Page 69 of One Summer

What is this fine scar above his left eyebrow? How did he get that?

His eyelashes are almost translucent, but they’re so long, longer than mine. If he applied mascara, people would think they were false. And he has good lips. Chapped, but full, and perfectly shaped. And when he smiles, his whole face lights up, like a pinball machine.

Oh my god.

Fifty-Eight

Pool

These are not the thoughts of a casual observer. Do I actually fancy this annoying man?

He opens his eyes, sees me watching him, and flinches.

‘Did I fall asleep?’

‘It’s fine. You’re stoned and probably still getting over the man flu.’

‘Why were you looking at me?’

‘Hmm, what?’ I say, playing for time.

‘You were staring. Do I have something on my face?’

‘Yeah, I was watching a spider make a web between your nose and chin.’

He claps his hand to his face, sweeping away the non-existent spider.

‘Gross.’

‘It’s supposed to be good luck,’ I say. ‘My mum always puts money spiders in her hair: it means you’ll come into a fortune.’

‘Uggh,’ he says, with a shudder. ‘There’s enough going on with my hair, without adding arachnids.’

He stands up and walks to the edge of the cliff, toes on the precipice.

‘Oh!’ he says, sounding amazed by something he’s just witnessed.

‘What?’ I say.

‘Come and look at this.’

A pool has formed at the base of the cliffs, about eighty feet beneath us, but I see nothing, except a very large puddle of seawater.

‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’

‘Follow my finger,’ he says, moving closer to me and pointing. I align myself to his arm – as if looking down a pool cue – and feel the warmth of his body against mine.

A flatfish is swimming across the sea puddle.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘There’s a fish. The tide has just gone out. This is not terribly surprising.’

‘A flatfish – I’ve only ever seen a flatfish on a plate. He’s so fast… Look at him go.’

I smile. He is so genuinely excited to be watching this little fish dart about a puddle, he’s beaming, as if we’ve been treated to a truly wondrous moment of nature.

‘Let’s go down for a paddle,’ he says. ‘Then we’ll fly the kite.’

‘Is this a ruse to meet the fish?’ I ask.

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