‘Exhausted.’
He stared out across the lake and rolled his shoulders.
‘It gets a bit much after a while, doesn’t it, all of the noise, the effort of talking to people you don’t know?’
‘I used to be good at that.’
‘You still are from what I could see.’
He had been watching her, but if she was honest, hadn’t she been watching him, too? Always looking to where he was in the room, craning to hear his steady voice above the others, feeling the need to have him near.
‘Has it been useful?’ she asked.
‘Mind if I sit down? My back is aching, and my brain is completely scrambled. I’ve bought you a soft drink, something grapefruity, I think, although to be honest I can’t remember.’
She moved to one side as he sat down, knees crooked, and handed her a paper cup. ‘I’ve got your pashmina as well.’
He held out an arm with her wrap folded carefully across it.
‘You might not need it. It’s pretty sheltered down here.’
She took a sip of the drink, trying not to think about how close he was, how his arm was almost, but not quite touching hers. He closed his eyes and sighed. He looked exhausted, too.
‘It is grapefruit. It’s nice. Thank you. Do you want a sip?’
He nodded and she passed him the cup. Sharing a drink felt so intimate, something you did with someone you knew well, and she didn’t know him that well at all.
‘You need to take your shoes off,’ she said, looking down at his brown brogues and green striped socks. ‘Dip your feet in the water. It’s really refreshing.’
‘But then you’ll see my feet,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘They’re pretty bony and ugly. Rat feet, my mother calls them.’
‘I’m a midwife. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen worse things than your rat feet, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll avert my eyes.’
He glanced at her.
‘Promise?’
She laughed.
‘I promise.’
‘You have a nice laugh,’ he said as he handed her back the cup and began to unlace his shoes. ‘You ought to do it more often.’
‘It’s meant to be good for you, isn’t it? I’ve read that some people claim to have laughed themselves well from illness. Perhaps I could make it one of my second half of the year resolutions.’
‘Do you do that?’
‘Not usually, but I thought it might be a good thing to start. After all, January is a terrible time of the year to commit to things; you’re tired after Christmas, probably a bit vulnerable health-wise because it’s the middle of winter, and a whole year is a long time to commit to something. Whereas summer is a much more optimistic time, unless you’ve just been dumped and cheated on, of course.’
He began to peel off his socks.
‘You’re looking.’
‘Only at your face.’
