ONE DAY(32)

She looked into the bottom of her glass. ‘I suppose it was something you get over in time. Like shingles.’

‘No, really, what happened.’

‘I got to know you. You cured me of you.’

‘Well I want to read these poems. What rhymes with “Dexter”?’

‘“Bastard”. It’s a half-rhyme.’

‘Seriously, what happened to them?’

‘They’ve been destroyed. I built a bonfire, years ago.’ Feeling foolish and let down, she drank once more from the empty glass. ‘Too much brandy. We should go.’ She began to look distractedly for the waiter, and Dexter began to feel foolish too. So many things he might have said, so why be smug, glib, un generous? Keen to find a way to make amends, he nudged her hand. ‘So shall we go for a walk?’

She hesitated. ‘Okay. Let’s go for a walk.’

They headed out along the bay past the half-built houses of the town as it spread itself along the coast, a new tourist development that they deplored in a conventional way, and while they talked Emma silently resolved to be more sensible in future. Recklessness, spontaneity didn’t really suit her, she couldn’t carry it off, the results were never what she hoped for. Her confession to Dexter had felt like swinging wildly at a ball, watching it sail high into the air then moments later hearing the sound of breaking glass. For the remainder of their time together she resolved to stay level-headed, sober and remember The Rules. Remember Ingrid, beautiful uninhibited bisexual Ingrid, waiting for him back in London. No more inappropriate revelations. In the meantime she would just have to drag the stupid conversation round with her, like toilet paper on the heel of her shoe.

They had left the town behind now, and Dexter took her hand to support her as they stumbled woozily over the dry dunes, still warm from the day’s sun. They walked towards the sea to where the sand was wet and firm and Emma noticed that he was still holding her hand.

‘Where are we going anyway?’ she asked, noting the slur in her voice.

‘I’m going for a swim. You coming?’

‘You’re insane.’

‘Come on!’

‘I’ll drown.’

‘You won’t. Look, it’s beautiful.’ The sea was very calm and clear like some wonderful aquarium, jade with a phosphorescent gleam; if you scooped it up it would glow in your hands. Dexter was already pulling his shirt off over his head. ‘Come on. It’ll sober us up.’

‘But I haven’t got my swimming cost—’ A realisation dawned. ‘Oh, I get it,’ she laughed. ‘I see what’s going on here—’

‘What?’

‘I’ve walked right into it haven’t I?’

‘What?’

‘The old skinny-dip routine. Get a girl drunk and look for the nearest large body of water—’

‘Emma, you are such a prude. Why are you such a prude?’

‘You go on, I’ll wait here.’

‘Fine, but you’ll regret it.’ His back was to her now, taking down his trousers then his underwear.

‘Leave your underpants on!’ she shouted after him, watching his long brown back and white buttocks as he strode down to the sea. ‘You’re not at Sexface now you know!’ He fell forward into the surf and she stood, swaying woozily, feeling solitary and absurd. Wasn’t this exactly one of the experiences she craved? Why couldn’t she be more spontaneous and reckless? If she was too scared to swim without a costume how could she ever be expected to tell a man that she wanted to kiss him? Before the thought was finished she had reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress and in a single movement peeled it over her head. She removed her underwear, kicking it off her foot high into the air, letting it lie where it fell, and ran, laughing and swearing to herself, towards the water’s edge.

Standing on tip-toe as far out as he dared to go, Dexter wiped the water from his eyes, looked out to sea and wondered what would happen next. Qualms; he felt the onset of qualms. A Situation loomed, and hadn’t he resolved to try and avoid Situations for a while, to be less reckless and spontaneous? This was Emma Morley after all, and Em was precious, his best friend probably. And what about Ingrid, privately known as Scary Ingrid? He heard a garbled shout of exhilaration from the beach and turned just too late to see Emma stumble naked into the water as if pushed from behind. Honesty and frankness, those would be his watchwords. She splashed towards him with a messy crawl, and he decided to be frank and honest for a change and see where that got him.

Emma arrived, gasping. Suddenly aware of the sea’s translucency, she was struggling to find a way to tread water with one arm folded across her chest. ‘So this is it then!’

‘What?’

‘Skinny-dipping!’

‘It is. What d’you think?’

‘S’alright I suppose. Very larky. What am I meant to do now, just goof around or splash you or what?’ She cupped her hand, threw water lightly at his face. ‘Am I doing it right?’ Before he could splash her back the current caught her and pulled her towards Dexter, who stood with his feet braced against the seabed. He caught her, their legs interlacing like clasped fingers, bodies touching then held apart again, like dancers.

‘That’s a very soulful face,’ she said, to break the silence. ‘Hey, you’re not having a wee in the water, are you?’