31
I can’t believe Iever wondered what Lynn did,” I say, hauling the canteen tables back as Samira sets out the mats for Mocha Mamas, one of several things Lynn coordinated around the pool, which I admittedly thought were a waste of time but should probably form part of whatever new plan we have for the lido.
August is proving to be extremely hot. Even the gulls are perched and lazy at high noon; the only real sound is the pulsing of the sea into the cliffs below. Broadgate is alive now, but languidly so. The summer bringing people out of their houses in search of leafy trees to snooze under and pebbly shores from which to dip their toes into the sea. The fish-and-chip shops are bulging with flip-flopped feet and children’s naked torsos, and a few little pop-up stalls set up shop along the promenade.
“Lynndiddo a lot,” says Samira, huffing. “Once this is set up, someone needs to go to the coffee cart and get three cappuccinos, two long blacks, one hot chocolate, and a peppermint tea,” she readsfrom a text message from Lynn, anxious we don’t let her groups down now that she’s left.
“I can get the coffees so you can get back to reception,” I say.
Ryan arrives with four ice creams and waves to one of our summer staff sitting high in the lifeguard’s chair. The pool is satisfyingly busy today, with plenty of people under thirty too—due in part to the heat, but also the renewed interest in it thanks to the cinema night and the election campaign.
“Lynn’s not here,” I say, grabbing a chocolate off him, quickly licking the sweet, melting ice cream, which is running down the waffle cone. “Remember?”
“Shit,” he says, “I forgot. My granddad was over yesterday moaning about her being gone too. She gifted him a membership here for his eightieth and he only comes here to flirt with her.”
“Flirt with Lynn?” I say, laughing.
“I’ve tried to explain,” he says. “He won’t be deterred. Me and Nanna have a right laugh about it.”
“I’ve never worked with anyone who turns up with snacks for the whole team as much as you do, Ryan,” I say, half listening. “It’s very sweet, and appreciated. It’ssohot today, my God.”
“I know, it must beat leastseventy degrees, Mara, how are you coping?” Ryan says, grinning across at Samira, who laughs coyly back at him. I roll my eyes at her.
“It’s eighty-eight, actually, which to a pale northerner is basically a furnace,” I reply.
“Can you help me carry some coffees?” I ask him, as Samira heads back to reception with her ice cream.
We arrive at the coffee-to-go cart and join the queue, Ryan next to me, waiting patiently, topless with his knee-length red shorts on.
“Why are you always topless?” I ask, trying not to look at his chest, which admittedly I know every inch of by now.
“So I’m ready in case I need to jump in,” he says.
“Explain the Crocs, then?” I say, looking down at them.
“Same reason,” he says. “I once tripped over my flip-flops trying to get to someone.”
“I see. Have you ever had toactuallysave someone?”
“Oh, plenty. Roger Cummings, the old boy with the mustache? You know him?” he says animatedly. “He slipped and hit his head and fell straight in. And Samira’s mum?”
“What about Samira’s mum?”
“She had a funny turn in the pool last summer. I think a minor stroke? Anyway, I pulled her out and did CPR on her. You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know,” I say, the sun rounding a cotton candy white cloud and hitting me right in the face. “You saved her mum?”
“Yeah, I pulled her out. She’s lovely, Mrs. Farhat,” he says. “It’s weird that I’ve kind of kissed Samira’s mum, though,” he says, laughing as he kicks the wheel of the coffee stand.
As I place my order, I finally ask the server his name.
“Justin,” he replies coolly.
“You make really good coffee, you know that?” I say. “And who makes the pastries?”
“My cousin Barry. He was on the third season ofBake Off,” he replies, completely deadpan.
“You don’t say,” I reply, and then suddenly I get a thought. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in coming along to the church next Saturday, would you? For the election polling station, just to, like, offer some refreshments out in the courtyard. There should be a bumper crowd.”
