn't have to hang around together all day. Becka had a plan. They'd do the happy families bit at breakfast, then she and Greg would go off to some secluded beach and spend the days in sun-soaked bliss. Perfect. And they'd have Molly and Frank as a buffer zone, anyway.
All plans sound good before they meet reality.
Nick and Melissa were already settled in when they got to the holiday house - they'd arrived the day before. Nick was happily messing about in his boat, the children were riding their bikes up and down the street and Melissa was stretched out on a lounger in the shade, a cool drink clutched in one perfectly manicured hand.
"You don't mind taking the back room, do you? Only Nicky and I seem to have so much to unpack, we need the larger room." Melissa kissed the air over Becka's shoulder. Becka wondered how long it took to grind teeth down to the gums. Not even through the door and she'd started already. "Oh, and Molly and Frank won't be able to get here for at least a week - Frank had some kind of problem at work and couldn't get away. So it's just us."
Yep, they'd be ground down to stumps in no time.
Frank owned a building supplies business. Greg and Nick were partners, builders who specialised in kitchen and bathroom renovations, and the additions of extra rooms or even a whole floor to an existing house. January was always their quiet time, so they organised the jobs to allow them the precious January family holiday at the beach, a tradition that had lasted since their childhood. Becka had been with Greg for five years, married to him for three, and she'd loved every January holiday. Until now.
The unpacking took far longer than the packing, as usual, but finally Becka collapsed in the lounger beside Melissa's. She stretched out and took a slow, deep breath. This might not be so bad after all - nice place, the beach was close, and she really needed a good rest after the mad whirl leading up to Christmas.
Becka closed her eyes and relaxed.
"So, what are we having for lunch?"
Becka opened one eye and looked at Melissa. "What?"
"Lunch. What are we having?"
"Isn't it a bit late for lunch?"
"We waited for you and Greg to get here."
"Uh, well, I suppose we'll have whatever's in the fridge. Did you do much shopping yet?"
Melissa waved a languid hand, "We just had take-away yesterday. We haven't stocked up yet, I knew you'd want to take charge of all that."
Becka would rather have taken charge of something more satisfying, like putting itching powder in Melissa's make up, or substituting hair remover for her shampoo. But instead she crawled off the lounger, drove to the local shopping centre and did enough shopping to feed them all for a week (well, two days at least), then came back and made piles of sandwiches for everyone, and a huge bowl of fresh fruit salad. They certainly enjoyed their late lunch, even Becka. Although it wasn't easy eating when her jaw was clenched so tightly.
After lunch she washed everything up while Melissa sunned herself on the lounger.
The screams started five minutes later.
"I'm so sorry, Melissa," Becka managed to look suitably apologetic, "I totally forgot about your allergies. I should have remembered to warn you about the strawberries in the fruit salad. They really do make you horribly blotchy, don't they?"
Her only answer was a muffled wail from the bathroom, as Melissa frantically tried to find a foundation that would cover the huge red welts that spread over her face and chest.
Becka turned away, smiling to herself, but stopped short when she came face to chest with Greg - she usually loved the fact that he was so big and strong and protective. But she preferred it when he was protecting her.
"The strawberries were an accident, weren't they?" He was in stern mode now.
Becka managed her most innocent stare. "How could you even suspect otherwise?"
And then she scuttled away before he could realise that she hadn't answered the question. Maybe this holiday wouldn't be too bad after all.
(Think of a baking hot Aussie summer. High, clear blue skies and sunshine so hot you can feel it biting you. For those who know Jervis Bay, the place names mentioned will make sense. For those who don't, just ignore them. Oh and the sand on the beaches really is white, and fine. The sea is seven different shades of blue and turquoise and the waves crash with artistic abandon on the beautiful little beaches around the bay.)
Melissa didn't eat breakfast. Her children and husband-to-be did but it really wasn't much different for Becka to cook for five instead of two, was it?
Melissa stayed in bed until breakfast was prepared, eaten and tidied away.
Becka made a mental note to get a mouth guard while she still had teeth left to grind.
They decided to go to the beach for the morning. Greg and Nick loved to get right out where the waves were breaking. Becka did too, but she had to stay with the children - because Melissa had decided that she was just too exhausted from doing nothing and couldn't face the beach.
