ONE DAY(33)

‘No—’

‘So?’

‘So anyway what I meant to say was sorry. For what I said—’

‘When?’

‘Back in the restaurant, for being a bit glib or whatever.’

‘S’alright. I’m used to it.’

‘And also to say I thought the same thing too. At the time. What I mean is I liked you too, “romantically”, I mean. I mean I didn’t write poems or anything, but I thought about you, think about you, you and me. I mean I fancy you.’

‘Really? Oh. Really? Right. Oh. Right.’ It’s going to happen after all, she thought, right here and now, standing naked in the Aegean Sea.

‘My problem is—’ and he sighed and smiled with one side of his mouth. ‘Well I suppose I fancy pretty much everybody!’

‘I see,’ was all she could say.

‘—anyone really, just walking down the street, it’s like you said, everyone’s my type. It’s a nightmare!’

‘Poor you,’ she said flatly.

‘What I mean is that I don’t think I was – am – ready for, you know, Boyfriend Girlfriend. I think we’d want different things. From a relationship.’

‘Because . . . you’re a gay man?’

‘I’m being serious here, Em?’

‘Are you? I can never tell.’

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘No! I don’t care! I told you, it was a long, long time ago—’

‘However!’ Under the water, his hands found her waist and held on. ‘However, if you wanted a bit of fun—’

‘Fun?’

‘Break the Rules—’

‘Play Scrabble?’

‘You know what I mean. A fling. Just while we’re away, no strings, no obligations, not a word to Ingrid. Our little secret. Because I’d be up for it. That’s all.’

She made a noise in her throat somewhere between laughter and a growl. Up for it. He was grinning expectantly like a salesman offering great deals on finance. Our little secret, to add to all the others presumably. A phrase entered her mind: a mouth is just a mouth. There was only one thing she could do, and oblivious to her own nakedness she bounced up out of the water and with all her weight pushed his head under the water and held it there. She began a slow count. One, two, three—

You arrogant, self-satisfied little—

Four, five, six—

And you stupid, stupid woman, stupid for caring, stupid for thinking that he cared—

Seven, eight, nine—

He’s flailing now, better let him up I suppose, and make a joke, make a joke of it—

Ten, and she took her hands from the top of his head and let him bounce up. He was laughing, shaking the water from his hair and eyes and she laughed too, a rigid ha ha ha.

‘I take it that’s a no then,’ he said eventually, pinching the sea-water from his nose.

‘I think so. I think our moment passed some time ago.’

‘Oh. Really. Are you sure? Because I think we’d feel much better if we got it out of the way.’

‘Got it out of the way?’

‘I just think we’d feel closer. As friends.’

‘You’re worried that not sleeping together could spoil our friendship?’

‘I’m not expressing myself very well—’

‘Dexter, I understand you perfectly, that’s the problem—’

‘If you’re scared of Ingrid—’

‘I’m not scared of her, I’m just not going to do it so that we can say that we’ve done it. And I’m not going to do it if the first thing you say afterwards is “please don’t tell anyone” or “let’s forget it ever happened”. If you have to keep something secret it’s because you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place!’

But he was peering past her, eyes narrowed, towards the beach, and she turned towards the shore just in time to see a small, slim figure hurtling at great speed along the sand, carrying something over his head in triumph like a captured flag: a shirt, a pair of trousers.

‘OIIIIIIIIIII!’ shouted Dexter, barrelling towards the shore now, yelling through mouthfuls of water, then taking startling high-kneed strides up the beach, pounding after the thief who had stolen all his clothes.

By the time he made it back to Emma, breathless and fuming, she was sitting on the beach fully dressed and sober once again.

‘Any sign of them?’

‘Nope! Gone!’ he said tragically. ‘Just completely f*cked off and gone’ and it took a light breeze to remind him that he was naked, and he angrily cupped one hand between his legs.

‘Did he take your wallet?’ she asked, her face fixed in an earnest rictus.

‘No, just some cash, I don’t know, ten, fifteen quids’ worth, little bastard.’

‘Well I suppose that’s just one of the perils of skinny-dipping,’ she mumbled, the corners of her mouth twitching.

‘It’s the trousers that wind me up. They were Helmut Lang! The underpants were Prada. Thirty bloody quid a go, those underpants. What’s up with you?’ But Emma couldn’t speak for laughter, ‘It’s not funny Em! I’ve been robbed!’