This is an extract from my novel, Life Needs the Caribbean…

Tracy’s tan had faded quickly despite coming back to what was called summer in England and she missed her golden brown skin. She’d felt a bit of a fraud being blonde when she lost the tan and had dyed her hair back to her normal mid brown with very subtle highlights and immediately regretted her decision. She hated it but had too much pride to change it back – especially as her annoying, know it all friend Cheryl kept telling her she’d made a mistake. She didn’t like herself very much at the moment. She didn’t like the way she was acting, or feeling and she certainly didn’t like the way she looked…. And she knew she didn’t look like that woman she’d been on the island. The one that floated so contentedly in the sea for hours and hours and thought great, big interesting thoughts, a woman that danced a lot and didn’t mind who watched her,  a woman that was totally at home in her body despite her size – because she knew she was beautiful;  a woman who made friends easily, the woman Diver wanted.

Gazing at the steamed up window she calculated the English ‘summer’ had offered up approximately 9 days of sun since she came home. Once again August Bank Holiday had been a complete wash out – with floods spoiling family and friends plans and forcing most people to stay at home for the long weekend. Autumn was already here and just around the corner another long, depressing dark grey winter. She nearly started crying again at the thought.  Grey, I hate BLOODY grey. It’s my worst colour. I don’t mind cold weather but it’s the greyness, I can’t stand. I don’t know if I can get through another British winter, with those days that end so early, with hardly any blue sky, with everyone wearing black or grey or navy or brown, with no leaves on the trees just horrid grey twigs, with no sun or flowers till after Christmas, with no bloody light….

…. Guess that book was never going to work with me – 50 Shades of Grey? – 50 Shades of Dull more like…. In a stream of consciousness moment, she pondered the multi-million selling piece of “Mummy Porn”, and concluded it was probably the most un-erotic work of erotic fiction she’d ever read. She thought about the two young and beautiful protagonists, and their complicated, painful, courtship filled with expensive gifts; mind games, rules and regulations, and compared it to her sweetly sensual, colourful memories and the impulsive instinct that had brought her together with Diver in the sea. And to the affectionate courtship:  of chatting, kissing, giggling, dancing and anticipation that had followed. Her stomach knotted sharply like it always did when she thought of him. She squeezed her eyes tight and forced herself to block the memories out and became conscious of her surroundings again.

The water was still hot but was beginning cool slightly – The parts of her body that peeked out had begun to gooseflesh – she sighed – it was time to get out of the bath.

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