Dominated by the Ghost: An Alpha Ghost BBW Romance Read online

  She checked in the mirror at the line of cars behind her all heading to the coast. From her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of the dark brown hair of the person beside her.

  “I thought it was strange,” she continued. “I couldn't quite work out why you wanted to go to a traditional seaside resort. Seemed like the most boring place in the world. I mean, I couldn't imagine you'd be wanting to sit in a deck chair all day looking at the sea. You don't even like fish and chips.”

  Jenny paused as they came to a roundabout and like all the other traffic, they took the road leading to the coast.

  “Do you know,” Jenny asked her companion, “I even thought you might have picked Whitby because of me. Because I was talking about the holidays at the seaside when I was a child. I almost invited your grandparents.”

  Jenny unwrapped a hard candy and popped it in her mouth.

  “So it’s right then, is it? That's the reason you wanted to have a holiday here, is it? Bloody Dracula.”

  There was no answer and Jenny turned to look at daughter. But Ana had her earbuds in and was absorbed in her phone.

  Jenny tapped her knee. “Ana,” she said, “I'm talking to you.”

  Ana looked up and scowled. She took her earbuds out.

  “What do you want?”

  “Dracula,” said Jenny. “That's why you wanted to come to Whitby, isn't it? All those Dracula wannabes?”

  Ana looked at the line of traffic ahead. “Maybe,” she said.

  Jenny laughed. “I knew it. I can't believe we’re having a goth holiday.”

  “It's not goth,” said Ana.

  “Well, emo, or whatever. It looks goth to me.”

  “Mum,” said Ana, the frustration rising in her voice, “I've told you, its steampunk.”

  “Steampunk,” said Jenny. “What on Earth is that?”

  But Ana was no longer listening.

  *

  Ana went back to her earbuds and Jenny turned up the radio. The local station was playing a 90s hour and she sang along as the wound their way closer to the coast. At one point they played The Cure and she thought about mentioning it to Ana but changed her mind. Maybe The Cure wasn’t steampunk, but it was definitely dark and dramatic—two things that Ana seemed very interested in.

  Dracula, Jenny thought. It figured.

  The traffic thinned and they began to make good time. They sped over the moors, purple in the August sunlight. Sheep roamed in fluffy flocks and Jenny realized she felt happy with the window open and the music playing. It was an unusual sensation and it almost made her nostalgic for a time when happiness came easily. Perhaps the holiday wouldn't be all that bad.

  No, she thought, it was no good getting sentimental or getting her hopes up. She had learned that well enough.

  Still, when they crested the brow of the hill and the sea came into view, a gray-blue line against the sky, Jenny couldn't help but smile.

  “Hurray,” she said, “the sea ! Ana, look.”

  But Ana ignored her and continued jabbing out a message to someone else in another place entirely.

  As they came into the town, Jenny pulled over and said, “Okay sweetheart, can you give me the map of the bed and breakfast?”

  “It's on my phone,” said Ana.

  Jenny held out her hand, but Ana kept the phone.

  “I'll direct you,” said Ana.

  “It would be easier if I have a look. It's not easy to drive around here. The streets are really narrow.”

  “If you just drive, I'll tell you which way to go.”

  Jenny sighed. “All right, have it your way.”

  She drove on through the narrow winding streets of the town. The houses were all painted white and seagulls stationed themselves on chimney tops. Jenny had forgotten how pretty it was.

  “You need to be over there,” said Ana, pointing across her to the right.

  “That's not really possible, honey,” said Jenny.

  “You need to be over there,” repeated Ana.

  “If you took your nose out of your phone, you'd see there was a river in the way.”

  They drove back to a bridge and Jenny looked over the River Esk with the fishing boats tied to the dock and the blue and white cottages. Tourists sat on benches and strolled, eating ice cream.

  “Isn't it lovely?” Jenny said.

  “Turn left,” said Ana.

  They turned left and went up the hill, winding between the old stone houses, avoiding the tourists who climbed slowly with their backpacks and red sunburned shoulders.

  “Take a right here,” said Ana.

  “It's a one-way street.”

