These days I am a lot hardier, a lot less squealy, and I like feeling the different stages of the water washing over me, shocking my body, and looking like I am oh-so-cool with it as it does so. I like to channel insouciance as I submerge myself. I do not make even the tiniestoohnoise or allow a grimace to cross my face. I like the way I show the world that this doesn’t touch me.
And yes, I’m a therapist, I know what all that means.
I should just get in the water and be me with it, admit that I’d like to revert to the pleasure of shocked squealing, allow my childhood flamboyance, now buried so deep, to rise to the surface at the same time as my body dips below the waterline. But that was younger me; adult me is not willing to let go of the control I have tightly built, the control that has proved time and time again to be very good for me, the control that got me to here, where I am in my life. Professional, respected, thin.
I turn my mind to swimming, position my body and start my lengths. Five, ten, fifteen. I have my music pumping into my ears – waterproof headphones are the best invention – as I plough through the water. I spot Cacti Guy get out of the pool. I’ve almost reached the end of my length and could stop now and climb out too. I pull up to the end of the pool and take a second, watching him as he crosses the tiles, up the step and into the building that houses the sauna.
He is as fine as my dreams made out. I’ve been hoping that they may have exaggerated a bit, that if I ever saw him again, he wouldn’t live up to the version in my head.
I was wrong.
He is even more attractive than I remember and with droplets of water trailing down his back, I am in danger of gawping. So not okay.
The lido is my refuge; this is where I come for peace. I deliberately don’t hit on anyone here. I may be all about the beauty of a forever relationship in my work, and I do believe that being part of a couple can be many people’s happy-ever-after, but it isn’t my personal preference. I have no desire to be with someone else, to force my inevitable future on another living soul, and here is definitely not the place to scour for hook-ups. No way, no how.
But he has the nicest shoulders; tops of his arms are pretty bang on as well. I remember his eyes as we talked last time, those conker-brown eyes that pull you in, make you want to see into his mind, oh and that smile, those dimples.
No. I turn my filthy mind and lustful body back around and finish off my lengths. I’ll be disappointed in myself if I let sexy shoulders and a pretty face sway me. But I swim a little faster than usual and am aware that as I pull myself up the tiles at the end of the pool to get out that I am deliberately making sure the way I hold myself, the way I angle every movement, is as sensual as possible just in case he is watching.
As I open the door to the building that houses the sauna, the couple in there earlier are coming out and my heart leaps. It could just be he and I in there, alone.
Then I remember the woman he was with last week.
I head in, shut the door firmly and climb up the wooden benches to the top. There he is. Just like last time. Just like the start of my dream last night. I smile as we make eye contact and acknowledge him but stay silent until I am seated.
‘Hello.’ I am friendly, accompany my greeting with a smile and nothing more. My whole saunter-out-of-the-pool-like-Pussy-Galore routine has made me cross with myself. At what age am I going to be secure enough that I don’t need to validate myself by being attractive to men?
Probably a little while longer, my inner voice bites back. Bitch.
‘Hello.’ He grins a welcome across at me and I feel all my feminist angst disappear as I grin back. ‘I was hoping to see you again today,’ he continues, and my heart pitter-patters.
‘Oh yeah?’ I try not to bow my head and look through my eyelashes but my body seems determined to channel some Grade A Princess Diana shit. I jerk my head up again. Behave!
‘Yes, it’s been plaguing me, I really do owe you an apology.’ I raise my brow at his words. ‘The story I told last week was inapp—’
‘Oh woah!’ I hold up my hand. It was fine, I can understand why he feels awkward but I hadn’t minded the story at all. I appreciate that he wants to acknowledge he stepped over the line, but the truth is his humour was a good fit and Kevin would have giggled as much as I did if he had heard it.
It strikes me as odd that I haven’t told him.
‘Honestly, no hard feelings, it was a funny story, it’s had me giggling all week. You’re all good.’
‘You’ve been thinking of meall week?’ He quirks his eyebrow and a smile crosses his face. We are facing each other and I keep my face straight and allow a long pause. I am not answering that immediately. He is way too confident in himself, and whilst I like this as a quality, he needs to be kept on tenterhooks just for a bit. He strikes me as a bit of a lothario, one of those men that rock the thoroughly charming boy-next-door type, catnip when it comes to the opposite sex. That suits me fine. I like to engage with a man not looking for an emotional connection, one that is all about a quick hook-up, the release of sexual tension with none of the burdensome bullshit that comes from moving that forward and forming a relationship. In fact, I’m going to do a little more digging about the woman he was with before. If he has an explanation that doesn’t involve him sleeping with her, then that may make him an acceptable option,evenin the lido. He’ll know the rules and not want awkwardness as much as me. Interesting. But boy, I am not going to make it easy for you.
I run over possible responses in my head, I’m tempted to go withyou’re someone who tends to stick in the mindin a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. And it’s the truth, he did, he does. But no, Marilyn is way too much.
‘It was a quiet week,’ I say instead and shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. He laughs.
‘I don’t know why but I very much have the feeling you don’t have quiet weeks,’ he replies.
‘Hmm, then maybe you’re reading me wrong. It was generally a week of work and fulfilling my lido obsession.’
‘I guess that depends very much on the work. Let me guess, international spy? Olympian synchronised swimmer? Circus acrobat?’
‘You’re spot on. Yep, I do all those things. I’ve got to shoot off to China straight after this where I’ll be stealing government secrets by crossing a trapeze wire whilst wearing a flowery swim cap. It’s going to be risky but I should be okay, I’ve done it a million times.’
‘I knew it, I’m a good judge of character. I can usually call people.’
‘Damn near telepathic,’ I shoot back and he grins.
