🌶️ Sue’s After Dark Diaries Episode 46

The Holiday That Definitely Didn’t Go to Plan

Reader Intro…

Morning, you lovely lot.

This week’s episode of Sue’s After-Dark Diaries should take around 20 minutes to read, so grab yourself a cuppa, put your feet up and join me for Episode 46… The Holiday That Definitely Didn’t Go to Plan.

I hope you’ve all had a wonderful week.

Mine started quietly enough… which, if you’ve been following my life for any length of time, should’ve been the first warning.

After everything that happened with Dan and the washing machine, I decided I needed a few days away from the madness. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere I could enjoy a cup of tea, breathe in a bit of sea air, and perhaps make it through an entire afternoon without anybody knocking on my front door asking awkward questions.

It sounded like the perfect plan.

What actually happened was something rather different.

Benji fell head over paws for a holiday romance, Sharon came dangerously close to causing chaos before we’d even unpacked, and I unexpectedly bumped into a familiar face wearing little more than a towel.

Honestly… all I wanted was a quiet weekend away.

Looking back…

…I really should’ve known better.

Apparently I Needed a Holiday

It all started the Tuesday after Dan’s little adventure in the washing machine.

Life had finally settled back to normal.

Well…

…my version of normal.

The residents had stopped eyeing their teaspoons suspiciously. Mrs Craven no longer jumped every time something vibrated. Mr Patel had finally accepted his boiler wasn’t haunted.

Even Sharon had almost stopped introducing me as…

“This is Sue. She’s the one with the adventurous appliances.”

Almost.

I was standing in the kitchen making a cup of tea when I opened the fridge…

…and put the kettle inside.

I stared at it.

The kettle stared back.

Benji wandered in, looked at the open fridge, looked at me, then quietly turned round and walked back out again.

“Honestly…” I called after him. “I was distracted.”

He didn’t look remotely convinced.

I rescued the kettle, finished making my tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, I realised I wasn’t doing anything.

Not cleaning.

Not writing.

Not shopping.

Not trying to remember what I’d forgotten.

Just…

…nothing.

I’d barely started thinking an afternoon in the garden might be exactly what I needed when someone hammered on the front door.

Not a polite knock.

A Sharon knock.

Three rapid bangs that somehow sounded impatient.

I opened the door.

She swept straight past me, carrying two takeaway coffees.

“I’ve had an idea.”

I accepted one of the cups.

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t ‘oh dear’ me.”

“The last time you had an idea, I somehow ended up reviewing heated massage oils.”

“You got a free lunch.”

“I also got recognised in Tesco.”

“Worth it.”

I laughed.

“I disagree.”

Sharon’s Dangerous Smile

She dropped into the chair opposite me and studied my face.

“You look tired.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know how mirrors work.”

“No… properly tired.”

I shrugged.

“I’ve just had a busy few weeks.”

“You need a break.”

“I had Tuesday afternoon.”

“That’s not a break.”

“I watched television.”

“You answered emails.”

“I only answered six.”

“You folded washing.”

I smiled.

“You’re making my point for me.”

She took a sip of coffee and smiled.

Not her normal smile.

Her dangerous one.

The smile that usually ended up costing me money.

“I’ve booked us a holiday.”

I blinked.

“You’ve… what?”

“This Friday.”

“You booked it before asking me?”

“I knew you’d say yes.”

“What if I’d said no?”

She slowly looked around my flat.

“Sue…”

“…your biggest achievement today was nearly refrigerating the kettle.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

Annoyingly…

…she had a point.

“Where are we going?”

“Dorset.”

“Ooh.”

“I knew that would work.”

“It was the ‘ooh’, wasn’t it?”

“A little.”

“It’s dog friendly.”

At the word dog, Benji’s ears immediately shot upright from the hallway.

I swear that little dog understands more English than some people I’ve dated.

“There’s lovely decking.”

“Oh?”

“You can see the sea.”

“Really?”

“And there’s a pub within walking distance.”

I smiled.

“You should’ve started with that.”

“I know my audience.”

Unfortunately…

…she did.

Three Days to Get Ready

“When do we leave?”

“Friday morning.”

“So I’ve got three days to get organised.”

She grinned.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“I’ve already started packing.”

I frowned.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“I know.”

“For Friday.”

“I like to be prepared.”

I laughed so hard I nearly spilt my coffee.

Prepared?

