Sally's entry:
I sit on the deck watching mackerel jostle the water’s surface, dancing with sunlight.
Ben flicks the line expertly in one smooth, sensual movement, and pulls it in again wriggling with silver.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask admiringly.
He grins sideways.
“In a dry river,” he says in his languid Aussie drawl.
“Oh come on,” I protest, laughing.
“It was in Alice Springs,” he says. “I used to practise hooking Abos. So long as they weren’t drunk they moved pretty fast. But I always got ‘em in the end.”
A cloud passes over the sun, and I shiver.
Tara's entry:
The jostling at the airport terminal is forgotten now that I'm on the plane. Smiling, I make my way from the shabbiness of economy to the sensual luxury that is first class.
It’s difficult not to think about last night. It wasn’t a proper date, but Tony was wonderful company, and I can almost taste the delicious mackerel salad I ate at the restaurant in Alice Springs.
As I continue along the aisle, the captain's calm, masculine voice interrupts my reverie.
"Cabin Crew, please take your seats for take-off."
Still thinking of Tony, I smile and do as he says.
Olaf's entry:
“A week at Alice Springs for two lucky people just £400” was the sprat, laced with photographs of sunbathers, designed to catch the mackerel. Men and women besieged the offices, attempting to head the queue. Chosen were Ben and Serena. As they handed over their cash, they were jostled into a waiting car. Speeding past Heathrow and hurtling into Wales, the journey discomfort was countered by a growing sensual dimension to their physical contact. Their enthusiasm was dampened by rain as they arrived at the gates of the Alice Springs golf club (at Abergavenny).
Even the deck chairs had umbrellas.
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