Page 34 of Playing the Field
The car is a pale blue 1950s Mercedes convertible, which looks as good as new despite its vintage. ‘I love her– she’s got so much more character than that modern box you usually see me driving,’ Ben says proudly. ‘Your hair might get a bit messed up and it does make conversation a little limited, but I hope you’ll agree it’s worth it.’
I nod, feeling excited. ‘Let’s do it.’
It only occurs to me as we speed away from his house that I didn’t ask exactly where we’re going. It could be anywhere between Bournemouth and Broadstairs, but luckily I like surprises, so I decide to just wait and see. As the shops and houses of Hamcott are replaced by the fields and forests of the Surrey countryside, it feels like we’re setting off on an adventure that could take us anywhere.
Ben reaches across and squeezes my leg periodically to check I’m okay, but I think the grin I can’t wipe off my face tells him I’m loving every minute.
We eventually arrive in Deal on the Kent coast and Ben finds a parking spot on a road right next to the sea. He retrieves the picnic from the boot and we wander across the pebbles to a stretch of beach where there are just two other couples making the most of the sunshine.
‘This’ll do,’ he says, unfurling a blanket and spreading it over the stones. ‘We shouldn’t get bothered by anyone here.’
He doesn’t want me to have to deal with any unwanted intrusions, which he says are more likely now his name’s been back in the press, even if it is for positive reasons this time.
‘They usually just want me to sign something or pose for a selfie, but it can still feel quite invasive when you’re not used to it,’ he tells me.
He starts pulling pots from the cool bag and laying them out on the rug.
‘Are we expecting friends?’ I ask, my eyes widening.
He looks down at the spread and laughs. ‘I have gone a bit overboard, haven’t I? I wanted to make sure I covered all the bases so there’d definitely be something you wanted to eat.’
‘I eat everything!’
‘I should have just asked you. But we can chuck whatever’s left back in the cool bag. It’s good for twenty-four hours so it won’t go to waste. We can always have the leftovers for dinner.’
Which is fine by me– the assortment of salads and cold pasta dishes looks amazing.
There’s a half bottle of wine too, but despite how organised the rest of the picnic is, Ben has forgotten to bring cups. ‘How do you feel about swigging wine out of a bottle?’ he asks.
I can’t help laughing. ‘My favourite way to enjoy a chilled rosé.’
He hands me a plastic plate. ‘At least I remembered forks.’
While we eat, we watch two paddleboarders wobbling unsteadily on their boards until they both fall into the sea. They’re giggling as they scramble back up, only to topple over again almost immediately.
‘Ever tried that?’ Ben asks.
‘Only on a very flat lake, which must be a lot easier because I didn’t fall off once.’
‘It’s more fun when you’ve got a few waves to contend with. Next time we come to the coast, I’ll chuck my boards in the car– you can see for yourself.’
Next time. The words send a shiver of excitement through me. Against the odds, could this actually turn into something lasting?
‘Yet again I’m wishing I’d worn my bikini,’ I admit, after we’ve packed away the excess food. It’s far warmer than the forecast suggested, not that I knew we were coming to the coast.
Ben looks from me to the water then back to me with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
‘There was no one around last time,’ I remind him, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘They won’t be able to tell from over there whether you’re wearing a bra or a bikini,’ he says. ‘Unless you’ve gone commando. But I assume not– that would not be comfortable under jeans.’
‘I haven’t, but I’m not sure my knickers won’t be see-through.’ They’re pale blue and unsurprisingly I’ve never worn them when they’re wet.
‘I’m not sure my boxer elastic is up to the task, either, but I’m willing to risk it,’ he says.
It’s enough to have me pulling my T-shirt up over my head. I will crack up if they end up floating down round his ankles.
‘Is this becoming our thing?’ I ask as we scramble out of our jeans.
