Page 63 of One Summer

‘My hero,’ I say, then instantly and deeply regret it. What an entirely stupid thing to say to a man who you find wildly attractive, who’s just helped you out of a tight spot. He’ll think I’m a bunny boiler.

‘Hi, again,’ he says, smiling down at Ted. ‘Your dog seems to have warmed up to me.’

‘He’s not actually my dog,’ I say, too sharply. ‘He belongs to the man whose house I’m currently living in.’

Oh god. That sounds like I have a boyfriend I’m planning on dumping any minute now.

Joshua raises his eyebrows.

‘I’m a petsitter. Ted’s owner isn’t my boyfriend or anything – I’ve never even met him and, actually, I think he’s married to a man,’ I say, which only adds to my embarrassment, because I’m sure this is absolutely inconsequential to this guy, and he’s probably wondering why the hell I’m telling him any of this, which takes me right back to bunny boiler.

‘Cool,’ he says, sounding entirely unfazed by my spinning out.

‘He has eighty-seven snakes, and a tortoise that’s nearly a century old. Plus, I brought my own cat, who hates Ted.’

‘Fuuuck,’ he says, exhaling through his teeth as if I’ve just described his own worst nightmare. ‘You’re, like, in the Thunderdome.’

It takes me a second to get what he means, and then I recall one of my dad’s favourite films from the eighties, which featured to-the-death cage fights.

‘I guess so,’ I say.

‘I love snakes,’ he says, suddenly. ‘If you ever need a hand with feeding or whatever, just ask.’

‘Really?’ I say, genuinely shocked, because everybody else I’ve told about the snakes has sort of shuddered and backed away.

‘Yeah, I had a ball python when I was a kid. I know how much work goes into keeping them happy and healthy.’

‘That would be great,’ I say, feeling myself flush with pleasure, instead of embarrassment. How refreshing to have a person volunteering help without my even dropping a hint of needing it.

How different to Betty’s awful grandson.

Ted is looking up at me with that reproachful look again, as if he disapproves of my planning a sort of date with the sexy surfer.

‘I’d better get back,’ I say. ‘I have mouths to feed. Dozens of them.’

‘You’re not injured from the fall?’ he asks.

‘Oh, I didn’t fall,’ I reply, a little affronted. ‘I slid down, purposefully.’

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Let me give you my number and if you ever slide down and get stuck again, you can give me a call.’

‘Okay, that would be great.’ I search my pocket for my phone and then remember I don’t have it.

‘No problem. We’ll swap numbers the next time we meet,’ he says.

‘It’s a date,’ I say, and cringe.

‘Oh, and when I come over, I’ll be sure not to wear a hat.’

I smile tightly, remembering my lie on the beach.

He picks up his skateboard and readies himself to start zipping around the skatepark, which I take as my cue to leave.

‘Thanks for getting me up!’ I call out as I walk away.

He pauses.

‘Any time.’

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