Creative Writing - 07.07.2020
Happiness by Esther P. Clarke
The room was stuffy and the shower didn’t work properly. ‘What a great start.’
I picked up the remote for the TV to turn it on, but all it could manage was to briefly flicker into life before it went out with a fizz. ‘That’s it, I’m going to complain.’ I was about to stomp down to reception and give them a piece of my mind about their downtrodden hotel which I would usually do whenever I stayed at the world’s best 5 star hotels, but a little voice inside stopped me. So, instead I took a deep breath, put my temper in check and walked downstairs to meet the others who like me had won a week’s writing course in Greece.
‘Miranda, isn’t it?,’ I nodded to the stick insect lady as she drifted towards me in her multicoloured kaftan top, while grabbing my hand and shaking it vigorously. ‘Come join our cosy little group.’ She pushed me towards a seat at a table where two couples and a lowly man were seated. I took my seat, after smiling “hello”. Stick insect introduced herself as Brigitte, explaining to us in her gushy way that she alone was running the week long writing retreat at the hotel Happiness.
‘That’s fabulous,’ Brigitte enthused, while clapping her large hands together. ‘Now we’ve got an even group of six. Miranda, you can pair up with Phillip, since you’ve both come unattached.’ She gave me what appeared to be a cheeky wink with her heavily kohl pencilled eyes and I naturally blushed. I did have a partner, Jerome, but we are having some time apart for the moment.
Philip shook my hand. His hands were warm and soft with neatly manicured nails.
‘Hello,’ I stuttered, blushing more deeply. He smiled and was about to say something when Brigitte clapped her hands again to get our attention as she began to go on about how wonderful this week’s course was going to be in helping us to reconnect with our inner writer. Just as I had thought, it was going to be the usual clap-trap courses like this threw out.
‘That was the longest two hours of my life,’ I said aloud as I escaped quickly from the meeting and into the bright afternoon sunlight with my new friend in tow. We left the other writers behind with Brigitte to sip watery orange juice and ask more pointless questions.
‘It could’ve been worse,’ grimaced Phillip, as he placed a firm restraining hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks as a pickup truck continued chugging down the street, throwing out dust and diesel fumes.
I politely shrugged off his hand and reached inside my bag for my sunglasses. After we crossed the road, he lingered - in his blue shirt, beige Bermuda shorts, brown shoes and white sport socks - looking middle aged and lost. I felt a bit sorry for him.
‘I’m going to take a walk to the beach and shops. What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘If you don’t mind, I could accompany you, be your chaperone, maybe,’ he grinned before smoothing back the strands on his receding head.
The tedious days of writing plodded on, but were wonderfully interspersed with long, lazy hours laying on the beach soaking up the sun. All memories of my stressful job ebbed away with the tide, as I watched families with their children playing in the golden sand. My only annoyances were the writing assignments sticky Brigitte handed out with wild abandonment, and Phillip.
‘Here’s a drink for you,’ the voice interrupted, as the figure blocked out the rays of the sunshine. I removed my sunglasses.
‘…oh…thanks, Phillip,’ I gingerly held out my hand for the drink and hoped he would now go away. He had been on my tail for the last few days, taking our writing course partnership rather seriously, thinking that it was an invitation for him to be my exclusive holiday companion.
‘You don’t mind if…’
‘No, of course not,’ he was already pulling across a sun lounger to join mine. He sighed contentedly.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ he mused, as he took a drink, seemingly to savour the view I was looking at.
‘It’s okay,’ I took a sip of the drink he bought me which was sharp tasting lemon juice. I pulled a face and tipped it into the sand under my sun lounger. Luckily, he didn’t notice.
‘Any thoughts on our task?’ he asked, turning to me.
‘Oh, that thing about happiness. Writing 500 words each on what makes you happy? What complete nonsense!’ I pulled out my magazine and started to flick the pages noisily.
‘You haven’t done it?’ he asked, pulling out his own notepad from his back pocket.
‘Of course not. My life is one happy merry go round. I’ve no need to write it down.’
Phillip flicked through his pad, picking out bits and reading his efforts aloud.
‘Happiness is having family around me, seeing the smiling faces on my two children when they visit me each weekend…’ I continued to read my magazine, half listening.
‘…laying in the hot baking sun, snoozing and daydreaming. Relaxing after a hard day at the office.
I snorted at article on relationships before turning over the page. Phillip wouldn’t give up.
‘Happiness is drying out in front of a warm fire after being soaked in the rain…’ I sighed as I read a short piece on one woman’s plight on her battle with breast cancer.
‘It doesn’t take much to keep you content,’ I muttered under my breath, a giggle beginning to play on my lips.
‘… finding someone who loves me unconditionally,’ he ended. ‘Tell me what makes you happy?’ he asked and you know something, I couldn’t give him an answer because I didn’t actually know.
Walking along the beach that evening, watching the sunset and listening to the waves released in me something I had forgotten I had. I sniffed the warm evening air which was tinged with the salty scent of the sea and the subtle smell of barbecued meat, trying to soothe away the sadness of my broken promises and failed relationships of my past to look forward to the happiness of my future. The inspiration had finally dawned on me on what to include in my writing assignment on happiness that I promised Phillip that I would now do.
Pretty Butterfly
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