A Secret Home

by R J Dent

There was no road.

          I was in my white Ford GT6 with Concetta. Vaughn was in his mustard Lamborghini with Angela. We were brothers. They were sisters. They were our girlfriends. We were racing across the desert, along a canyon, heading for a huge natural wall of rock.

          If anyone had been watching us, it would have looked as though we were going crash into the base of the canyon wall. But no one was watching us. I’d chosen the site for our secret home very carefully.

          With only a few metres to go before impact, I pressed the remote control unit and the solid stone wall began to part. The huge door to our secret home was opening to let us back in. Summer had called us away for three months. Now we were back. The wide tunnel was now fully revealed and we raced through it, bursting out of the other side into the sunshine. We swerved to the left and screeched to a halt. I pressed the remote again and the doors rumbled shut behind us. We were safe.

          No one else in the whole world knew of our secret home. I’d built it in secret and now the four of us lived there.

          I switched the car engine off and got out. Concetta got out and stretched. She looked beautiful. I opened the boot and carried our bags into the huge house I’d carved out of the solid rock. It had taken me a year.

          I’d found a small cave while I was out on a walk one day. I’d blasted and drilled ten rooms out of the cave – a kitchen; two bathrooms; a huge living room; three bedrooms – the spare was in case we ever had guests there, which wasn’t likely; a games room, complete with pool; and a TV and music room.

          I went into mine and Concetta’s bedroom, dumping the bags onto our round bed. I’d sort them out later. In the kitchen, I opened two bottles of wine and left them to stand for a while.