This was the woman who once packed six pairs of shoes for one night in Portsmouth because she “hadn’t decided what mood her feet would be in yet.”

Three days in Dorset.

I suddenly had a horrible feeling she’d need a trailer.

And somehow…

…I already knew I was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Packing Shouldn’t Be This Complicated

The next couple of days disappeared in a blur.

Work has a funny habit of doing that. You tell yourself you’ve got plenty of time, then suddenly it’s Thursday evening, and you’ve spent twenty minutes looking for your phone…

…while talking to someone on it.

Apparently that’s where I am in life now.

Friday arrived before I knew it.

I made myself a cup of tea, let Benji into the garden and finally admitted it was time to pack.

Now, I don’t know about you…

…but I’m one of those people who packs for the holiday they’re actually taking.

Three nights away?

Three tops.

A couple of pairs of jeans.

My comfy pyjamas.

Some underwear.

Toothbrush.

Job done.

I’m staying in a caravan…

…not attempting Everest.

Benji, meanwhile, had appointed himself Chief Packing Inspector.

Every item that went into the suitcase had to pass a thorough sniff test.

Jumper.

Sniff.

Trainers.

Sniff.

Wash bag.

Very long sniff.

“What exactly are you hoping to find?”

He looked at me hopefully.

“I haven’t packed sausages.”

His ears drooped.

“Oh… so that’s what this inspection is about.”

He wandered off looking deeply disappointed.

I zipped the suitcase shut and admired my handiwork.

Five minutes.

Done.

Then I remembered…

Food.

Now, I refuse to arrive somewhere on a Friday afternoon only to spend my first hour standing in a supermarket queue.

A holiday should begin with a cup of tea…

…not aisle seven.

So I grabbed the cool bag and raided the fridge.

Butter.

Bread.

Bacon.

Milk.

A few cans of Coke.

The teabags were non-negotiable.

And, perhaps most importantly…

…a bottle of wine.

There.

Enough supplies to survive until we’d found a proper supermarket.

Besides…

…knowing Sharon, she’d probably packed enough snacks to survive a national emergency.

Operation: Fit Sharon Into the Car

An hour later, I pulled round Sharon’s entrance

She was already waiting.

So were the suitcases.

Plural.

Lots of them.

I got out of the car and simply stared.

She smiled proudly.

“I travelled light.”

I looked at the mountain of luggage.

“What exactly did you leave behind?”

“My hairdryer.”

I burst out laughing.

After ten minutes of lifting, turning cases sideways and convincing Sharon that seven hats didn’t each deserve their own personal space, we finally managed to close the boot.

Just.

Benji watched the entire performance from the back seat with his head tilted to one side.

Honestly…

…I’m fairly sure he was judging both of us.

Once he was settled on his blanket, favourite toy and cooling mat, I locked the house and smiled.

“Three whole days.”

Sharon climbed into the passenger seat.

“No washing machine.”

“No emails.”

“No drama.”

“I’ve packed bacon.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does if I’m making bacon sandwiches.”

She considered that for a moment.

“Fair point.”

I started the engine.

The sat-nav confidently announced we’d arrive in two and a half hours.

Sharon snorted.

“Not with me in the car.”

She wasn’t wrong.

The First Stop

Barely an hour later, Sharon suddenly announced,

“I need the services.”

“You needed the services before we’d even left Hampshire.”

“I was preparing.”

“For what?”

“Being caught short.”

Five minutes later we pulled in.

I only wanted the loo and another coffee.

Twenty minutes later Sharon returned carrying a paper bag.

“What have you bought?”

“Fudge.”

“Naturally.”

“And Dorset biscuits.”

“We’re still in Hampshire.”

“I know.”

“They’re Dorset biscuits.”

“I know.”

I waited.

She smiled.

“They’ll already be there when we arrive.”

Arguing with Sharon sometimes feels like trying to nail jelly to a wall. You know you’re wasting your time…

…yet somehow you carry on anyway.

With fresh coffees in one hand and Dorset biscuits bought in completely the wrong county in the other, we finally pointed the car back towards the coast.

“I also found out where the nearest supermarket is,” Sharon said.

“Useful.”

“And there’s a lovely little bakery five minutes away.”

“Very useful.”

“Oh… and they’ve got a clubhouse with entertainment every evening.”

I glanced across at her.

“I thought we were coming away for a quiet weekend.”

“We are.”

“Then why do I get the feeling you’ve already planned Friday night?”

She gave me that innocent smile she only ever wears when she’s definitely up to something.

