Million Love Songs(55)

As I’m bending over, attractively dripping sweat on the floor, I feel a nip on the back of my leg and shoot upright. As I whirl round there’s a black-necked Canada goose an inch behind me. It hisses at me and I step back, only to find that it’s brought all its mates with it too for backup. They are the thugs of the goose world as, in a flash, they have me completely surrounded, honking and hissing in a threatening manner. They’re clearly hungry and in search of bread. They must think I’ve got some secreted down my joggers or perhaps I eat so much bread that I carry the air of it about my person. Whichever way, they obviously think I’m holding out on the carb front.

‘Shoo,’ I say and the ringleader nips me again. ‘Ouch.’ I try stamping my foot while looking as menacing as I can, but it rears up and flexes its wings. Bugger. I’m the one who backs down. The goose gives me the evil eye. His glinty-eyed expression says ‘Unless there’s bread, lady, you’re not getting out of here alive.’

I try edging away from them, but they’re immoveable and bold. A few more have a test nip at me. Perhaps these aren’t bread-eating geese, but have morphed into cannibals and are looking to eat me instead of a bit of stale Warburtons’ Toastie. Shit. I’m a townie and live in the middle of a city, but Costa del Keynes is a hotbed of wildlife. They’re everywhere – ducks, woodpeckers, kingfishers, foxes, you name it, and, of course, these wretched geese.

‘Nice geese,’ I say and have another go at breaching their defences, but they have me corralled.

I think they are pretty useless as geese go. I don’t think you can eat them and they poo everywhere. What exactly is their purpose in the food chain? While I’m contemplating this, another one bites me and it’s a proper bite this time, not a nip.

‘Fucker!’ I jump up and down a bit, but that only attracts more geese. Soon, I’m in a sea of them, marooned in the middle. I lift up my arms and wave them, but that only makes them stand taller and some of them come right up to my chest. I’m thinking about shouting for help, but don’t know if anyone would hear me above all this threatening hissing and honking. I might have to jump in the lake and swim for it, but then I remember that geese are fully capable of being water borne too. Yikes. What on earth am I going to do?

Then I hear a voice say, ‘Come on, boys. Leave the nice lady alone,’ and I spin round. Joe is approaching in a purposeful manner, he claps his hands in a very manly way and strides towards me.

The geese scatter instantly. Bastards. Why didn’t they do that for me? In an instant, they’re looking innocent again, foraging on the bank of the lake, gliding about serenely on the water. Yeah, butter wouldn’t melt in your mouths, evil geese. I know differently.

‘Thanks for that,’ I say with genuine relief. ‘I thought I was a goner.’

‘Always available to rescue a damsel in distress,’ he says with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I couldn’t leave you there being goosed.’

Quite.

‘I’m not good with animals. I try to avoid them at all costs unless they’re on my plate. It’s a good job you came along when you did.’

‘We’re just out for a walk.’ He looks over his shoulder and there are two children hanging back. Both of them looking as if they’d rather be anywhere else. ‘I wanted to drag them away from their computer screens for an hour.’ The boy has headphones in and both have every atom of their being concentrated on their phones. ‘I thought it would be fun.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m beginning to realise that I’m in the minority.’

Wow, so these are actually Joe’s children. Until now they’ve been a kind of abstract concept. There in the background, but not exactly three-dimensional. I did, indeed, begin to wonder if they might be imaginary kids, but here they are, flesh and blood. Joe’s flesh and blood even. They’re certainly good-looking kids. They’re dark-haired like Joe and have his eyes. They look even more like him in real life than they did in the photo he showed me on the dive day. I’m sure Joe has also told me all about them, but I can’t quite remember the details. I should have paid more attention, but perhaps I never really believed that I’d ever meet them.

The girl, Daisy I think, looks about twelve. Her curly hair falls to her shoulders and she’s heartbreakingly pretty. She’s tall for her age, but as thin as a pin. Her pink sweatshirt, leggings and sparkly pink trainers announce to the world that she’s the girliest of girly girls – and no harm in that. As you know I’m partial to a bit of girly stuff myself. Maybe we’d get along just fine.

The boy, Tom, is about fifteen and is tall, rangy, uncomfortable in the way he holds his body – as only teenage boys do when they’re not quite sure whether they’re a man or still a boy. His hair is gelled within an inch of its life in an attempt to tame his curls, I’d guess. He looks pretty cool in his Superdry T-shirt and skinny jeans and I bet he’s the school heartthrob.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Joe with his children and it seems weird. Until now I’ve only really seen him as a single entity hottie, now here he is as a family man and a father. Although we’ve discussed it enough, it suddenly feels like a step change. A bit like when you see your dentist out of uniform at the pub and, for a minute, you don’t quite recognise the person you think you know.

Joe shouts over his shoulder, ‘Daisy, Tom, come and say hello to Ruby.’