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I Don't Want A Holiday In The Sun by N.K. Rowe

“You’ve done what?”

“Think of it as a holiday.”

“We don’t do holidays.”

“Exactly!” I pointed my finger in the air. My Beloved stared at it. For a second I thought she might break it. She certainly had the strength to. “I was only thinking of how much you hate the change in seasons.”

My Darling looked me straight in the eye and as always my heart skipped a beat. I knew she could almost taste the change in rhythm. “Go on.”

“I remembered what you said about the long summer days…”

“Yes, yes, cooped up in the box for sixteen hours, et cetera,” she motioned for me to continue.

“So I wondered about going somewhere… opposite.”

“Like Australia?” She gazed above my head. “I could take down a kangaroo in full flow.”

“Yes, absolutely. Well. Sort of.”

My Love stared at me again. “Where are we going?”

I swallowed. “Tierra del Fuego.”

Her expression was as cold as the Antarctic. “South America?”

“Yes. Um. The bit at the bottom.”

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You don’t need to. I’m learning it on Duolingo. And it’s not like you’ll be talking to anyone.”

She harrumphed. “I don’t suppose we’re going by cruise liner, are we?” She licked her tongue around her teeth already imagining a mid-ocean victim.

“Um, no. Bit of a niche journey and state of our funds and all that.”

She raised her perfect eyebrows.

“So we’re booked on a container ship out of Felixstowe.”

“How romantic.” My Dearest sighed and brushed my cheek, the capillaries dancing to her touch. “We will talk more of our voyage later.” She closed the lid of her coffin.

I stroked the polished mahogany as the first rays of dawn bled around the red velvet curtains. “See you in the evening, Darling.”

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