“They’ve got live music tonight.”

“Of course they have.”

“And a singer tomorrow.”

“Naturally.”

“I thought we could have a couple of drinks after dinner.”

“A couple?”

“Let’s not put unnecessary limits on ourselves.”

I laughed.

“There’s the Sharon I know.”

“Oh… and there’s a campsite on the lower field if we fancy a walk later.”

“Lovely.”

At the time…
…it was simply another item on Sharon’s rapidly expanding holiday itinerary.

I had no idea the lower field was about to introduce us to a towel-wrapped surprise of its own.

We Finally Arrived

By the time we reached the holiday park, I was more than ready to get out of the car.

The journey had been lovely…

…but Sharon had managed to fit an impressive amount of conversation into two and a half hours.

She’d already planned where we were eating that evening, where we were walking on Saturday, where we were having coffee on Sunday and, somehow, had convinced herself we’d become regulars at a bakery we’d never even seen.

I hadn’t the heart to tell her we’d only booked three nights.

She pulled a set of keys from her handbag with a little flourish.

“After you.”

I stepped inside the caravan and immediately smiled.

“I have to admit…”

“What?”

“You’ve done well.”

“I know.”

It really was lovely.

Bright.

Spotlessly clean.

A proper little kitchen.

Comfortable sofas.

French doors opening onto a decking with a glimpse of the sea beyond.

Not bad at all.

“I’ll make the tea,” I said.

“I’ll unpack the important things.”

“What’s that then?”

“The wine.”

“Fair enough.”

Now, I don’t know about you…

…but I can’t properly arrive anywhere until I’ve made a cup of tea.

Some people unpack.

Some people make the beds.

I boil the kettle.

It’s just how I’m programmed.

While it heated, I unpacked our emergency supplies.

Milk in the fridge.

Butter.

Bread.

Bacon.

The teabags.

Most importantly…

…the wine.

There.

Holiday officially underway.

Benji Claims Dorset

While Sharon admired the view, Benji wandered straight through the open patio doors onto the decking.

He sniffed one corner.

Then another.

Then, with all the confidence of a dog who clearly believed we’d just bought the place…

…cocked his little leg against the first decking post.

“Oh honestly…”

Sharon burst out laughing.

“He’s marking his territory.”

“I can see that.”

“He thinks he owns it.”

“He doesn’t.”

Before I’d even finished speaking, he wandered over to the gate.

Stopped.

Sniffed.

Then cocked his leg again.

Sharon folded her arms.

“I’m telling you now…”

“What?”

“By Monday he’ll have weed on every post in Dorset.”

I laughed.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not encouraging him.”

“You sound rather proud.”

“I am.”

Benji looked back at us, tail wagging as though expecting applause.

Instead, he wandered a few feet farther along the decking.

Stopped.

Sniffed a flowerpot.

And did it again.

I closed my eyes.

“We’ve been here less than five minutes.”

Sharon was laughing so hard she had to put her wine down.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m really not.”

Honestly…

…if dogs carried business cards, Benji’s would probably read…

Benji. Managing Director of Anywhere I’ve Weeed.

A Proper Holiday At Last

Tea for me.

Wine for Sharon.

We carried our drinks onto the decking and settled into our chairs.

I let out one of those sighs you don’t even realise you’ve been holding.

“Oh…”

“What?”

“I think I really needed this.”

“I know you did.”

For a little while we simply sat there watching the world drift past.

Holiday parks are brilliant for people watching.

Everyone seems happy.

Everyone’s wearing shorts they probably shouldn’t.

And everybody appears to be carrying something.

Fishing rods.

Buckets and spades.

Fold-up chairs.

Windbreaks.

Or, in one gentleman’s case…

…a barbecue roughly the size of a small family car.

I watched him puffing across the grass.

“That’s ambitious.”

Sharon followed my gaze.

“Oh, he’ll spend longer building that than cooking on it.”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

Five minutes later, he was still reading the instructions.

His wife had wandered off.

His children had wandered off.

Even the dog looked as though it’d lost confidence.

“I’d just order a pizza,” I said.

“You haven’t even seen him light it yet.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

Sharon laughed into her wine.

A few minutes later, a little boy raced past on a scooter.

Then again.

Then again.

By the fourth lap he’d started waving every time he passed.

Naturally…

…Sharon waved back.

Big mistake.

After that we became part of his circuit.

Every lap…

…a wave.

