‘I’m not going to repeat them. I’m sure you know which ones were naughty.’
‘Does it mean I don’t get an ice cream if I don’t know which ones are naughty? ’Cause I do really want ice cream and you did promise.’
‘Um…’
‘And I don’t think I could say anythingthatnaughty. Although if I did then I didn’t mean to so I still get ice cream, right? I bet you love ice cream too, don’t you?’ Ellie turned to Sam to back her up. He nodded frantically. Alex looked as if wasn’t quite sure what to do next and had a horrid feeling this whole discussion was going to end with both children being rewarded with a double cornet whilst he apologized. ‘See, Sam loves ice cream and he didn’t say any naughty words, did you? Did he?’
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later the four of them were sitting together, on the cave side of the stream, eating ice cream whilst Sylvie tried to reassure Alex that Cheese, regardless of intent, wasn’t actually a swear word and that at four they were largely mimicking. From what it sounded like – they had been subjected to a long, largely nonsensical monologue on the way to the kiosk as to why none of this was Ellie’s fault and it was something to do with a show calledReal Housewives of Something or Otherthat someone called Angileeena liked – Ellie wasn’t really swearing, merely copying expressive behaviour which demonstrated that she was terribly bright.
Alex had responded with a look of complete disbelief before turning back to his ice cream, whilst Sylvie had sat there, sun beating down on her face and legs, with a tub of mint choc chip and a feeling of smug relief that Sam was far too shy to do anything embarrassing.
The rest of the afternoon was heavenly, as long as Sylvie didn’t allow herself to look at Alex for more than five seconds. This made answering questions whilst appearing to be a normal person fairly difficult, but she thought she might be pulling it off.
Sam had broken from routine and ran, yes, ran, down to the beach with Ellie and played the jumping-the-wave game with her instead of doing it clutching Sylvie’s hand, whilst the two grown-ups sat at the tideline and talked about the things parenting manuals never tell you. By the end of it she had learnt lots of things about Alex – that he had never realized that the trauma of buying shoes for small children was worse than having a root canal in a third-world nation; that he still didn’t understand why clothes manufacturers made crop tops with glitter lips on for three-year-olds, noisy three-year-olds who apparently had to have glitter-lips clothing or they would fall to the floor screaming as if they had recently been beaten with a metal pole; and that he was genuinely worried that if he heard the theme tune toPeppa Pigone more time his ears would bleed, largely because he’d be tempted to hack them off himself – but still she didn’t know what he did for a living, where he lived and what his relationship status was. Not that she was interested – she had more than enough to contend with at the moment without introducing a man into her life – but it was always worth knowing these things.
He on the other hand had learnt all sorts about her – more than once she had cursed her all-too-ready tongue as personal detail tripped over personal detail whilst they spoke. She didn’tknow how he did it but he seemed to have a skill for getting her to impart information that she was not normally prepared to share with anybody – let alone a complete stranger on the beach, wearing nothing but his shorts, and who she was never going to see again. Although perhaps that was why. There was a catharsis about pouring out stories to a complete stranger, especially when you had been living in a small community for a while. Small communities meant very few secrets – usually the person you were talking to had already heard a lavishly embroidered version of the tale you were trying to impart and much preferred their garnished version to your unvarnished one.
People began to move from the beach, families gathering up their beach clutter as they started to head home. Teenagers with disposable barbecues and bags that clinked with cheap wine and even cheaper cider drifted onto the sands and started walking to the furthest corners. It had been a lovely day, and though she wasn’t working tonight, Sylvie knew she needed to head home and get Sam fed and to bed. Although the whole summer had been made of beach days, today had been different, like a holiday.
She slowly started to pack up and gave Sam a five-minute warning. He developed a slightly mutinous look, which she quelled with an eyebrow.
‘Wow. That’s impressive. I need to learn that.’
‘A little bit of practice and I’m sure you’ll be fine. Thank you for a lovely day, it’s been a pleasure to meet the both of you.’
‘You too, and lovely to meet you, Sam.’
Alex stretched out his hand to shake Sam’s, only to have the small boy – hat askew and looking like he wished he had the guts to be more defiant, more like his new friend – drop his bucket and spade, ignore Alex’s hand and cling instead to his leg, turning his face up to Alex’s as a flower does to the sun.
With his eyes as wide as they could go, his very best puppy-dog eyes that had never failed him before, he pleaded with Alex non-verbally. Which unfortunately meant neither adult could actually work out what he was pleading for. But he did look like he was building up to a whimper.
Sylvie took control of the situation with her mummiest tone.
‘Come on, Sam.’
It didn’t seem to work.
What next? If she tried to pry his fingers off Alex that would involve touching the man’s leg, and as enjoyable as his company had been, she felt that was a little too intimate for a first meeting.
‘Sam!’ She tried her fiercest tone next.
He clung harder.
‘Hey, little man. It’s been great meeting you, but you will need to let me go at some point.’
‘Come home with us,’ Sam entreated, but very quietly.
‘What was that?’ Alex bent down to see if he could hear clearer.
‘Come home with us. You can be my new daddy, and Ellie can be my sister, and you can be Mummy’s boyfriend, she really needs one of those. She’s never had one, you know, never, never ever.’ Sam had made his voice louder this time, and several people on the beach turned around to see what this was about. Some gave reassuring smiles, some just smirked. Sylvie hated them. This would be all around the village by teatime.
However, if she thought she had blushed earlier that was nothing compared to the scarlet hue that was currently overwhelming her, whilst directing her best ‘kill’ looks at the smirkers. From the tips of her hair to the ends of the toes she could feel the heat.
She knew that had it been anyone else she would have struggled not to laugh herself so she couldn’t really bear theother beachgoers any ill will. But to have been outed in front of this man, and the whole beach, as a desperate, sex-starved, and probably shrivelled and dried-up, old prude was more embarrassment than she could take in a day. Especially one so unattractive and inept that she needed an infant to find her dates. Intimate or not, she was unfurling those bloody fingers, no matter how cute (and getting less so by the minute) the boy attached to them was and getting him in the sodding car before he could say anything else!
‘That’s a great idea! Oh, can we, Daddy, can we? Can we?’
The only positive to this was that Alex was looking as uncomfortable as she was.