  “Well, it's to the right of us, so you need to turn right.”

  “Well, I can't because it's a one-way street.”

  “Mum, it's just there. You can see it.”

  “It doesn't matter, I can't turn into that street.”

  “Don't be stupid, it's ten yards away.”

  “Hey,” said Jenny. “That's enough.”

  She drove on to the top of hill and turned right along a main street and then took the first right back down again.

  “Is this the street?” Jenny asked.

  “Next one,” muttered Ana.

  They found the guest house at the end of the street. It was a grand old terraced building made from stone, warmly lit by the afternoon sunlight.

  “Oh,” said Jenny, “good choice, honey. Looks very traditional. Hope we get an old-fashioned guest house owner with her hair in curlers and a cigarette in her mouth.”

  She parked at the end of the street and stepped out of the car and stood stretching, breathing in the fresh air.

  “Feels nice,” she said. “The sea air.”

  Ana stayed in the car and Jenny leaned in through the window and said, “Did you print out the booking?”

  “On my phone,” said Ana.

  “Well, come on then,” said Jenny.

  They walked up the path through a neatly tended rose garden to the front door, and Jenny pressed the doorbell. She moved down her sunglasses to survey the street and as she turned back to the door she looked at the large bay window next to her. Involuntarily she jumped backwards, feeling Ana jump back with her.

  Staring back at her, not three feet away, was a white face, peering between the red velvet curtains. It had extravagant black eyebrows that curved over large eyes on either side of a long, sharp nose. The chin was similarly sharp and upturned. The face was framed by lank, black hair that was slicked into a parting that Jenny would say was either very fashionable, or the very opposite.

  The curtain was opened and two hands pulled up the window. The man stuck his head out. He was wearing a black roll-neck sweater that exaggerated the whiteness of his face and hands, with their long, bony fingers. Jenny thought he looked like a mime artist, but his features were pleasing, despite his strange appearance.

  “Good afternoon,” the man said with a heavy European accent. He laughed. “My apologies, I think I may have frightened you a little.”

  He grinned, taking his time to look at them, first at Jenny and then at Ana. Jenny felt Ana shift a little, uneasily.

  “I trust you had a pleasant journey,” he said.

  “Very good,” said Jenny. “Traffic wasn't too bad at all.”

  “Excellent. Excuse me.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling smoke into the street. “Ahhh,” he said, with obvious satisfaction. “Excellent, excellent. The traffic in England can be very tiresome, can it not?”

  “Sometimes,” said Jenny, “but we didn't have too far to come.”

  “You are English?” the man asked, pointing the cigarette at both of them. “Hmm,” he said, not waiting for their answer. “I see.” He considered them and smiled as if to say, yes, it was acceptable to be English. “Excuse me,” he said, “I am Razvan.”

  He said this as if they should have been impressed and for a moment Jenny wondered whether she had seen him before. He seemed familiar, as if she had seen him on a reality
television show about odd people.

  Razvan held out his hand to her and she shook it. His fingers were incredibly long. They wrapped around her hand completely and she could feel the bones not very far beneath the translucent skin.

  Then he held his hand out for Ana too, which Jenny was unsure about. Ana took it and shook it limply, as if she were being made to touch a dead fish. His hands were so white they even put Ana's to shame, making her look tawny by comparison. Ana was probably impressed by this, she reflected. Their first wannabe Dracula sighting.

  Razvan inhaled from his cigarette again and held it in front of him, peering down the length of his nose at it, as if it were an interesting specimen.

  “You have brought the weather,” he observed raising his eyes to the sun, suspiciously, like a man scared of skin cancer. “Glorious,” he said extending the word, languidly.

  “It's beautiful,” agreed Jenny.

  “We don't often have days like this,” he said, “in England.” He spoke as if England were something small that continually failed to meet his expectations. “Even in the summer.”

  Just when Jenny began to wonder how long this doorstop conversation could possibly go on, Razvan gently extinguished the cigarette on the window sill. He then produced a clear plastic pouch and popped the remains of the cigarette inside, before concealing it and his lighter about his person and making loose-wristed flapping motions to disperse the smoke.

