Just Dreaming
'This can't be bad, can it?'
There was no answer from Mark's girlfriend. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was steady. So why wouldn't it be? Her legs were stretched, and her toes reached the gentle slap of baby waves trying to tickle her calves.
A seagull screeched its presence above them.
'He must be looking for food? Sorry bird, we have nothing for you.'
He wanted to adjust his seating but didn't want to disturb Lek. So Mark sat with one arm buried in the sand supporting his upper body, his legs straight with Lek's head on his thigh. They had been like that for some time.
'Is it time to eat?' He wondered; he knew Thai people liked eating five times daily.
Lek gave no hint of her wishes. Mark felt the sun's rays; it warmed his white English skin but now reddened his paler and puffy tone. 'Should have listened to Mum,' he said, chuckling. "Don't forget to wear sun cream". He mimicked her stern look. He grinned at the thought.
He had planned this trip months ago, and as soon as he got home from his last visit to Thailand, he dreamed about returning. So on his first day home, he booked his next flight.
'Can you afford that?' his mother had asked.
'Mum, I've found the woman of my life. I can't wait to be with her again.'
'It would be easier and cheaper to fall for a nice English girl.' She grumbled.
'Mum, I've quit my job; I'm going to live in Thailand.'
'You are what?'
'You heard me; I'm going to Samui. To be with Lek…'
'And smart arse, how are you going to support yourself?'
'We are buying a bar.'
'A bar? Can you earn enough like that?'
'Yeah, all the others do okay,' said an unsure Mark.
'You were doing so well at the factory.'
'The factory was boring.'
'What about your mates?'
'They will visit me.'
'What about your football?'
'I'm getting old and feeling my injuries.'
'Well, if you are sure?'
'I am mum; I've never been so sure of anything.'
He had ticked off the days. Finally, he stopped going to the pub; all his money was stashed. Until the great day came, he sent all his savings to Lek. She arranged the lease and agreed on the rent. He was a proud pub owner on the island. He couldn't wait to start redecorating. She had sent photos of the dated furniture.
' I think we should get new stuff. What do you think?' She had emailed.
'Mum, can we borrow a few grand? We need some stuff for the bar. There'll be a drink in it for you when you come over.'
Mark nursed a severe hangover, not the best preparation for a twelve-hour flight. His mates wanted to say goodbye in the best way they knew. All promised to visit, and they would cause another hangover when they got to "Lek Bar".
'Who thought of the name?' they joked.
'Not me,' Mark answered. 'Could be worse, Lek means small in the Thai language.' They all laughed.
Mark landed at Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi International Airport. 'Where is she?' he asked himself. He planned to stay in the city for a day or two and ask the British Embassy about marriage. But he was desperate to see Lek, so he travelled to Samui's quaint little airport. 'She's not here. Oh, no, she doesn't know I'm coming here today.' He had forgotten they were to meet in Bangkok.
He went to the small condo she rented. 'Nah mate, she moved out. And no, I don't know where she went.'
Only then did Mark realise he didn't know the bar's address. So, kicking himself, he took a motorbike taxi to cruise all the bar areas to hunt "Lek Bar".
He spotted "Lek's Bar" and went in. 'Where is Lek?' he asked a Thai man.
'I'm Lek; what do you want?'
Mark didn't believe what he heard until it was explained that Lek was a common name for men and women. And it was possible that "Lek Bar", without the apostrophe and S, was elsewhere.
Mark took another taxi and searched the other bar streets.
He found another, "Lek Bar", and his Lek was in it. But she was not alone.
'Oh, hi, Mark,' she said.
'Who is this?'
'That is Andy; he's a friend of mine. And a customer, so be nice.'
The weather changed from hot and steamy to hot and thundery. The sky blackened over the island, and lightning cracks snapped Mark from his daydream.
Lek and he were no longer on the beach; the tide was not flopping onto her toes, and his supporting arm was not digging fingers in the sand. Instead, they were both in the bar's kitchen. His sand-free fingers were wiping warm wet blood from his face.
He looked up at the web-covered ceiling and tutted, 'You could have cleaned up a bit before I got here,' he said. 'My mum won't like it at all.'
Lek didn't answer.
'Where have you been living? They said you'd moved from the condo?'
Mark had seen his mum sharpen a knife on a stone slate. There was none, just a rickety wooden bench.
'That won't do at all.' He tested the blade on his thumb. It drew blood. 'Ouch, that will do'.
Mark stood back again, considering the changes he would make,' Sure, the bar area needed a lick of paint. But, then, the kitchen needed a thorough cleaning. Oh, I didn't notice any new furniture. Did you buy it?'
The frozen pork factory had given him excellent training; he could skillfully cut frozen or raw meat. Each joint was wrapped and placed on freezer shelves, all neatly labelled.
Lek's clothes were wet, not from seawater, and were hanging to dry.
Lek's beautiful head had rocked side to side in the sea daydream; now it was rocking side to side in Mark's hands as if he was judging the weight.
'No more room in the freezer. Maybe we have an ice box somewhere?'
The END
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