Every lap…

…a huge grin.

By lap eight he’d even started ringing the little bell on his handlebars specially for us.

“I think we’ve made a friend,” I said.

“I think we’ve adopted him.”

Eventually his mum called him back.

He gave us one final enthusiastic wave before disappearing around the corner.

“Lovely little lad,” I smiled.

“He’ll be back.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Just then…

Benji stopped dead.

His ears pricked up.

His tail began wagging.

Not the usual tail wag.

The full-body kind.

“Oh…”

I followed his gaze.

A tiny golden dog was strolling across the grass with an elderly couple.

She was beautiful.

She was friendly.

And she was completely unaware that she’d just changed Benji’s entire weekend.

Sharon slowly lowered her wine glass.

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“That’s the look Steve gave me in 1998.”

I frowned.

“Which one was Steve?”

“The one with the motorbike.”

“I thought that was Simon.”

“No…”

She frowned.

“…Simon had the jet ski.”

“I genuinely can’t keep up.”

“Neither could they.”

I burst out laughing.

Benji took one cautious step forward.

Then another.

Then another.

“Oh no…”

“What?”

“I think he’s about to embarrass us.”

Love at First Sniff

As if he’d heard me…

…Benji squeezed neatly through the little gate.

“Benji?”

Nothing.

“Benji!”

Not even a twitch of an ear.

He trotted happily across the grass after the little golden dog as though they’d arranged to meet.

Sharon watched him disappear before calmly taking another sip of wine.

“Well…”

“…that’s him gone.”

“I’d better go after him.”

“No rush.”

“What do you mean, no rush?”

She smiled.

“He’s in love.”

“I’m not having this conversation about my dog.”

“I’m just saying…”

“…he’s definitely got a type.”

I laughed and headed across the grass.

Honestly…

…I’d only taken my eyes off him for a couple of minutes.

One pretty little golden dog wandered past…

…and suddenly I was yesterday’s news.

An Unexpected Reunion

I spotted Benji disappearing beside the shower block.

“Oh no you don’t.”

I hurried after him.

“Benji!”

Still nothing.

I rounded the corner…

…and walked straight into somebody.

“Oh! I’m so sorr…”

The apology disappeared.

Mainly because I’d just walked face-first into a rather impressive chest.

Well…

…this was awkward.

I slowly looked up.

Wet hair.

A white towel wrapped around his waist.

A grin I knew far too well.

“Oh…”

Mark.

He smiled.

“Afternoon, Sue.”

I blinked.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

He looked down at the towel.

“I’ve just had a shower.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“No… I meant here.”

“Oh.”

He chuckled.

“Camping.”

“You?”

“I know.”

“In a tent?”

“I know.”

“I honestly never thought I’d see the day.”

“My mate Chris talked me into it.”

“I’ll have words with him.”

“I wish you would.”

Before I could say anything else, I remembered why I’d come running.

“Benji!”

Mark looked around.

“Everything alright?”

“My dog’s run off with another woman.”

He frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“A little golden dog.”

Realisation spread across his face.

“Oh…”

“I thought we’d skipped a few chapters.”

I burst out laughing.

Meet Chris

Before either of us could continue, another voice called out.

“Mark… have you seen my shampoo?”

A man rounded the corner carrying a bottle of shampoo and wearing nothing but a towel.

He stopped.

Looked at me.

Looked at Mark.

Then smiled.

“I feel like I’ve interrupted something.”

“You haven’t,” I replied, perhaps a little too quickly.

Mark grinned.

“Sue walked into me.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did.”

“That was an accident.”

“So was my first marriage.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

Mark nodded towards his friend.

“Sue… this is Chris.”

Chris smiled warmly.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

I frowned.

“Finally?”

Chris looked at Mark with the sort of grin that instantly told me my name had cropped up before.

“Oh yes…”

“…I’ve heard all about you.”

I slowly turned back towards Mark.

“Oh really?”

He gave the smallest shrug.

“I may have mentioned you once or twice.”

“Once or twice?”

Chris laughed.

“Let’s just say… a little more than that.”

I folded my arms.

“I see.”

Mark smiled.

“I can explain.”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

New Neighbours

Before Mark had the chance to defend himself…

“Bark!”

Benji.

I turned just in time to see him happily trotting back towards us with the little golden dog beside him, both looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

An elderly couple followed a few steps behind.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the gentleman smiled. “Daisy seems to have adopted your little chap.”

