Page 32 of The Wedding Proposal

He looked surprised. Then discomfited. ‘She’s booked a room at the Sea Creek up the road but the boat will still be my base. Kayleigh likes her own space. But I’ll swap cabins with you, if you like.’

Contrarily, she shrugged. ‘In that case, no, it’s OK. I just assumed you’d be moving in with Kayleigh.’ Then the boat lurched. ‘Excuse me. The shore looks quite attractive this morning.’

* * *

Polly, one of the dive instructors at Dive Meddi, had just lucked into a flat share in Msida and, as a custodian of one of Vern’s double-cab pick-up trucks, had offered to give Lucas a lift in whenever their work days coincided. Lucas liked Polly. She was almost as tall as him, untidy and permanently smiling. He crossed to the far side of the road and took up station outside a wedding dress shop, ready to hop in when the dark blue truck arrived.

‘Good day off?’ As soon as Lucas had shut the passenger door Polly nosed the pick-up back into the stream of traffic. ‘You’re with me, today. We’ve got some Open Water Divers who want a guided tour so I thought we’d take them down to the statue of Madonna at seventeen metres at Cirkewwa. The sea’s a bit calmer up at the north end. Vern says it’s pretty choppy at StJulian’s.’

Lucas relaxed into his seat. He knew he’d need to contribute little to the conversation.

When Polly finally steered the truck under the bright blue sign to Dive Meddi and inched her way down the pitted incline to the dive school and parked, Vern appeared briefly to tell Polly which students were hers as Lucas listened in, ready to prepare equipment.

The divers all had their own wetsuits, fins and masks but would need buoyancy control devices — BCDs — tanks and instruments. Lucas began by filling the tanks at the compressor in an outbuilding to the main team room, swinging the heavy, unwieldy cylinders one in each hand over to the area where he and Polly would go over the kit with the divers. Polly took the lead. She was the instructor. For now he was happy not to advance to instructor, with all the studying that involved, but to remain well within his capabilities and simply enjoy his job.

As he went in and out from shade to beating sun, he breathed in the familiar smell of neoprene and saltwater. The choppy sea bounced the sun into his eyes as it worried restlessly at the rocks, sometimes bursting a wave or two hard enough to run over into the swimming pool, cut into the rock nearby.

Lars was taking out another dive over at Ghar Lapsi and Brett was already packing the other pick-up. Those diving with Lars had been booked to arrive before those diving with Polly to keep things nice and calm. Lars was already going through the usual routines with his dive: allotting equipment, examining dive logs, discussing weights and checking instrument consoles.

Dive Meddi was a great place to work. During one of Malta’s frequent redevelopments a small hotel had been swallowed up and developed by a big concern that wanted a dive school in its grounds. Vern had been swift to rent the sloping rock area with sea access, a pool, and a building with flaking blue paint for the team room, changing room and office, and now a constant clientele came via the website, the brand new hotel and from discount deals with others nearby.

Lucas put his own kit together methodically, turning the instrument console over so the gauges faced the floor as he switched on the air. After checking the hoses he added slates that could be written on underwater and knives in case someone got tangled on fishing line. He took the safety aspect of his job seriously. He even kept an old CD in the top left pocket of his BCD. It would reflect the sun if he needed to surface and signal for help.

He checked it was there, a Nickelback album that had become damaged through frequent playing. Elle had bought it for him the last Christmas that they were together. He knew the playlist by heart.

Once his kit was together and checked he stowed it in the pick-up.

‘How are you doing, Lucas?’ called Polly, the signal that he should join the group for the usual friendly pre-dive chat, bringing out experience and expectations, checking over dive logs and medicals.

Then they moved onto selecting BCDs and Lucas produced his usual calm flow of ‘This BCD has releases here, here and here. Want to try them? Shoulder dump, pull here. Inflate . . . deflate . . . Want to try that?’ And all the time the words of Nickelback’s ‘Trying Not to Love You’ were going around in his head.

Chapter Nine

In the late afternoon, as Polly wasn’t planning to go straight home, Lucas returned to Ta’ Xbiex on the bus, shopping briefly before crossing to the boat. Once showered and changed he took up his favourite spot on the cockpit seat, tucking a bottle of Cisk into one of the cupholders at the side now that the day’s diving was safely done.

Kayleigh had arranged to text him when she’d checked in at the Sea Creek Hotel. It would be good to see her again, although when she’d said she wanted to come out here he hadn’t known that he would be sharing the Shady Lady with his ex-girlfriend.

He balked at the idea of calling Elle his ‘ex-fiancée’. He wasn’t sure she even qualified, in view of her unexpectedly lukewarm attitude to marrying him. In fact, unless ‘Let’s get married in Vegas!’ could be construed as an acceptance, she’d never actually said yes.

As if he’d conjured her up, Elle appeared on the quayside in a denim dress, faded grey. She looked her usual picture of health. This morning she’d looked as pallid as if she’d eaten a bad fish.

‘I bought you something,’ he greeted her as she stepped across the plank.

She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

Most women would ask ‘What?’ not ‘Why?’ but Elle wasn’t most women. Elle didn’t expect things to be given. She expected to get them for herself.

‘“Why?” is to stop you being seasick. “What” is that I bought ginger ale and put it in the galley fridge.’

She looked at him, squinting under the brim of her hat. ‘Thank you. That’s really thoughtful.’ Then, as if wondering what else to say, ‘The swell seems to have subsided.’

‘I hadn’t really noticed. I’m used to being underwater in a swell, which can be worse than being on the surface. You can become convinced that you’re staying still and the rocks around you are moving. But if someone throws up underwater at least we get a lot of fish around.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I hope you’re joking.’

He wasn’t, but he could see that there were better conversational subjects. Before he could think of one, he noticed, behind Elle, a small Maltese boy in big shorts watching from amongst people enjoying the Saturday afternoon in the sun (mainly tourists) or the shade (mainly Maltese).

When he realised that Lucas had noticed him, the boy stepped behind a tree. Then peeped out again.

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