The Boy with the Board: A Short Story. Katey Lovell

       The Boy with the Board

      He was the most gorgeous person on the beach, hands down. No one else came close. The rubber of his wetsuit glistening under the sunlight, his long hair the stereotypically sun kissed Californian blonde, an arse that was surely too pert and round to be real – he must be the male equivalent of Beyoncé.

      As views go, this was a pretty good one. Breath-taking, in fact.

      I’d never planned to come to Avila, never thought I was the sort of girl who’d just up sticks and leave home. I’d grown up in a terraced house in Wakefield. It was nothing fancy, an ordinary small, cosy house that was extraordinary because it brimmed with the warmth of love. My Mum had been exceptionally house-proud, the type of woman that never sat still. I remember her making me feel giddy as she darted around with a duster or pushed the Hoover over the well-worn carpets for the umpteenth time.

      My elder sister Maria and I shared a bedroom, the walls plastered with posters of unattainable hunks from the magazines we bought using our dinner money – who needs food when you can have David Beckham in his underwear?! We were best friends, as well as sisters, possibly because of our family situation. Mum and Dad divorced when I was six and Maria was eight. But there had never been any animosity; I’d had a very happy childhood.