“I think it’s mutual,” I laughed.

The lady smiled.

“They’ve been inseparable ever since they met.”

Benji wagged his tail furiously.

Daisy wagged hers straight back.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Mark said.

“I think you’re right.”

Chris laughed.

“Holiday romance.”

“Please don’t encourage him.”

“I’m only calling it as I see it.”

I clipped Benji’s lead back on.

He looked up at me with an expression that clearly said I’d interrupted something important.

Then he looked back at Daisy.

I sighed.

“Oh honestly…”

Everyone laughed.

As we walked back towards the caravans together, Chris glanced at Mark.

“Fancy introducing ourselves properly?”

Mark nodded.

“I think that’s probably a good idea.”

I smiled.

“I’ve got a feeling Sharon will insist anyway.”

“You’ve met Sharon,” Mark laughed.

“I’ve heard enough.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I’m suddenly not convinced.”

I smiled to myself.

We’d only been on holiday a few hours…

…and already it felt as though the weekend had taken an unexpected turn.

An Evening Among New Friends

After a quick shower and a change into something a little more suitable for an evening out, Sharon and I wandered across the holiday park towards the clubhouse.

The warm Dorset air had taken on that lovely golden glow that only seems to appear on summer evenings.

Children were still racing around on scooters.

Families sat outside their caravans finishing barbecues.

Somewhere nearby, someone was trying very hard to tune a guitar.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this weekend,” I smiled.

“So have I.”

“And before you say anything…”

“…no, I’m not getting my hopes up about Mark.”

Sharon looked genuinely offended.

“I wasn’t going to mention him.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I absolutely was.”

“I knew it.”

She laughed.

“I can’t help myself.”

“No…”

“…I’ve noticed.”

As we reached the clubhouse, Mark was already waiting outside with Chris.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your minds,” Mark smiled.

“Sharon had to decide which earrings were most suitable for a holiday singer.”

“They’re important decisions,” Sharon replied.

Chris laughed.

“I already like you.”

“I hear that quite a lot.”

“I imagine you do.”

Holiday Conversations

The clubhouse was exactly what you’d expect from a seaside holiday park.

Comfortable.

Friendly.

Busy without feeling crowded.

A singer was setting up on the small stage while families drifted in carrying drinks from the bar.

We found a table near the middle of the room.

Close enough to enjoy the music.

Far enough away that we could still hear each other talk.

Chris returned from the bar carrying a tray loaded with drinks.

“I deserve a medal.”

“You’ve only walked twenty feet,” Mark said.

“Yes…”

“…but I did it without dropping anything.”

“That’s because I carried the crisps.”

We all laughed.

It was surprisingly easy.

Conversation flowed naturally.

There wasn’t any awkwardness.

No uncomfortable silences.

Just four people enjoying a summer evening.

For the first time in weeks…

…I completely forgot about work.

Music, Laughter and Holiday Plans

The singer finally began.

He wasn’t famous.

He probably wasn’t even local.

But he had one of those voices that suited a warm summer evening perfectly.

Before long, the whole room seemed to relax.

Couples wandered onto the dance floor.

Children danced with grandparents.

Even Sharon gently tapped her foot beneath the table.

“I do love evenings like this,” she said quietly.

“So do I.”

Mark smiled across the table.

“You both picked the right weekend.”

“It certainly feels like it.”

Chris raised his glass.

“To unexpected holidays.”

“Unexpected friendships,” Sharon added.

“And absolutely no drama,” I laughed, lifting my own glass.

The four of us clinked our glasses together.

If I’d known what the following morning was going to bring…

…I’d probably have chosen different words.

But at that moment…

…it simply felt like the perfect start to what promised to be a wonderful weekend

The Morning After

I woke to the unmistakable smell of bacon.

For one glorious moment, I lay there smiling.

Sea air.

A comfortable bed.

A whole day stretching out in front of me with absolutely nothing planned.

Perfect.

Then I heard Sharon moving about in the little kitchen.

“Morning,” she called.

“Please tell me the kettle’s on.”

“It always is.”

“Good.”

I wandered into the lounge, accepted a mug of tea with grateful hands and stepped out onto the decking.

The holiday park was already coming to life.

Children were cycling around in their pyjamas.

Someone was attempting to erect a windbreak that clearly had other ideas.

A seagull landed on the next caravan roof, looking suspiciously hopeful.

Everything felt wonderfully peaceful.

Until our neighbour wandered over.

