Best Western Blog » Summer Best Seller Competition

Loving To Be Beside the Seaside -Summer Bestseller

Guest Author — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 08:40:29 +0000

“I don’t remember pastels being part of your five-a-day!” Janet shouted to her five year old not-so-secretly sucking the art tools in the pool house. He removed one from his mouth quickly.

“Oh what am I going to do Cara? Here I am, a vibrant, beautiful woman (or so Cosmo tells me) and I get landed with a no-good ex-husband who’s mid-life crisised his way to a new life with his secretary whilst I’m stuck in a seaside holiday camp with a toddler guzzling coloured wax.”

Janet looked miserably at her oldest friend. “Oi! I’m at this holiday camp too! Besides, you are a vibrant, beautiful woman. Look, that lifeguard hasn’t stopped looking at you since we arrived at the pool.” Cara nodded in the direction of the handsome man looking in their direction. “He’s probably just trying to figure out where I’ve left my Zimmer frame!” Janet laughed.

Suddenly, to their surprise he got down from his tower and sauntered towards them. Janet and Cara looked on in surprise. “Maybe there’s an age maximum,” Janet whispered half-seriously. “Excuse me miss (“miss” was a good start Janet thought), I was wondering if you were busy?” the Adonis-like creature said in a sexy Irish accent. Flustered, Janet avoided his gaze. “Um, no I’m not,” she said hoping. “I didn’t think so because your son’s eating oil pastels in the pool house.”

“Right,” Janet said deflated. The cheek of him! She would’ve given anything have him swallowed up right there and then. “Good. It helps if people actually look after their kids,” he chastised before returning to his tower. Cara looked at Janet open-mouthed. “He so has the hots for you!” she squealed.

Oh dear, Janet thought, this is going to be one long week away.

By Dejeniera Pygott

Winning – Summer Bestseller Competition Story

Guest Author — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 14:47:32 +0000

I watch her from my bedroom window, the woman I love more than anything else in the world, and I feel my heart breaking. I am losing her. I feel it, I know it. Tears prick my eyes as I watch her with him, laughing loudly in the mid-morning sun. She does not know I see her, but my eyes are keen and I miss nothing: The tender looks, the gentle touches, the affection that lightens her face when he looks at her.

Jealousy rips through me like a knife through butter. It won’t be long before she tells me that there’s no room in her life for me anymore, that I will have to leave.
The clouds move across the sun and she is cast in shadow, but I still hear her soft dulcet tones. She is talking to him. She does not know I hear her every word. She tells him she loves him. My heart sinks and the tears begin to flow unchecked. It is time for me to go.
I have been such a fool. Why did I not see the signs? They were all there: Her recent absence, her sudden weight loss. Of course she still kisses me, holds me, tells me I am her Number 1, but the guilt in her eyes when she goes to him is unmistakable.
I begin to pack. I need to get away; the pain is too great.
She leaves me leaving.
“You love him.,” I say. My voice breaks with emotion.
“I love you both,” she says, hugging me. “But he’s just two weeks old, he needs us to protect him, care for him. You’re four, a big boy now. You can help me.”
From her arms he smiles up at me. He’s not so bad really.

By Emma Clarke – Winner of the Summer Bestseller Competition Story

The Great Escape

Guest Author — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 14:29:13 +0000

The atmosphere in the car was so gloomy Frank imagined they were towing their own personal raincloud. Mandy, his wife, fiddled with her mobile.

“What now?” Frank asked.

“I’m texting Mum. Robbie’ll need his inhaler.”

Frank gripped the wheel. “You left a note.”

“She might not find it.”

“It’s on the table, along with Robbie’s inhaler and Cassie’s ballet shoes. Please stop worrying about the kids.”

“I’m their mother,” she snapped. “It’s my job to worry.”

A luxury mini-break – the perfect anniversary present, Frank had thought. Spend some quality time together. He loved the children dearly, but longed for simpler, quieter days. Mandy, though, felt incomplete without them, and Frank came close to physically carrying her to the car that morning, as she fussed over the tiniest details.

