luck with that.’
* * *
Harry began rowing again, slowly this time, heading further out to the middle of the lake.
‘What were you like with your ex, then?’ he asked her. ‘Did you try to change him?’
She hadn’t thought she’d needed to. In her mind Simon had been perfect. Right up until he betrayed her. No doubt Harry would have seen Simon’s behaviour as nothing more than a laugh. They were cut from the same cloth.
‘Come on,’ he prompted when she didn’t answer. ‘You’re happy to criticise the way I treat women. Don’t give it if you can’t take it. Haven’t you ever wondered if your own behaviour might have contributed to the way you were treated in the past?’
She snapped her head up.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
He shrugged.
‘Well, have you always been this...’ he struggled for the right words ‘...on the offensive?’
‘On the offensive?’
‘So tense and wound up about everything. Analysing every move a guy makes. I’m just making conversation, getting to know you. It’s not easy when you’re this...strung out.’
That was just about enough.
‘I am not strung out!’ she snarled, flinging her arms up, then gave an anguished squawk as the sudden movement made her tote bag overbalance. She made a too-late grab as it toppled over the side of the boat, taking with it her mobile phone, wallet and—most unthinkably of all—her personal organiser, bulging at the seams and stuffed with tickets, receipts and other vital paperwork and without which she simply could not function.
She scrambled frantically onto her knees as the boat rocked madly.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Harry yelled, grabbing at the oars and struggling with them to calm the movement down.
‘My bag!’ she gabbled. ‘It’s fallen in.’ She made a futile stretch for it as it bobbed out of reach, and gasped as cold water soaked her sleeves up to the elbow. ‘My organiser!’
‘Your what ?’
‘My organiser! My whole life is in there!’ she shouted, incensed by his lack of concern. ‘Don’t just sit there!’
Getting up onto her knees, she leaned far over and paddled madly with her hands, making the boat rock all the more.
‘For crying out loud, will you sit still?’ he shouted.
Ignoring him, nothing mattering apart from the horror of bag, organiser, phone, purse, every facet of her life disappearing beneath the surface of the duck-infested lake, she scrambled to her feet and made a final lunge for the tote, gripping the side of the boat with one hand to hold herself in and realising a second too late that it was a stretch too far and the whole damn thing was going to capsize.
She was vaguely aware of a yell from Harry and a sudden ‘whoosh!’ at the mass take-off of ducks and geese as the boat overturned, tipping both of them into freezing duck-poo-tainted water. An icy cold few seconds later and she surfaced with a gasping squeal, spluttering and coughing.
Harry surfaced a few feet away, gasping.
‘Are you crazy?’ he shouted at her, shaking water out of his hair. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’
She thrashed wildly to keep her head above the surface. Swimming was surprisingly difficult when you were fully dressed and icy cold. Despite the lovely autumn day, the useless British sun had no water-warming ability whatsoever and she struggled for breath as she tried to concentrate on treading water instead of following the panicky impulse to flail her arms about.
And then he was there. She felt his arm slide firmly around her chest, then the solid muscle of his upper body worked to pull her one stroke at a time back towards the boat house, obviously the more sensible option since their boat was now drifting away upside down. She pulled herself together and tried to kick along with him.
By the time they reached the decking she was so cold she could hardly muster any energy to pull herself up and ended up being hauled out of the water like a beached whale by
* * *
Harry began rowing again, slowly this time, heading further out to the middle of the lake.
‘What were you like with your ex, then?’ he asked her. ‘Did you try to change him?’
She hadn’t thought she’d needed to. In her mind Simon had been perfect. Right up until he betrayed her. No doubt Harry would have seen Simon’s behaviour as nothing more than a laugh. They were cut from the same cloth.
‘Come on,’ he prompted when she didn’t answer. ‘You’re happy to criticise the way I treat women. Don’t give it if you can’t take it. Haven’t you ever wondered if your own behaviour might have contributed to the way you were treated in the past?’
She snapped her head up.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
He shrugged.
‘Well, have you always been this...’ he struggled for the right words ‘...on the offensive?’
‘On the offensive?’
‘So tense and wound up about everything. Analysing every move a guy makes. I’m just making conversation, getting to know you. It’s not easy when you’re this...strung out.’
That was just about enough.
‘I am not strung out!’ she snarled, flinging her arms up, then gave an anguished squawk as the sudden movement made her tote bag overbalance. She made a too-late grab as it toppled over the side of the boat, taking with it her mobile phone, wallet and—most unthinkably of all—her personal organiser, bulging at the seams and stuffed with tickets, receipts and other vital paperwork and without which she simply could not function.
She scrambled frantically onto her knees as the boat rocked madly.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Harry yelled, grabbing at the oars and struggling with them to calm the movement down.
‘My bag!’ she gabbled. ‘It’s fallen in.’ She made a futile stretch for it as it bobbed out of reach, and gasped as cold water soaked her sleeves up to the elbow. ‘My organiser!’
‘Your what ?’
‘My organiser! My whole life is in there!’ she shouted, incensed by his lack of concern. ‘Don’t just sit there!’
Getting up onto her knees, she leaned far over and paddled madly with her hands, making the boat rock all the more.
‘For crying out loud, will you sit still?’ he shouted.
Ignoring him, nothing mattering apart from the horror of bag, organiser, phone, purse, every facet of her life disappearing beneath the surface of the duck-infested lake, she scrambled to her feet and made a final lunge for the tote, gripping the side of the boat with one hand to hold herself in and realising a second too late that it was a stretch too far and the whole damn thing was going to capsize.
She was vaguely aware of a yell from Harry and a sudden ‘whoosh!’ at the mass take-off of ducks and geese as the boat overturned, tipping both of them into freezing duck-poo-tainted water. An icy cold few seconds later and she surfaced with a gasping squeal, spluttering and coughing.
Harry surfaced a few feet away, gasping.
‘Are you crazy?’ he shouted at her, shaking water out of his hair. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’
She thrashed wildly to keep her head above the surface. Swimming was surprisingly difficult when you were fully dressed and icy cold. Despite the lovely autumn day, the useless British sun had no water-warming ability whatsoever and she struggled for breath as she tried to concentrate on treading water instead of following the panicky impulse to flail her arms about.
And then he was there. She felt his arm slide firmly around her chest, then the solid muscle of his upper body worked to pull her one stroke at a time back towards the boat house, obviously the more sensible option since their boat was now drifting away upside down. She pulled herself together and tried to kick along with him.
By the time they reached the decking she was so cold she could hardly muster any energy to pull herself up and ended up being hauled out of the water like a beached whale by
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