Million Love Songs(11)

I can’t really deny it as there was a definite edge that crept into his voice, but it seems as if he might have good cause. However, there are always two sides to every story.

‘She changed her job a year ago and ended up going off with the guy who’s her boss. He’s rich, slick and has no family commitments. I think Gina sometimes forgets that she still has children.’

‘It all sounds very raw.’

‘I’d like to be able to tell you that it wasn’t acrimonious, but I’d be lying to you. It’s tough maintaining a civil relationship when you get the impression it’s all one-sided. I feel as if I’m running round like a headless chicken while she’s swanning about as if she hasn’t a care in the world.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out given time.’

‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t sound convinced. ‘All I can do is try to protect Tom and Daisy from the fallout.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Right now, I’ll settle for those plates staying in the air and not coming crashing down on my head. I’m always terrified I’ll forget something.’

‘I’m sure you’re doing the best you can. No one can ask more of you.’

He clears his throat before he says, ‘I don’t have much time for anything else in my life.’

You’re telling me. There’s a bit of an edge to his voice and if he thinks that he’s warning me off any kind of notion I might have about becoming romantically attached to him, then there’s really no need. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this evening – apart from buoyancy, bottom time (not what you might think) and equalisation of the ears – it’s that this man’s life is complicated. I’ve no idea how he manages to cope with all that he does. And I admire him for it. I just don’t want to be part of it. There’s no way that I want to be getting involved in another relationship. Not me, no sir! This is my time for fun. Sheer, unadulterated, especially uncomplicated fun. I’m just waiting for it to begin! I don’t want to be dealing with someone else’s heartbroken kids and bitch ex-wives. Noooo way.

While I’m still trying to work out whether I need to spell that out to him, we reach our cars which are thankfully still intact outside the leisure centre. He walks me to the door of mine.

‘I’ll see you next week for your lesson, then?’ He grins as he says it.

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘You will. I enjoyed it. In a vaguely terrified way. You’re a very patient instructor.’

‘And you’ll let me know about Quarry Hill Cove?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’ll ring or text tomorrow. I won’t be taking up the space of a diver?’

‘No. It will be great to have you along.’

Then I climb into my car and he goes to his.

There’s no way that I’m going on the dive outing. Why would I? I’ll just let it slide for a few days and there won’t be room for me, anyway.

Joe’s nice, I think, as I watch him walk away in the direction of his car. Very nice. But he’s made it very clear – even if I was interested – that he’s got no room for romance. Well, me neither. I don’t need a man in my life. All I’m looking for now is fun, fun, fun.





Chapter Ten





‘How was the scuba-diving?’ Charlie asks.

‘Wet,’ I tell her. ‘Mainly wet.’

We’re in the Butcher’s Arms, waiting to start our shifts. It’s a warm day, so we’re out by the bins behind the kitchen. Charlie and I are perched precariously on a rickety bench that has a couple of screws missing from the arms and even more broken slats. I’m not entirely sure what’s holding it together. It’s been dragged out of the garden before some poor unsuspecting customer plonks themselves on it and ends up in a heap on the floor and then sues our arses off for a broken back or neck or something. Now it’s headed for the local tidy tip as soon as someone can remember to take it up there.

Chef has made us both bacon butties – on sourdough, of course. I don’t think he even knows what a white sliced loaf is. We’re having a sneaky coffee too – latte for Charlie, cappuccino for me – so all is well in the world. The sun is warm on my face and it’s nice to think that summer will soon be here.

When Charlie finishes her butty, she goes through the complicated rigmarole of smoking an e-cigarette. No one looks cool vaping, but I don’t tell her that. She rummages in her little pouch full of preferred flavours of liquid and what-not, then fusses and fiddles. It’s like watching a heroin addict getting ready to shoot up. She drags on her e-cig and puffs out a huge cloud of water vapour. I wave it away. Smells nice though. Vimto, if I’m not mistaken.

‘No hotties in ridiculously small Speedos in the manner of Tom Daley?’ Charlie regards me through the fragrant mist.

‘No.’ I get an unbidden flashback of Joe’s rather fine six-pack.

‘Were there any hotties at all or were they all middle-aged men suffering a midlife crisis?’

‘Mostly the latter.’

‘Mostly?’ she queries. You can’t get much past Charlie.

‘Well, my instructor was actually quite fit,’ I admit. ‘I went to the local pub with him afterwards.’