Chapter 40

For a moment Jess wondered if the girl might somehow be Flora – crazy, she knew Flora was at Riverdene, but your mind plays strange tricks when you are plummeting from Cloud Nine down towards the blackest pits of hell.

As she got nearer to them, Fred looked round guiltily, caught her eye and pulled a weird, embarrassed sort of face.

‘Hi, Jess!’ he called.

The beautiful blonde looked across at her and smiled. It was one of those catty, insincere smiles that hide a wicked desire to truss you up, fling you off a cliff and run off to Acapulco with your helpless boyfriend.

‘Well, I must dash!’ said the girl, and suddenly slapped both her buttocks playfully as if to draw attention to their splendour. ‘Shall I go for a swim or not? What do you think?’ She turned round and looked at the sea – to show Fred her bum, obviously.

‘Oh, go for it,’ said Fred, rather urgently.

‘OK! Here goes! My mum was breast-stroke champion of Swindon, so I suppose I should make an effort!’

And she ran off, her cute little bottom wobbling tauntingly all the way to the waves.

‘I hope she drowns!’ said Jess. ‘For goodness’ sake! I can’t leave you unattended for a split second! All I did was go and get a freakin’ ice cream and when I come back you’re chatting up some flashy tart in a thong!’

‘I was not chatting her up!’ said Fred, scrambling to his feet. ‘She just came over and hit on me! I can’t help it if other women find me irresistible!’ He was grinning, the pig! He thought it was some big joke!

A wave of red-hot fire surged through Jess’s veins. She couldn’t help it. Her whole body shook with jealous rage. In an instant, perfect happiness had been replaced by sheer hell. Fred had been chatted up while her back was turned – and he thought it was a laugh!

Giving in to a moment of sheer weird madness, Jess plunged both ice-cream cones on to Fred’s chest – one on each nipple. For a few seconds they sort of stuck to him, looking like a rock star’s pointy bra, and then they fell off, streaking melted ice cream down his shorts and his legs. The cones fell into the sand, and became tragic and ruined.

‘You idiot!’ said Fred, looking deeply embarrassed. ‘I was looking forward to that!’

‘Well, if you want it, you can lick it off your nipples!’ hissed Jess. ‘Or maybe your glamorous new friend can lick it off for you!’

Suddenly Jess became aware that some of the families nearby were sniggering.

Oh, what a nightmare! she thought. I look a complete idiot! For an instant she was frozen in total horror. She felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her. She was suddenly the biggest idiot on the beach. There was no way out of this mega-humiliation.

No, wait! There was a way out. Jess reached desperately, blindly, for her old friend, her guardian angel: comedy.

‘It’s just not good enough, Quentin!’ she bawled, her voice gradually becoming more and more ridiculously upper-class. ‘I can’t trust you anywhere! There was that croupier in Las Vegas – what was she called? Rosie. Such a ludicrous nose – and not a natural blonde. Then there was that milkmaid in Switzerland. What a fat cow! And the milkmaid was a tad overweight, too.’

There was a ripple of laughter from families nearby. Fred’s face – Fred’s darling face – cleared, and the horrible look of embarrassment gave way to his usual witty grin.

‘I only asked if I could squeeze her udders!’ he protested. There was more laughter from their audience. What a crude lot this bunch were. Trust Fred to appeal to their baser instincts.

‘It’s no use! I’ve had it up to here with you and your floozies!’ said Jess. ‘When we get back home you’re going back in your box!’

‘No! No! Not the box!’ pleaded Fred.

‘Yes! Six months in the box, and then you’ll only be allowed out to go to church! With a paper bag over your head!’

‘OK, OK! Mind you, that lady vicar is a good-looking gal. I think a dog-collar does something for a woman.’

‘Quentin, you’re an animal!’ roared Jess. ‘Jeeves, my horsewhip! You’ve gone too far, and you’re going to get a hiding!’

Fred gave a terrified yell and ran off towards the sea. Jess followed, brandishing an imaginary whip. And behind them, just for a moment, she thought she could hear people applauding.

But she didn’t look round. She just plunged into the sea and chased Fred, who was swimming off with madly flailing arms. Jess easily caught up with him, grabbed him and ducked his head underwater. Fred dived down, escaped her and bobbed up again nearby. Jess attacked him again, laughing, but he grabbed both her arms and wouldn’t let go. He was surprisingly strong for a thin bloke who lay on the sofa for most of his leisure hours.

‘I thought that went rather well,’ said Fred, treading water. ‘But maybe we should save up the ice-cream hurling for the end. In fact, next time I think you should hit me in the face with a whole custard pie.’

‘Fred, your approach to comedy is so crude!’ said Jess. ‘That gag about udders, too. I prefer sophisticated one-liners.’

‘Yeah, but they loved it,’ said Fred. ‘A seaside audience is always a bit coarse. And so am I!’

He grabbed her leg underwater. Jess kicked him away, laughing. She was so relieved. Everything was OK again.

Though she could still see the blonde girl over Fred’s shoulder. She had swum off beyond the breakwater and was talking, possibly about breast stroke, to a hairy-chested man lying on a surfboard with a chain round his neck.

How totally stupid I was to lose it like that, thought Jess. Her jealousy had nearly ruined everything.

‘I love it when you’re jealous!’ said Fred mischievously.

‘I wasn’t really jealous!’ said Jess.

‘Yes you were – your face went red.’

‘That was just good acting.’

‘How disappointing!’ said Fred. ‘I was insanely jealous myself. You and that hunky ice-cream man getting all lovey-dovey over the whipped-cream cones.’

‘Fred! He was a hundred years old and bald with no teeth!’

Fred grabbed her feet and started to tickle. Jess plunged and screamed with laughter.

‘Not fair! Not fair!’ she gasped, swallowing water and coughing. ‘Stop! Stop!’

‘I won’t stop until you apologise for getting cross!’ said Fred. ‘And wasting the ice creams.’

‘Well, what hope is there for me, with blonde bombshells like her taking a fancy to you? And that girl at the caterer’s – Rosie,’ said Jess.

‘Blondes are not my type,’ said Fred. ‘I prefer a horrid little dark podgy girl! Especially when she’s angry! And by the way, Rosie was a complete invention.’

‘So you even go out of your way to make me jealous!’ said Jess, splashing water in his face.

‘I can’t help it!’ spluttered Fred. ‘You’re magnificent when you’re angry! Hey! This is our first row. Isn’t it great? I can’t wait till the next one.’ And he put his arms round her and kissed her with magnificent panache, while cleverly avoiding drowning.

‘I’m sorry I was jealous,’ said Jess after the kiss. ‘But I quite like this making-up bit.’ Jess had to accept it: there would always be gorgeous blonde girls hovering when her back was turned. Girls with tanned faces and hair bleached by the sun. Granny had been right about the beach being a dangerous place.

She just had to hope and pray that Fred persisted in his weird, perverted preference for her rather grotesque pallid self. And oh no! She had to slosh on the Factor 30 as soon as they got out of the sea. Red was so not her favourite colour. Especially for noses and shoulders.

They swam out a bit further and let themselves be lifted up by the ocean swell.

‘Help!’ said Jess. ‘I’m totally out of my depth!’

‘It’s perfectly safe,’ said Fred, ‘just lie on your back and imagine you’re a dolphin!’

Fred grabbed her legs and whirled her round and round in the water. Jess lay back and felt the sky wheel above her, and the sea whirl all around her, until it all became a blur, just a single, glorious blue.