  “No smoking,” he said. “No smoking everywhere in England. But we must all enjoy our little pleasures, mustn't we not?” He smiled at Jenny, showing a sharp set of teeth. Jenny made a forced smile as if to agree with him.

  He grinned at Ana. “Our little secret. Don't tell Bruce.”

  Ana scowled back, which appeared to delight him.

  “Bruce is my partner,” he declared. “Anyway, you should come in,” said Razvan, and pulled down the window.

  “I can't believe it,” muttered Ana. “It's a dosshouse for illegal immigrants.”

  “Don't be rude,” said Jenny. “You don't know anything about him.”

  It was then that Jenny realized the door was actually slightly open. She pushed at it and walked into the hallway. Ana followed.

  The hall was large and there was an impressive balustrade staircase leading up the first floor. Beneath the staircase was a small plinth which Razvan stood behind. He opened a huge reservations book, like a preacher flicking through a Bible.

  “We are very old school here,” he said. “Mrs. Jennifer Cooper?”

  “Jenny,” she said, “and Ana.”

  “Jenny Cooper,” said Razvan. “You are staying for five nights.”

  “Correct.”

  “Perfect,” said Razvan. “I shall call Bruce.” He did just that, turning his head into the room and exaggerating the r and s sounds. “He will come and collect your luggage. He is a strong man,” he said, by way of explanation.

  Jenny avoided looking at Ana, afraid she’d laugh. She could only imagine her daughter’s scowl. Ana had wanted Dracula, and she got Razvan. It was perfect.

  Razvan smiled. “You are on the top floor. In the roof. It's fantastic up there. Room at the front for you, with en suite bathroom,” he said to Jenny, handing her the key. “And room at the back, for you,” he said to Ana, giving her another key. “Ana, I'm afraid you will have to use the bathroom on the landing, but there is no one else up there to disturb you. All of our other guests are staying on lower floors.”

  “Thanks,” said Ana.

  Razvan looked at them again. “I'll go look for Bruce,” he said and disappeared through a side-door.

  “Creepy,” said Ana.

  “Would you say he’s more goth, or more steampunk?” Jenny muttered.

  Ana’s scowl deepened.

  They took their keys and climbed up three flights of stairs to the top floor. The stairs opened up to a small landing beneath the pitched roof.

  Jenny opened her door and walked into a spacious bedroom with a slanting roof. The large bed was against the interior wall and faced a skylight. Jenny opened the curtains on the opposite wall and looked out into the sunshine. She could see the sea over to the left and fishing boats bobbing on the waves. Across the river, the town rose again in a cluster of houses to the green hill top with the graveyard and the craggy ruins of the Abbey.

  It was quite a view, Jenny thought.

  She poked her head into Ana's room. Her daughter was sitting on her bed looking at her phone.

  “I'm going to sort the bags,” Jenny said.

  “Fine,” said Ana.

  Jenny skipped down the stairs. Despite her daughter’s moodiness and their strange concierge, she had a summer holiday feeling. Why shouldn’t she enjoy it, she thought, as she went outside into the sunshine and back through the rose garden.

  On the street, a man was standing near her car as if appraising it. He was a stocky man in a tight black t-shirt with a shaved head. For a moment Jenny thought he was a car thief, but he turned to her and gave her a warm grin.

  “Hi,” he said, “Mrs. Cooper?”

  “That's right,” she said. “Jenny.”

  “I'm Bruce. Thought I might be able to give you a hand with your luggage.”

  Jenny quickly altered her evaluation, thinking Bruce looked a lot like a man who might give DIY advice on daytime TV.

  “That would be wonderful,” she said, flashing him her best smile.

  She opened the trunk, conscious of his eyes upon her. She looked up at him, expecting to catch him in the act of ogling, but he just smiled nicely back at her.

  “Husband joining you later?” he asked innocently.

  Jenny lifted the back of the car above her head and stood up. “No,” she said. “Just in the middle of a separation. Taking my daughter away for a holiday to try and get our minds off it for a while.”