So Melissa stayed home with a beauty magazine - probably to admire all the pictures of herself, thought Becka savagely, the men bobbed happily around in the waves and Becka was left on the beach with the demon spawn. And her plans for Melissacide.
Jason and Miranda were seven. Twins. Double trouble. After whining to come to the beach, neither of them wanted to spend more than two minutes actually in the water. They'd dipped a toe or two in the water and returned to the mound of towels, chairs and beach umbrella before Becka had finished organising all their gear. So she didn't get to the water at all.
Jason's main method of communication was to grunt and kick things. Miranda's presence was announced by a high-pitched whine - most of her sentences began with "I want..."
"I want to build a sand castle."
"Fine. Go ahead. Jason, don't kick the sand over us."
"I want to build it THERE."
"You can't. I'm sitting here. Jason, stop throwing stones at the seagulls."
"I want you to move."
"No you don't. You wouldn't like what I'll do if I have to get up right now. Jason, stop trying to bury your sister." (Not that Becka objected too much to that one. But she'd probably be expected to dig the little cherub out again.)
"I want an ice cream."
"We don't have any ice cream with us. You can have one later. Jason, stop - doing everything."
"But I want one NOW."
"Well, there's a lot of things I want too. Looks like we're both missing out."
The little princess stared at Becka. She seemed to have a lot of difficulty with the concept of 'no'. Definitely a small version of her mother.
Jason, on the other hand, was apparently sired by the Terminator. A child with a vocabulary that contained no actual words and a burning determination to lay waste everything around him.
Becka was just trying to remember the exact grounds for justifiable homicide when Greg and Nick splashed out of the water. Finally!
"Great, Nick can stay with the kids for a while. Come on, Greg, let's get into those waves."
"I'm waterlogged, sweetie. And it's time we were thinking about lunch."
Grinding, grinding...
Fine. They can think about getting lunch for themselves.
Back at the holiday house, or as Becka now preferred to call it, the outer circle of hell, Melissa was happy to welcome everyone back. Lunchtime and everyone looked at Becka.
She stretched out on the lounger in the shade. "I'd love a nice cool drink, the beach was so hot."
Greg hovered over her. "I think everyone's ready for lunch."
"Yes, I am too. I can't wait to see what Melissa's got ready for us."
Melissa waved her beautifully-manicured hands. "I haven't had time to do a thing, I had to wash my hair."
"That's ok, Melissa. We'll wait. You go right ahead."
Greg gave Becka his 'Behave yourself' look. "Maybe you could give Melissa a hand in the kitchen?"
Becka gave him her 'Who, me?' gaze. "Now, Greg, Melissa was kind enough to keep right away when it was my turn in the kitchen, and give me a free hand. Of course I'll show her the same courtesy."
Greg turned, the look, up a notch, to 'This is not a joke'.
Becka hit him with her 'I'm not moving for anything short of an earthquake' stare.
Melissa talked Nick into going to the nearest shops to pick up some take-away while Greg and Becka were trying to out stare each other like a pair of aggravated cats.
Becka spent the afternoon lounging in the shade and reading a book. The men went to the local sports store to salivate over the fishing gear. Melissa wandered aimlessly, dropping hints about what a good cook Becka was and how Melissa really didn't want to push her way in to the kitchen...
"Don't worry, Melissa. I cook all the time for work, I came down here to get away from all that. You just feel free to take over any time. We'll split the cooking fifty-fifty."
Melissa muttered a bit more, about the joys of good home cooking, but Becka had apparently fallen asleep.
When the men finally returned, with the smelliest bait and most dangerous hooks they could find, Becka stirred and woke up artistically.
"That sea air really makes you work up an appetite, doesn't it? What's on the menu for tonight?" Nick was looking hopefully towards the kitchen.
Becka smiled. "Full seafood platter, with all the trimmings. Lobster, calamari, prawn cutlets, oysters, grilled fish, golden brown chips..."
"You've got all of that ready for us?" Nick was almost drooling. Like Greg he was a big man, tall and broad, and he loved his food.
"Got it ready? No, I'm sorry, I meant that was what Greg and I are having. He's taking me to the Club for dinner. But Melissa's been talking about a good home-cooked meal all afternoon, so I'm sure you're in for a treat."
