‘Yes, perfect. Themed souvenirs are on the bottom shelf behind you, can you add it them?’ She held up one of the sealed packages. ‘I can’t work out what these are, I suppose I’ll have to open them.’
Sam moved his checked box then started on a second one, not paying close attention to Beth until she spoke again. ‘What the hell is this?’ She smoothed the plastic shape flat on the floor in front of her, then stared up at him with a puzzled frown. ‘A sheep? What on earth does a sheep have to do with the seaside?’
Staring at the bright-blue make-up around the sheep’s eye and the glossy red mouth, Sam started to get a bad feeling. An old school-mate had invited him on his stag-do the previous year and had been given a blow-up sheep, complete with accessible orifices as a gag. They’d carried Flossy around all bloody night, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was currently eye-to-eye with one of her flock mates.
‘What’s this pink one, do you think it’s a pig?’ Beth undid another package and shook out the crinkled pink plastic before he could stop her. ‘Is that…? Oh my God, it is! It’s a bloody blow-up doll!’ She shrieked and threw the thing on the floor as though she’d been touching something contaminated.
The doll stared up at him with wide blank eyes making him want to look away, but it was hard to know which direction. Certainly not to his side where he could feel one of her flat, plastic legs draping over his hand, or downwards at the wrinkled circles of extra plastic which could be inflated to an impressive bosom. His shoulders started to shake with the force of holding in his laughter. What on earth had Eleanor been thinking?
There’d been some talk over the winter about whether the town should try and market itself towards the ever-growing trend for hen and stag weekends. The consensus had been against it, fearing the increase in noise, rubbish and potential for trouble would drive away their loyal patrons, some of whom were now bringing their own grandchildren for a traditional seaside getaway. The debate had raged for several weeks, and he’d gone as far as sitting down with his mum to discuss accommodation packages they might offer if the mood swung in that direction. Maybe Eleanor had done her own research… Oh, no, no, no! He was not going to think about his erstwhile neighbour with her penchant for florals and flannel contemplating the purchase of novelty sex toys.
Sliding the cold, clammy material off his fingers, he risked a peek up, worried he might burst out laughing. He found Beth studying the back of another package, reading what appeared to be a label. ‘Somehow, I don’t think this has anything to do with chickens, do you?’
She tossed the package into his lap and he stared down at the description. ‘Fighting co—’ he swallowed the last word with a snort. A hazy image from the stag night, one he’d long since banished, surfaced and he scrubbed a hand over his face to try and dispel the sudden blush heating his cheeks. ‘Ah, no. Definitely not chickens.’ He bit the inside of his cheek but there was no way to hold back the laughter. A strange wheezing noise escaped his throat, echoed by a squeak from Beth and the two of them collapsed.
‘I…jus…where…oh, God,’ Beth’s failed attempt to form a sentence set them both off again.
Gasping for breath, Sam grabbed the deflated doll and posed it in front of him. Waving one floppy arm he held the limp head in front of his face and put on an affected falsetto. ‘This is not in keeping with the Lavender Bay Improvement Society regulations. Just wait until the Major hears about this!’
‘Don’t, oh don’t, please!’ Beth covered her face with her hands, almost crying now.
Their mirth subsided eventually, and Sam made a vague attempt to fold up the doll, nose wrinkling at the stale, plasticky smell coming from it. He stuffed it out of the way then rubbed the tips of his fingers together to try and dispel the lingering feel of the cold material from his skin. ‘Ugh, these things are gross.’ He leaned back, bracing his weight on his hands behind him and folded his legs at the ankles. ‘Want to hear something interesting?’
Beth snorted. ‘Not if it has anything to do with a box of unmentionable inflatables!’
‘Ha! Definitely nothing along those lines.’ He explained to her about how his day had started and the subsequent discussion with his dad.
‘Subterranean?’ Beth’s eyes were wide as saucers and he could see it had captured her imagination.
‘I was trying to find something to fit the location, what with it being down in the basement. I want it to be more than a dining experience, I want it to be something that stimulates all the senses.’ Grabbing a sheet of paper and the marker pen, he drew a rough sketch as he continued to talk. ‘I want to cover the walls in some kind of simulated rock effect, stud them with crystals and mineral samples which will catch and refract the light from some uplighters studded in the floor.’
She edged closer, their heads almost touching as they peered at the piece of paper between them. ‘Go on, what else?’
Sketching a long rectangle down the centre of the page, he added a dozen circles on either side. ‘I want to divide the room with a fish tank. It’ll provide additional ambient lighting as well as a beautiful visual display. I heard about an artist who creates these little boxes that are covered in curtains. The idea is you put a hand through and touch what’s inside. Nothing gross, but it’s still an adventure into the unknown.’
Beth shivered. ‘I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to put my hand in.’
‘Not everyone will, that’s part of the experience though.’
‘I get it. And the food will provide the biggest stimulation, right?’
She got it. Sam sighed in relief. ‘Exactly. A combination of taste, smell, texture and visual delights. Speaking of which…’ He looked around, seeking the box he’d brought with him. When he spotted it on the shelf above her head, he had an idea. ‘Close your eyes a minute.’
‘Why? What are you doing?’ She did as he asked though.
Getting up, he fetched the box of petit fours then squatted next to here. ‘Keep them closed now.’
‘Sam…’ A smile teased her lips, plumping her perfect cupid’s bow. He dragged his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Prying open a corner of the lid, he positioned the box beneath her nose. ‘Breathe in.’
‘Oh, oh wow.’ Her voice was dreamy. ‘That smells heavenly.’ She licked her lips, as though anticipating the flavours to come, causing things inside him to tighten. Get it together, Sam, he told himself. He had to remember all the reasons why this would be a phenomenally bad idea, but the voice of reason was really starting to get on his nerves.
Setting the box down, he selected a square of fudge then raised it to press against her mouth. ‘Open up.’ He slipped the treat inside when she obeyed, watching intently as she chewed.
A line appeared on her forehead then smoothed out and her lashes fluttered. She took her time, long enough to set his nerves jangling, then opened her eyes. ‘That might be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.’
Her words sounded all kinds of dirty, and Sam surrendered to the need twisting inside him. A man could only resist so much. Ducking down, he captured her mouth beneath his own, savouring the lingering peppermint sweetness on her tongue when it curled around his. She withdrew on a sigh. ‘If you serve all your female guests that way, Subterranean will be a surefire hit.’
Laughing, he rested his temple against hers. ‘Tell me again this is a bad idea.’
‘It’s a bad idea.’ She didn’t sound any more certain about it than he felt though. Kissing Beth was becoming a