Sunday, 30 December 2012

Sunday, December 30, 2012 -

Voodoo Child

by Lucy Appleby
Published: Dec 30, 2012
Words: 5,680
Category: general
Orientation: M/F
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"This can't be it." Abigail stared in disbelief at the solitary structure on the beach. It's not a hotel. It's just a ... tent."

"Nice tent, lady. Good beach tent," said the taxi driver as he strode effortlessly over the sand with a suitcase in each hand.

Abigail stumbled after him, pausing to take off her high-heeled sandals that kept sinking down deep into the silken sand. "Wait! There must be some mistake. I can't possibly stay in a tent."

The taxi driver turned his head, smiling reassuringly. "No mistake, lady. Follow me."

"Damn and blast," muttered Abigail as she reluctantly followed.

The large white canvas tent was fronted by a wide wooden veranda. Inside was a living space of sixteen square metres, divided into three 'rooms' - a bedroom complete with double bed and storage space for clothes, a small bathroom with a chemical toilet and a primitive cold water shower hooked up to a water cistern round the back of the tent. There was also a space that served as a sitting-room with a small kitchenette diner at the far end.

The taxi driver put the suitcases in the bedroom and beamed at Abigail as he waved his arm wildly and spoke rapidly, his face animated.

"I haven't a clue what you're saying. I don't speak Creole. Can you speak in English please?"

"Not much English, but some French, oui. Very nice here for holiday," smiled the driver.

In his eclectic and impassioned mix of English and French, he proudly told her all about the island, and the interesting places to go, finishing off by saying he would inform Leila of her arrival. "I go now to fetch Leila. Leila is clever. Leila knows everything. She is expecting you. Welcome to Haiti, lady."

"Thank you," said Abigail, and plonked herself down on the sofa. It had been a long day. Her feet ached. She was tired. And upset.


It had seemed such a good idea at the time. Having booked ten days off work to go on a romantic holiday with Tom, only to find the day before they were due to depart to Paris that the no-good sack of shite had been screwing around, Abigail had taken herself down to the nearest travel agent and demanded to go somewhere - anywhere - at once.

"Just get me on a plane. I'll go anywhere. I don't care where," she had told the bemused travel agent.

When she was offered a last minute cheap deal to Haiti, she snapped it up, and three hours later was on a plane. So here she was - stuck in a tent on a secluded beach on the other side of the world. The travel agent hadn't said anything about staying in a tent. Still, she had to admit, it wasn't a regular tent; it was really quite luxurious - spacious, clean and bright, and furnished.