  “Ah, well, I get the prize for being the biggest idiot in town.”

  Jenny smiled. “Forget it,” she said, “and take this. And this too.” She loaded him up with a suitcase and another bag, which he slung over his shoulder. They carried the bags to the top floor.

  Jenny directed him to leave the bag in her daughter's room. “This is for Ana,” she said.

  Bruce slid the bag off his shoulder. “Hello, Ana,” he said. “Hope you have a nice break.”

  “Thanks,” said Ana, still sitting on the bed.

  Bruce carried the suitcase into Jenny's room and laid it down next to her bed.

  “You've been very helpful,” said Jenny, digging in her purse for a tip. “Thank you.”

  “No tip, please—it’s my job,” said Bruce. “And my pleasure.” He smiled at her. “Have you been to Whitby before?”

  “Oh, not since I was a child. It doesn't seem to have changed much.”

  “What would change in fifteen years?” asked Bruce. “I've barely changed my underpants in that time.”

  Jenny laughed. “That's very funny. At least, I hope you’re joking.”

  “Of course. Every week for me,” said Bruce. “Regular as clockwork.”

  “If we are being serious,” said Jenny, “then it's been about thirty years since I was here.”

  “I would never have guessed that,” said Bruce, looking at her, “seriously. But it still won't be much different. Time tends to happen elsewhere.”

  “I'm looking forward to reliving some childhood memories.”

  “Look,” said Bruce, “I'm going to give myself a couple of hours off this afternoon. Have a walk along the harbor and get some seafood. If I could give you and Ana a little tour, it would be great. I would appreciate the company.”

  Jenny stuck her head into Ana's room. “Do you want to come on a walk with us, Ana?” she asked.

  To her surprise, Ana said, “Fine.”

  “Super,” said Bruce. “I'll wait downstairs for you.”

  When he had gone, Ana said, “Forget it, Mum. He's gay.”

  “Don't be ridiculous,” said Jenny.

  “You heard hi
m,” said Ana, “his partner is Razvan.” She made a sprout-eating face when she said Razvan.

  “Business partner, honey,” Jenny said.

  Ana laughed out loud. “Whatever,” she said. “They’re gay.”

  “Ana,” she said, “I didn’t realize you were so conservative.” Then she went to her room to wash her face and choose a change of clothes.

  Bruce led them on a walk through the center of town, along the river and to the sea. He was a charming and interesting host, and so funny he even managed to make Ana smile on a number of occasions, though she tried desperately to hide it.

  They walked alongside the harbor and Bruce bought them ice creams even though Jenny told him not to spend his money on her and Ana. “I can pay,” she said. “Really. I have a vacation fund and everything.”

  “Best ice creams in Yorkshire,” he said. “Let it be my treat. Just be careful the gulls don't poo in them.”

  “Are you married?” asked Ana.

  “Just ignore her,” Jenny said, “she knows it’s rude to ask questions like that.”

  Bruce smiled. “I don't mind. I was married once, but it didn't last long.”

  “Why not?” asked Ana.

  “I was in the army,” he said. “I guess in some ways I was married to the army. Shall we go over the river?”

  He led them across the bridge and Ana turned to Jenny and said, “Married to the army. I think that means he's gay.”

  Jenny snorted, trying not to laugh.

  They walked up the hill to the long grass and weathered gravestones below the Abbey.

  “Lot of goths around here,” observed Bruce.

  “Steampunk,” corrected Ana.

  “I see,” said Bruce. “Is that what you're in to?”

  “Not really,” said Ana. “But it’s interesting. I like to see the people dress up. Everyday clothing is so boring.”

  “You should talk to Razvan,” said Bruce. They sat down on a bench with the Abbey behind them and looked down at the town below them. “He knows a thing or two about dressing unusually.”

  “He certainly seems to,” said Jenny.

  “Is he your partner?” asked Ana.

  Bruce laughed. “What? Is that what he said? Ha. Far from it. He just works here during the season. Cooks, does a few odd jobs in exchange for a little money and accommodation. He's an English teacher back in his own country and comes here in the summer to practice it.”