They arrived at the hotel in stony silence.

Their room offered a commanding view of the bay. The carpet felt deep and soft, and the bed seemed enormous. Frank sighed. At this rate he’d be sleeping on the sofa.

“I suppose we should unpack,” Mandy said, emptying her bag onto the bed. “What’s this?” She held up a little soft-toy crab.

Frank frowned. “Oh! Don’t you remember – our first holiday?”

She gasped. “Yes – Blackpool! You played every fairground game, desperate to win me something.”

“Those games were rigged…”

“Then the Hook-a-Duck man took pity on you.” She smiled. “Remember our caravan?”

Frank laughed. “With the holes in the floor? And the demonic grill?”

“Yes, it incinerated everything we cooked…”

“…so we ate fish and chips…”

“…for a whole week…”

“…and it rained every day!” They said, grasping each other’s hands.

Mandy grinned. “We’ve come a long way,” she said.

“We certainly have. So… shall we go for a walk? Check out the restaurant?”

“Maybe later,” Mandy said, drawing the curtains closed.

By Dan Purdue

Peril Below

Guest Author — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 13:22:47 +0000

I like to be different so I’ve compiled a ‘Ten activities I would most dislike to do before I die, but will do them anyway’ list.
I’m currently on number nine and, put it this way, I’m not sure I’ll live to put number ten into practice.
Here I am twenty feet underground Pot Holing, ME! I must be crazy, wait until I see my psychologist (if I survive).
‘Jayne, face your fears’, I can hear his voice now as I crawl on my hands and knees, practically wedged between roof and floor. ‘Don’t Panic!’ I repeat to myself. Suddenly I hear a thunderous noise.Boulders cascade in front of me, blocking off my escape. Now What?
Shining a torch on my map I realize there’s no route left apart from ‘THE CHIMNEY’ a vertical ascent needing calm nerves and even stronger muscles to negotiate. It’s a painstaking process requiring me to jerk my back off one wall, then inch my legs up the opposite wall to gain height.
Halfway up and exhaustion sets in. I close my eyes and rest for a few moments. I’m taking gulps of air to regulate my breathing when, a loud gushing noise assaults my ears. Oh No! The earlier landslide must have opened up an underground stream.

I have to get out. Can I make it in time? Stark fear rages through my body, my legs feel heavy and slow, my back ripped to shreds by the jagged rock wall.
I’m gasping, trying to quell mounting hysteria.
‘Nothing is beyond you, fear is just an emotion, conquer it’ my psychologists words of wisdom penetrate my mind and with a last spurt of energy I grab onto the edge and pull myself from the darkness below. Gaining freedom I shout ‘NEVER AGAIN.’

By Ruth Locker-Smith

A Perfect Time and Place

Guest Author — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 13:09:36 +0000

“It’s too small. Look her toes are squashed!” protested a large woman with a crop of warts on her chin.
“She won’t walk more than two steps before the pain kicks in,” warned a second female, whose angular nose outshone the silver kettle on the stove. “This is not the lady you are looking for.”
But there was no doubt that the shoe fitted Cinderella perfectly, despite the protestations of her stepsisters.
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” the valet whispered in Prince Charming’s ear. “She is nothing but a servant girl dressed in rags – hardly a suitable wife for a prince.”
“I am desperate to marry her. But I can’t propose to my future bride in this miserable kitchen with those two witches glowering and poor Cinderella clutching a sweeping brush.”
“Then take her away somewhere – somewhere befitting a future queen.”
“And the press mustn’t get wind of it,” said the prince, as yet another reporter banged on the window and a flashbulb lit up the room.
“What about a weekend away in a romantic hotel, near the sea and offering complete privacy from the paparazzi and unwanted sisters?” the valet asked, surfing the web on his mobile.
“Sounds perfect. Can you arrange a 4-poster bed, red roses, chocolates and champagne to be waiting for us?”
“I’m sure Best Western Premier will provide the last word in luxury and the utmost discretion.”
The valet immediately called the booking line whilst Prince Charming imagined the perfect weekend escape with the woman of his dreams. He knew that Best Western would provide the perfect time and place to go down on one knee and propose to her.

