Page 46 of Five Things I Love About You

‘Nine! Now you’ve set a challenge.’

I put my hands on my hips. ‘Reckon you can beat me do you?’

Matt gives a wonky grin. ‘Probably not but I’m going to give it a damn good try.’ He bends and picks up a stone, then drops down low and lobs it into the water. It bounces twice and disappears.

‘That was just a trial run,’ he says, picking up another and another. Each time it bounces twice or three times, then sinks without a trace.

‘It’s all in the wrist action,’ I say, picking one up to demonstrate.

‘Is it now?’ Matt raises his eyebrows and waggles them.

I ignore him, then turn, position my hand, and flick the stone into the water. This time it bounces five times and Matt claps.

‘Okay, I give up, you really are a master at this.’

‘It’s just practice. Come on.’ I move behind him and reach out for his hand that’s holding a stone. My chest and belly are pressed against his back. I try not to notice my heart thumping, or my skin tingling.

‘Right, you need to angle yourself like this’ – I twist him round to the right – ‘then lower yourself slightly, bring your arm back like this’ – we move our arms together – ‘then quickly twist and flick your wrist and let go before you get to the front.’ We pivot round quickly and the stone goes flying off in the wrong direction and plops onto the sand.

‘Okay, not quite like that but you get the idea,’ I say. I’m still standing very close to Matt and I step away and pick up another stone. ‘You need to spin it, like this.’ I show him again.

‘Right, got it,’ he says, picking up another and trying again. This time he lets go of the stone at the right time and it whizzes just above the water, then bounces, one, two, three, four times before disappearing. Matt throws his arms in the air in celebration.

‘Yesss! I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.’ He looks like a little boy who’s just learned to tie his shoelaces and my heart fills with warmth.

We try a few more times, then start to stroll along the shoreline, the waves splashing happily to our right, the damp sand shimmering, the wind whipping our clothes round us like badly pegged tents. It’s a cool breeze and I shiver as a particularly strong gust almost throws me off my feet.

‘I’m not one forI told you so, but I thought this might come in handy,’ he says, stopping and pulling a pale blue jumper out of his rucksack. He hands it to me with a wry smile.

‘Thank you,’ I say, tugging it over my head and replacing my jacket. I’m instantly warmer and grateful for Matt’s thoughtfulness.

A few minutes later Matt starts to head away from the shore and up the beach. He clips Gladys back onto her lead and we walk in the direction of a large white domed building.

‘This is Spanish City,’ he says as we approach. Tables and chairs are dotted around outside and a few people are eating ice creams and drinking pots of tea, but it’s a little too cold for most.

‘Why’s it called that?’ I glance round. ‘It doesn’t feel very Spanish right now.’

‘I think when it was built over a hundred years ago there were Spanish street scenes painted on it.’ He grins. ‘I’m not sure that would convince anyone they were in Spain to be honest.’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Shall we get a takeaway and keep moving?’ he says. A grey cloud hovers above us, threateningly.

‘It looks like it’s about to rain.’

‘True. But it might be better to get there before it tips it down. The weather changes quickly round here, with this wind.’

‘Fair enough,’ I agree.

Coffees bought, we return to the beach to let Gladys run free just as a few spots of rain begin to dot the sand. As she skids around in the sand chasing her own tail, I sip my coffee and wonder whether to ask Matt more about his dad. Before I can think how to bring it up, though, he does.

‘Me and Dad always loved it here.’ He looks straight ahead, out towards the horizon. ‘Mum wasn’t so bothered, thought it was too cold, wasn’t really one for the outdoors. Dad and I used to bundle up and come out to the coast with buckets and spade and nets no matter what the weather and spend the whole day here until we couldn’t feel our faces or our hands.

‘It was our thing. We loved coming down to the rock pools when the tide was out, like it is now, and catching crabs and fish and all sorts. Dad knew the names of them all, and he often used to stay, turning over rocks and lifting up hunks of seaweed, until we had one of everything. Didn’t feel as though it had been a proper day out if we missed any. I loved the way he was so enthusiastic, and how, once we were done, we’d walk along the beach towards the lighthouse, my bucket full, water sloshing over the side onto my feet, always holding hands with my dad.’

A seagull lands on the sand in front of us, pecking at a dropped chip, until Gladys chases it away and we watch it lift off, wings flapping, soaring into the wind, looking for more food to steal.

‘I don’t come here very often these days. It’s too hard, the memories, you know.’

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