Page 20 of For Love or Money
‘Lesley,’ Al interrupted, ‘you do know what the P stands for in PDA?’
‘Public.’
‘Exactly. Do you honestly think I’d stick my tongue down your throat or grope your breasts in public?’
‘I don’t know what you might do, given half a chance.’
He flattened his mouth into a thin line of disapproval. ‘Well, I wouldn’t – even if you were really my girlfriend. And public nudity is definitely not my bag. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Lesley mumbled, feeling told off. ‘Oh, and I was going to say absolutely no trying to get me to touch your willy either.’
Al just sighed exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes.
‘So tell me more about this holiday we’re going on,’ she said into the awkward silence that followed. ‘Did you bring your ex last year?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Right, I want to see some photographs.’
‘Why?’
‘If she’s that competitive, I need to know what I’m up against.’ Lesley felt intimidated again at the prospect of being in a bikini-wearing situation with Al’s glamorous family.
‘You’re not “up against” anything. It’s a family holiday, not a competition.’
‘Still, I want to know.’ She jumped up and left the room. She went into the study and grabbed her laptop from her desk, rubbing her finger over the mouse to wake it up as she marched back into the kitchen.
‘Right,’ she said, plonking it on the table in front of Al. ‘Show me.’
‘Show you what?’
‘You must have some summer holiday photos on Facebook.’
‘I don’t use Facebook much.’
‘Well, go onto your ex’s page then and find some – or your cousin’s. I don’t believe there aren’t any that you can access online. Go on – I won’t look while you type your password,’ she said, covering her eyes with her hand.
‘Oh, all right,’ Al huffed.
She waited a few seconds while Al typed. When she took her hand away, he was scrolling.
‘Okay, here’s one,’ he said, turning the laptop around to face her.
The photo had been shared on his timeline by a Cassie Lyons and was dated last July. Cassie had captioned it ‘En vacance chezBradshaw, Nice’. Lesley recognised most of the faces seated outdoors around a long wooden table under trees hung with lanterns. As well as Al, there were his cousins Scott and Rafe, Jane Howard and Peter Bradshaw. They were all burnished by the sun, and looked relaxed and happy. Rafe had his arm around the shoulders of a pretty dark-haired woman who was presumably his girlfriend, and there was an older couple she didn’t recognise.
‘Are they your parents?’ she asked Al.
‘My dad and my stepmother, Joy.’
‘Oh, are your parents divorced?’
He shook his head. ‘My mum’s dead.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks. It was a long time ago. She died when I was eleven.’
‘God, that’s awful.’