By Sally Jenkins

Eye of the Mirror

Guest Author — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 12:52:23 +0000

Laura glared at the large mirror. For years, its reflective surface had been her friend, but now it was a hard faced enemy, and she drew back from its all seeing eye.
“All right Laura?” the voice said, from behind the changing room curtain.
“Yes,” she said.
Sweat soaked through her cotton shirt, cold against her back. Beyond the drapes, she could hear the harsh scrape of stools. Her audience had arrived. She smelt warm coffee and sharp turpentine.
She turned back to the mirror, wishing she’d listened to her husband, Matt.
“Retrain,” he’d said, “try something different.”
Laura looked up, seeing the exhaustion on his face from working double shifts.
“It would take too long,” she said, “and I was good at my job. I don’t want to lose it. I’ve lost so much already.”
Now, in the cubicle, she raised her hands to her blouse, feeling plastic buttons. She thought of Matt’s dark circled eyes, the hard, desperate way he sometimes clutched her hand, as if he feared she would drift away, like a child’s balloon into the summer sky.
Neither of them had deserved this.
In sudden anger, she tore off her top, throwing it onto the chair. The dim light of the cubicle cast a shadow over her reconstructed left breast. Raising a hand, she traced the purple scars, feeling ridges under her fingertips.
She heard footsteps beyond the curtain, the creaking of chairs as people shifted.
Matt had told her she looked great, that he was proud of her.
Laura took a deep breath, reached for her robe.
She was a life model, bearing the scars of a life fought for.
Pulling back the curtains, she blinked in the bright light filling the studio and went towards her podium.

By Lucy Oliver

Unwelcome Guest

Guest Author — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 11:51:46 +0000

“Room 512, yes. You’ll be as quick as you can won’t you?”
Sandra replaced the phone and surveyed the room. She didn’t want anything embarrassing on display. Wet towels, dirty cups, stuff like that. Her nightdress lay draped over the chair. Should she undress, put it on now and slip her bathrobe on or put it away? She decided to leave it where it was.
Nervously she paced the room. Would he come? Ringing again would appear desperate. Once again her eyes scanned the room and came to rest on the bed. The duvet was half turned down ready for when he arrived. A shiver ran down her spine just looking at the crisp white sheets. In a few minutes she should be lying between them but the thought made her heart skip and she dismissed it.
She glanced at her watch. How long was it since she rang? It can’t take him that long to get here surely? Pacing the tiny space was making her dizzy so she sat down. No, not the bed. The chair would be fine. Throwing her nightgown on the dressing table she slumped down.
Tap tap. “Hello!”
She almost stumbled as she hurried to the door.
“Sorry I took so long,” he said. “I got caught up with…”
“Never mind that,” she interrupted. “Over here, quickly.”

She led him to the bed and lifted the cover. The tiny eight-legged creature was still there. Hardly bigger than a fivepence but menacing nevertheless.
“I know it sounds silly but I’m terrified of them,” she explained.
“No problem,” said the hotel valet.
He gently scooped the offending arachnid up in his palm and turned to leave.
“I’ll take the little fellow downstairs and release him into the ornamental gardens. Any more intruders – just call me.”

By Keith Havers

Last Orders

Guest Book — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 10:22:01 +0000

Lucy’s heels clicked across the linoleum floor of the bar. Let them look, she thought, ignoring the curious stares of the clientele. They were of no consequence to her.

‘A large glass of Merlot,’ she said, her eyes not making contact with those of the barman.

She climbed upon a stool, her long fingers wrapping around the stem, finding comfort there.

She lifted the glass to her lips, the sweet scent of dark cherries and plums seducing her nostrils, the familiar raw desire catching in her throat. God, she needed this. After the day she’d had. To face what was coming next.