He looked exhausted.

“Morning,” he smiled.

“Morning.”

He scratched the back of his head.

“Bit of a strange question…”

“Oh?”

“Did either of you hear that odd buzzing during the night?”

I glanced at Sharon.

She glanced at me.

“Buzzing?” I asked innocently.

“Yes.”

He pointed vaguely across the holiday park.

“Started sometime after midnight.”

His wife appeared beside him carrying two mugs.

“It went on for ages.”

“I thought it was somebody charging an electric toothbrush,” she laughed.

“I thought it was a drone,” her husband admitted.

“It sounded closer than that.”

“Oh, it definitely did,” she nodded.

“We nearly got out of bed to investigate.”

I smiled politely.

“No…”

“…I slept straight through.”

“So did I,” Sharon added a fraction too quickly.

They wished us a good morning and wandered off.

Neither of us spoke.

Breakfast Interrupted

Sharon slowly put her mug down.

“Sue…”

“Don’t.”

“No…”

“…I think I should.”

“I really don’t think you should.”

She looked towards the caravan.

“Where’s Dan?”

My smile disappeared.

“Oh…”

She looked at me.

“You packed him…”

“I did.”

“You unpacked him?”

“I…”

“…can’t actually remember.”

There was a long silence.

Then Sharon’s eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“I left Roger in my bedside drawer.”

I stared at her.

“You what?”

“I meant to unpack him.”

“You meant to?”

“I got distracted.”

“By what?”

She shrugged.

“Wine.”

I closed my eyes.

“Please tell me you switched him off before we left home.”

“I thought I had.”

“You thought?”

“It seemed likely.”

Before I could answer, another couple walked past.

The gentleman smiled.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

His wife looked at us.

“We’re just saying to everyone…”

“…did you hear that strange buzzing last night?”

I felt my stomach tighten.

“No…”

“…can’t say we did.”

“It was the oddest thing.”

“Every time we thought we’d worked out where it was coming from…”

“…it seemed to come from somewhere else.”

I slowly turned towards Sharon.

She slowly turned towards me.

Neither of us said a word.

A Horrible Realisation

Benji trotted happily out onto the decking, stretched, then wandered back inside the caravan.

A second later, he reappeared carrying one of my slippers.

He dropped it at my feet.

Then looked back towards the open caravan door.

Then back at me.

Then back inside again.

Almost as if he wanted me to follow him.

“You don’t suppose…”

Sharon whispered.

“I really hope not.”

Another neighbour wandered past.

Then another.

One of them smiled.

“They’re talking about that buzzing all over the campsite.”

I forced a laugh.

“Really?”

“Oh yes.”

“Somebody reckons it was coming from these caravans.”

I swallowed.

Sharon swallowed.

The neighbour wandered away completely unaware that every ounce of colour had just drained from our faces.

Very slowly…

…I looked at Sharon.

“I think…”

“…we need to go inside.”

She nodded.

“I was hoping you weren’t going to say that.”

Neither of us moved for a moment.

Because deep down…

…we both had exactly the same terrifying thought.

If Dan and Roger had somehow switched themselves on…

…we really didn’t want to discover what they’d been doing together all night.

Opening the Caravan Door

I took a deep breath.

“So…”

“…shall we?”

Sharon nodded nervously.

“You first.”

“Why me?”

“Because it’s your caravan key.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

Neither of us moved.

Benji, however, had no such hesitation.

He trotted straight up to the caravan door, stopped beside it and tilted his head.
Then he looked back at us as if to say…

“Well?”

“Oh, all right.”

I unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Sharon frowned.

“That’s promising.”

“I expected…”

“…well…”

“…more.”

We stepped inside.

Everything looked perfectly normal.

The beds were still made.

The cushions were exactly where we’d left them.

Nothing appeared broken.

Nothing appeared out of place.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

Then…

Bzzzzzz…

Both of us froze.

“Oh…”

“…you’ve got to be kidding.”

The sound came again.

A little louder.

Bzzzzzz…

Sharon slowly pointed towards the bedroom.

“I think…”

“…it’s in there.”

The Discovery

We crept into the bedroom as though we were investigating a crime scene.

The bedside drawer rattled.

Very gently.

Bzzzzzz…

I looked at Sharon.

“You open yours…”

“…I’ll open mine.”

She nodded.

“On three.”

“One…”

“Two…”

“…three.”

Both drawers slid open together.

For a second…

…neither of us spoke.