Nick looked worried. Melissa looked aghast. Greg frowned at Becka, "I'm taking you out?"
She smiled lovingly at him, "Of course you are, darling. I know you haven't forgotten what day it is."
A married man has only one response to this statement. "Darling, as if I could forget."
They were in the car and halfway to the RSL club at Huskisson - the best place in the area to get a decent seafood platter - when Greg finally caved. "I give up. What day IS it today?"
"Monday."
There was a rather ominous silence for a moment. "We're celebrating Monday?"
"Monday and we don't need to go to work. Isn't that worth celebrating?"
"We're going out to celebrate MONDAY?"
"Don't you want to take me out for a nice, romantic evening?"
"And how much of your desire for a nice, romantic evening is related to you not wanting to do all the cooking?"
Becka grinned her most evil smile. "Now, darling, I'm hurt. Don't you think I want to be with you?"'
"Part of you isn't going to want to be anywhere near me if you don't behave yourself."
"I'll behave. As long as SHE does her share."
Greg was rather quiet through the meal, but they both had a great time eating their way through a sinfully delicious seafood platter that was almost as large as the table itself.
As they were driving back to Vincentia, Becka looked around. "Greg, you missed our turning."
"I thought we'd have a nice romantic drive. Don't you want to come with me for a nice, romantic drive?"
Becka didn't like the sneaky way he used her own tactics against her. Or that gleam in his eye. But she could hardly object, could she? What could possibly be wrong with a nice drive?
Greg drove along slowly. Becka was enjoying the glimpses of the coastline as they drove past camping grounds, holiday homes and houses. Soon they were heading along a quiet road in the bush, then stopping in a small parking area. "Why are we stopping here? Greg, there's places to park where we can get a great view of the water, you can't see a thing from here."
Greg was already out of the car and chivalrously opening her door. "I thought we could take a nice, romantic walk along the beach."
"But - I'll get my shoes all sandy."
"You can take them off. Come along." He took her arm in a nice, romantic way and led her to the rough wooden steps that led down through the trees to the beach.
It was beautiful. The fine white sand gleamed pale in the moonlight. The waves crashed artistically on the sand. It was absolutely perfect, and they had it all to themselves.
The sand slipped under their feet as they walked towards the surf. Greg smiled at Becka, "Take them off."
Becka remembered she'd been worried about her shoes. She slipped them off quickly.
Greg smiled wider. "Take it all off."
Becka hesitated for a moment, then smiled and stepped back from him, doing a slow striptease, turning and swaying to the beat of the waves. When she was totally naked she walked towards him, running her hands over his chest. Then she slowly, lovingly, stripped the clothing from him until they both gleamed pale and bare in the moonlight.
They ran to the waves holding hands innocent as children, intense as lovers. The waves were cold on their bodies, leaving glimmering phosphorescence on their skin. It was magical - the ancient silence of the dark trees behind the beach, the bone-white sand and the endless ocean.
When they ran from the water they tumbled onto the firm, damp sand at the water's edge. Greg planted his hands each side of Becka and stretched over her, grinning as he did pushups above her, lowering himself to rub his wet skin against hers, then lifting to watch her reach for him, hearing her soft pleading for more.
And the magic still held, as Greg lowered himself again, this time sliding between her parted thighs to take her sweetly, deeply, hearing her low moans of satisfaction. Then he held her tightly as he rolled onto his back, loving the sight of her satin skin in the moonlight as she rode him, head thrown back in abandon.
When they finally subsided into each other's arms, sated, a wave reached to break over their feet. They lay curled together feeling the ocean nibbling at their toes.
Even magic has to end. Then comes the sandfly bites and wet sand and trying to get dressed without taking half the beach home in your knickers. As Becka was bending to pick up her panties a resounding slap echoed across the beach, loud over the sound of the waves.
"OUCH!" Becka jumped around, both hands over her bare, stinging rear.
Greg smiled. "That's just a reminder. An incentive to make sure you behave. And you will, WON'T YOU?"
Becka glared at him, then shuffled out of range to get dressed. "As if I need a reminder."
Greg laughed and hugged her.
And then the beach was empty again, except for the waves. And two sets of footprints, side by side across the sand.
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