‘Stood you up, has he, love?’

Lucy turned to the man at her side; late twenties, wayward hair, kindly eyes.

‘What? No, I’m not waiting for anyone.’

‘You up for some company then?’ he asked, one corner of his lip upturned.

Lucy put the glass down, the moment spoilt.

‘No. No, I’m not. Thanks.’

‘Hey love, don’t go. I didn’t mean anything by it. What about your drink?’

‘You have it,’ she called over her shoulder, eager now to leave the place.

Outside, she breathed in the cool night air and dashed across the road to the building with the red peeling paint on the door. She climbed the stairs, eased open the door and took her seat, acknowledging with a small nod of her head the others.

She steadied her breathing, paused a moment, before standing up, her cheeks colouring slightly and said,

‘Hello, my name’s Lucy and I’m an alcoholic.’

By Jill

Cat-astrophe

Guest Author — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 10:18:09 +0000

After messing about on a boat all morning, Kat realised she was starving. At work she skipped lunch, too busy to grab more than a hasty coffee. Today, the fresh air and unaccustomed relaxation had worked their magic on her appetite, and she was glad of the hotel perched by the harbour wall.

Her nose tingled with incipient sunburn, so she chose a table under an umbrella with a view through the masts to the sea. A handsome waiter brought her a tall glass of iced lemonade. She took a cooling sip, kicked off her sandals, stretched out her legs and sighed with happiness.

The menu was filled with tasty treats and she wavered between mussels and a mackerel salad. All the fish here was fresh; she’d seen the hotel chef on the quay-side that morning, taking his pick of the catch. Finally she chose the mackerel, then took a book from her bag, pushed her sunglasses up her head and settled down to read and wait.

She smelled the food before it arrived, a wonderful aroma of savoury hot fish. The same waiter brought her meal, complete with a napkin and proper cutlery. There was even a freshly baked roll.

Kat breathed in the fragrant steam and prepared to tuck in, but a couple of wasps dive-bombed the plate. She wafted them away with her book, then felt something soft and warm against her legs. A scrawny local cat must have smelled the fish. Before she could lift her fork he’d jumped onto her lap and helped himself.

“Oi!” she yelled, preparing to give chase, but without her sandals she was no match for the cat. Her tasty fish vanished at speed up the nearest alley, and she was left with the lettuce.

By Fiona Glass

Summer Bestseller Competition Entry

Guest Author — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 09:54:57 +0000

Stefan was a successful man. People thought lack of height may hold him back, he proved them wrong by dragging himself up the flower-arranging ladder by sheer will and chest hair. He had everything, until he met Cherry. A beautiful, mysterious girl. There was a space on his flower arranging show, The PH Level, Stefan had to have her. She was a massive hit. People couldn’t wait to see her next floral display.

But Stefan’s green fingers were twitching. He needed something else and that was a new topiary-based show in Liechtenstein! Of course Cherry joined him. So Cherry left The PH level to join Stefan’s latest creation, Born to Prune. Her hair meticulously styled as an Aardvark, drew gasps of appreciation. Though her decision to mix Ivy with privet was questioned.

But something was about to put a rat in the compost heap. Stefan’s phone rang and his blood ran cold.“ We need to talk to be sure” Nobody knew Stefan owed his success to a small man in a green hat and shiny boots. He’d met the leprechaun years earlier and been given magical abilities. Everything he planted bloomed, everything he arranged was breathtaking.
There was a catch. Everyone knew the leprechaun, he was seen as a bit of a joke. He put arrangements together that people found hard to look at and smelled quite offensive. But no one knew that he was the power behind Stefan’s throne.
“Well, it seems that you have forgotten about me” he said. “No of course not!” Stefan exclaimed, though he knew that since he met Cherry, their pact had slipped his mind.“ She will have to go, or you will be back to mowing lawns ”So cherry was gone and the leprechaun joined the show. The truth was never known.

By Christina Connolly