Then Sharon burst into helpless laughter.

Roger was lying upside down in her drawer, happily buzzing away against a packet of mints.

Meanwhile, Dan had somehow wedged himself between one of my folded jumpers and a paperback novel, vibrating enthusiastically every few seconds as though determined to wake the entire county of Dorset.

“Oh honestly…”

I laughed.

“How…”

“…how have they even managed that?”

“I’ve stopped asking questions where Roger’s concerned.”

I carefully switched Dan off.

Blissful silence.

Sharon picked Roger up.

“You’ve caused enough trouble.”

She pressed the button.

The room fell quiet.

We looked at each other.

Then dissolved into laughter all over again.

The Walk of Shame

Feeling considerably more relieved, we stepped back outside.

Unfortunately…

…our timing couldn’t have been worse.

The elderly couple walking Daisy towards the exercise field smiled warmly.

“Morning again.”

“Morning.”

The gentleman chuckled.

“We’re pleased somebody finally found the mystery.”

I stopped.

“I’m sorry?”

“The buzzing.”

His wife nodded.

“We saw you both disappear into the caravan looking terribly serious.”

“We said to each other…”

“…I bet they’ve found it.”

Before I could answer, another gentleman walking past with a newspaper tucked beneath his arm slowed beside us.

“Did they find the buzzing?”

“They did,” the elderly gentleman replied.

The newcomer looked relieved.

“My wife nearly sent me outside to investigate it during the night.”

“We considered doing the same,” the lady added. “It seemed to be coming from everywhere.”

I forced what I hoped looked like a perfectly natural smile.

“Oh…”

“…yes.”

“It was…”

I glanced at Sharon.

“…a travel toothbrush.”

Sharon coughed.

Quite loudly.

The lady smiled kindly.

“My husband thought it sounded much bigger than a toothbrush.”

“I’ve got excellent batteries.”

The words escaped before my brain had a chance to stop them.

Sharon turned away.

Her shoulders shaking.

The gentleman nodded thoughtfully.

“You certainly have.”

The moment they disappeared around the corner…

Sharon completely lost it.

She laughed so hard she had to lean against the decking rail.

“I can’t believe…”

“…you blamed a toothbrush.”

“It was the first thing that came into my head.”

“It must be an incredible toothbrush.”

“I know.”

“Oh Sue…”

“…only you.”

Home Isn’t Always Quiet

An hour later, we were walking Benji and Daisy along the coastal path.

The sea sparkled beneath a cloudless sky.

The breeze carried the smell of salt and warm grass.

Benji trotted happily beside Daisy as though the events of the morning had never happened.

I smiled.

“Despite everything…”

“…this has been rather a lovely holiday.”

Sharon slipped her arm through mine.

“It has.”

“Although…”

“…next time…”

“…we’re checking every bedside drawer before we go to sleep.”

“Agreed.”

“And every suitcase.”

“Definitely.”

“And every handbag.”

“I think that might be wise.”

We walked on together, laughing as Benji chased Daisy through the long grass.

Looking back now…

I honestly don’t remember the beautiful sunsets…

or the fish and chips…

or even the singer in the clubhouse.

What I remember…

…is that somewhere in Dorset, there are probably still people discussing the mysterious buzzing that kept half the campsite awake.

Some holidays are remembered for the places you visit.

Ours…

…will always be remembered for the noise.

As for Dan…

He spent the entire journey home zipped safely inside my handbag.

I checked on him twice.

Not because I was worried about him.

Because after three nights in one caravan…

…I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Just so we’re clear,” I whispered.

“Next holiday…”

“…you’re sleeping in the car.”

Affiliate Disclosure:

Some of the links on this site are Amazon affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you make a purchase through them – at no extra cost to you. This helps support the blog and keeps the content coming. Thanks for your support!

Full Body Surrender  –

Complete relaxation + targeted pleasure

Stress relief + sensual awakening

Tantric Ritual  –

Slow, energy-building ecstasy

Spiritual + physical connection

Bespoke Erotic Massage  –

Fantasy fulfilment

Personalised pleasure

Lingam Worship  –

Prostate + sacred masculine energy

Men seeking profound release

Yoni Massage  –

Deep feminine healing + orgasmic waves

Women embracing sensuality

Couples Sessions  –

Shared intimacy + guided exploration

Reigniting passion

❤️ Ready to indulge? Call Sue on 07504 937253 or email [email protected] to book your private sensual massage today.