Million Love Songs(29)

When I’m finished, I grab my stuff and head out to reception. I don’t have the same sense of exhilaration or achievement this week – even though I’ve probably done quite a bit more. My determined step stutters a little when I see Joe hanging around by the door. He’s looking very tousled and I hadn’t realised that tousled is a good look on a man. And I want to make it really clear to you right here, right now, that my mouth only goes dry because of all the damn chlorine in the water. Right? Let’s park that one straight away. I had a conversation with myself in the shower about it not five minutes ago.

‘How did it go tonight?’ he asks.

‘Great,’ I say. ‘I really enjoyed it.’ Diving is so not for me.

‘Are you coming to the pub?’ He sounds hopeful when he adds, ‘A few of us are going down there.’

‘Not tonight. I’ve got loads to do.’ Make a cup of tea, have a sandwich, watch telly. Mister, my life is all busy, busy, busy. ‘Thanks for asking though.’

‘See you next week, then?’

‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.’ Sub-text: hell would have to freeze over before I’ll ever get in that swimming pool again. This is me so done with diving. And diving instructors.

‘Great.’ His smile brightens his face. ‘Maybe we could pair together again.’

‘I’m quite happy with Bob,’ I say, so sweetly that I nearly make myself sick. ‘He’s lovely.’

As I breeze out of the leisure centre and walk to the car, I’m sure that I can feel Joe’s eyes on my back and I make my step just a little more jaunty.





Chapter Twenty-Five





This weekend’s entertainment is provided by an eighties-themed party at a club in the city centre. The fortieth birthday of one of Charlie’s friends, Michaela, who I’ve met a couple of times. Forty. Blimey. It dawns on me that my big 4-0 won’t be that far away and I think I’d rather crawl into a hole than celebrate it. I had planned to do so much, be so much by the time I was forty and yet here I am bobbing on the doldrums between teenager and pensioner. Meh. I can feel a lot of prosecco coming on tonight if I’m going to get in the party mood.

We’re only going to get there after our shift finishes as we daren’t ask Jay for a Saturday night off together, so Charlie’s taken our outfits into the staffroom at the close of play in order to get changed. My feet are killing and it would take very little encouragement for me to give this a miss and go home. My bed is calling me and I don’t really know anyone else at this party, other than Charlie and the birthday girl.

My friend pulls two day-glo costumes out of a crumpled plastic bag. ‘Ebay,’ she says by way of explanation. She holds one of them up in front of her. ‘Cheap.’

I would never have guessed. Our outfits comprise of a yellow net top with a perilously low neck. I’m quite well blessed in the chest department, and I think this is going to have trouble containing my girls. Maybe I shouldn’t have been rash enough to give Charlie free rein when it came to outfit choice.

‘You’ve got your black bra?’ she asks.

I nod. ‘In my bag.’ The tops are also very see-through.

The skirt is shocking pink and of the ra-ra variety and, as such, accentuates every single inch of hip. Of which, I have many. I hold it up to me and baulk at the lack of fabric. I tell you, they barely skim our bottoms. As if that isn’t bad enough, the outfit is accessorised with hot pink leg warmers and a rainbow-coloured wig that’s more Cyndi Lauper than Madonna. It’s topped with a big, pink satin bow.

‘You don’t really want me to be seen in public in this, do you?’

‘We’ll look fab,’ she insists.

‘We might get arrested.’

‘Only if we’re lucky,’ she quips. ‘Come on, get changed. We haven’t got all night. Everyone else has been at the party for hours. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. We’ll have to self-medicate with Vitamin P.’

At least we’re agreed that prosecco is the way forward.

Reluctantly, I part with the sensible white shirt and black trousers ensemble required for the serious business of waitressing and wiggle into the ra-ra skirt and canary-yellow tart’s blouse. Frankly, it could have done with being a size bigger. Maybe two. As predicted, the skirt barely covers my modesty. Actually, I don’t think it does. My modesty seems very much on show. I try to pull it down at the sides.

‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it,’ Charlie instructs.

‘I don’t think I have got it. I’m pretty sure it went a long time ago.’ I put my wig on. Charlie bursts out laughing and not in a good way. ‘I’m having second thoughts about this.’

‘We look fabulous, darling,’ she assures me. Then she stands in front of the mirror to put her wig on and catches sight of herself. ‘Bloody hell. They are short. Did we really go out in these?’

‘I was about four when I last wore a ra-ra skirt and I don’t think showing my knickers then was as much of an issue.’

‘Oh, God.’ Charlie tries in vain to make her skirt longer. ‘If I bend over you’ll be able to see what I had for breakfast.’

A car pulls into the car park.

‘That must be our cab.’ Charlie stops fussing with her skirt and jams the rainbow wig on her head.