‘I think that’s why people think men lifting women is romantic.’ Joy was growing thoughtful now. ‘It’s like, your dad stops lifting you, then there’s this younger bloke who takes over.’
‘Like brides being carried over the threshold by their new husband?’
‘Exactly! It’s so she feels safe and looked after.’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it before. Hah! Your brain works in amazing ways.’ His feet moved again, pulling himself up the slope, only now he went even slower. ‘I won’t stumble, I promise,’ he said in a low voice, and Radia nestled her head on his jumper and smiled in a way that said she was close to waking.
‘I’ve been told that before,’ Joy said, feeling a little calmer now they’d slowed their pace and Monty was placing his boots so carefully. ‘The brain thing. Personally, I think it’s a bit of a shambles inside here.’
Monty only smiled at her in a way she couldn’t read but made her heart sink. Joy scolded herself.Negative self-talk!People don’t like it. It makes them uncomfortable, she’d learned over the years. Luckily, she had something in her bag to save her. ‘Here, I’ve got your book!’
‘Ah, great. Can you shove it in my back pocket?’ Monty bobbed his head in the direction of his butt and stopped on the slope once more.
‘Oh, uh, sure.’ She tried to use the very tips of her fingertips to lift up his loose jumper, followed by the hem of his soft T-shirt, revealing his back pocket. She slipped the book inside.
As soon as it was done, Monty strode on and Joy had to pretend she was having perfectly normal friend-type reactions to having glimpsed the slightest bit of his back.
What was wrong with her? Nobody made her feel self-conscious the way Monty did, and it wasn’t anything he did or said. It was all happening in that amazing brain of hers.
Catching up to him, she threw out another question in case he could feel her awkwardness. ‘Do you think your mate Elliot will carry Jude?’
‘I mean, Jude’s about half his height so I reckon he will.’
‘I guess by the time there’s any lifting going on, you’ll be off the hook for best man duties.’
Monty sniffed a laugh. ‘Suppose I will. I only hope he forgives me for the stag night. A few drinks at the Siren isn’t enough really, is it? I’ve not had much time to sort anything else. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly set up for stag and hen dos round here.’
Radia shifted in his arms and her eyelashes flickered open then closed again.
Monty whispered now, keeping his eyes fixed on the cobbles as he walked. ‘What do you organise for a guy you don’t know all that well? I mean, we talk most days when we meet at the Siren or around the village, and me and Tom have Elliot and Jude over at the cottage for barbeques, but it’s hard when there’s no dad or brothers to ask what he’s into, you know?’
‘Ah, yes, he’s estranged from his family? Well, you can’t interfere, that’s just how things are for him.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Yes. Don’t get involved.’
Monty pulled his neck back, just a little, but it was enough to make her scrabble for an apology.
‘I didn’t mean to snap. Sorry. I just… know it’s best you keep out of things.’
Radia shifted once more and wrapped her arms around Monty’s neck, pulling herself into a sitting position but keeping her head down and eyes closed.
‘I will. Don’t worry. But that’s all the more reason to get the stag right. Thing is, as far as I know he likes three things: Jude, working out, and animals.’
‘Evening all!’ came a voice from the slope above them, yanking them out of their conversation.
‘Mrs Crocombe. Had a nice evening?’ Monty asked the woman who was standing by the bushy fuchsias outside the Ice Cream Cottage. The yacht captain was still with her.
‘Lovely, dear, thank you. I see you’re having a little night-time stroll,’ she told them, managing to make it sound accusatory and somehow salacious, as though Joy and Monty were kids out past their curfew.
‘We haven’t met,’ Monty told the man, adjusting Radia in his arms in a way that told him he’d shake hands if he could. ‘I’m Monty.’
‘Splendid!’ James da Costa enthused, his cheeks turning rosy with mirth.
‘And this is Joy Foley,’ Monty said.
Joy smiled, all the while wanting to get away from Mrs C., who was examining her for signs of, what? Post-date rapture? Intentions of singlehandedly repopulating her precious primary school?
