inappropriate or that I’m putting his job down, but it’s the logical thing to say.
He does that business of putting his hand on his chest, pretending his feelings are hurt. ‘What? Because I am work as lifeguard on Seaburn beach? You English girls…You have such ideas about people.’ He wags a finger, tuts at me. Then his mouth comes close to my ear. ‘But as it happen, you are right. I don’t drive brand new Mercedes. I drive car that was parking opposite the Mercedes. I just happened to witness your very bad parking and I saw an opportunity.’ He grins.
I’m already flailing a sceptical hand. ‘This is too farfetched to be serious. It’s ridiculous actually.’ If he had wanted to hit on me, he could have just got out of his car and come and talked to me. Maybe his car is such a heap of junk that he didn’t want me to see it. His head was probably holding up the roof. I bet he didn’t dare get out or it’d collapse like a metal wigwam.
‘And besides, I wanted to see if you’d call. Women can never resist man with nice car.’
‘Oh that’s such an old cliché.’ I give him a look that says, And so are you . ‘I’d never judge a man by his car.’ I glance at my mother who’s still gawking at him like he’s Michelangelo’s David.
‘Don’t mind us,’ my dad says, and pointedly clears his throat. ‘Carry on chatting up my daughter, lad. I’m too old to give you a thick ear for it. And I’m sure my son-in-law won’t mind.’
‘He won’t,’ my mam enthusiastically chimes in, grinning her face off.
‘Thank you,’ the Russian, says, clearly not getting my dad’s sarcy business.
‘But supposing I had called thinking you were the owner of a Mercedes, you’d have had a lot of explaining to do wouldn’t you?’ When you turned up in your old jalopy.
His gaze travels over me again. ‘This may be. But by the time I would be finished, I would have won you with my charm.’
‘You think? How nice.’ I’m critically aware that I’m flirting. Like I used to be quite good at, back in the days when Gorbachev was a baby. My dad digs out the Daily Express and conspicuously tries to mind his business.
‘And what is more strange is—and you are really going to fall over when I tell you this…’ He gestures for me to come closer, which I do, aware of his body and the undeniable chemistry between us, and how easily I could be pulled to it, if I were free and single. ‘I see you there, at car. But it is not first time. No. First time I see you in Afterglow, before Christmas—’
‘—likely story,’ my dad clears his throat.
‘You were in dress of emerald green. Different eye-glasses though. You were with friends. Women friends.’
Leigh and Wendy and I went there for our Christmas meal and celebration! He remembered the dress! My 1940’s belted coatdress that I got from the vintage shop in York, which I wore once then felt like Bette Davis in a time warp. And my old glasses! This is beyond unbelievable. My first thought is—is he stalking me? But then again, it’s not like he could be accused of following me here, could he? ‘Well I never thought the North East was so small!’
‘Is not. Is just that you are kind of girl a man see once and he remember anywhere.’
‘Oh, vomit,’—my father says under his breath.
Okay, admittedly, from anybody else that would have sounded a big corn. But I just think, he saw me twice in Newcastle, he remembered my dress for heaven’s sakes, and now I’m seeing him here. How completely, unbelievably—
‘Fate,’ he says. ‘Don’t you think?’ Then his gaze slides past me to a woman’s bottom in a bikini.
He’s practiced at this. He’s a good-looking, cocky, rather past-it lifeguard who stares at women’s bottoms in bikinis, and happens to have a good memory for faces. And dresses.
And I’m married.
‘Seriously though,’ he pulls me aside now so he’s out of earshot. ‘That was real reason why I did not come over to talk
He does that business of putting his hand on his chest, pretending his feelings are hurt. ‘What? Because I am work as lifeguard on Seaburn beach? You English girls…You have such ideas about people.’ He wags a finger, tuts at me. Then his mouth comes close to my ear. ‘But as it happen, you are right. I don’t drive brand new Mercedes. I drive car that was parking opposite the Mercedes. I just happened to witness your very bad parking and I saw an opportunity.’ He grins.
I’m already flailing a sceptical hand. ‘This is too farfetched to be serious. It’s ridiculous actually.’ If he had wanted to hit on me, he could have just got out of his car and come and talked to me. Maybe his car is such a heap of junk that he didn’t want me to see it. His head was probably holding up the roof. I bet he didn’t dare get out or it’d collapse like a metal wigwam.
‘And besides, I wanted to see if you’d call. Women can never resist man with nice car.’
‘Oh that’s such an old cliché.’ I give him a look that says, And so are you . ‘I’d never judge a man by his car.’ I glance at my mother who’s still gawking at him like he’s Michelangelo’s David.
‘Don’t mind us,’ my dad says, and pointedly clears his throat. ‘Carry on chatting up my daughter, lad. I’m too old to give you a thick ear for it. And I’m sure my son-in-law won’t mind.’
‘He won’t,’ my mam enthusiastically chimes in, grinning her face off.
‘Thank you,’ the Russian, says, clearly not getting my dad’s sarcy business.
‘But supposing I had called thinking you were the owner of a Mercedes, you’d have had a lot of explaining to do wouldn’t you?’ When you turned up in your old jalopy.
His gaze travels over me again. ‘This may be. But by the time I would be finished, I would have won you with my charm.’
‘You think? How nice.’ I’m critically aware that I’m flirting. Like I used to be quite good at, back in the days when Gorbachev was a baby. My dad digs out the Daily Express and conspicuously tries to mind his business.
‘And what is more strange is—and you are really going to fall over when I tell you this…’ He gestures for me to come closer, which I do, aware of his body and the undeniable chemistry between us, and how easily I could be pulled to it, if I were free and single. ‘I see you there, at car. But it is not first time. No. First time I see you in Afterglow, before Christmas—’
‘—likely story,’ my dad clears his throat.
‘You were in dress of emerald green. Different eye-glasses though. You were with friends. Women friends.’
Leigh and Wendy and I went there for our Christmas meal and celebration! He remembered the dress! My 1940’s belted coatdress that I got from the vintage shop in York, which I wore once then felt like Bette Davis in a time warp. And my old glasses! This is beyond unbelievable. My first thought is—is he stalking me? But then again, it’s not like he could be accused of following me here, could he? ‘Well I never thought the North East was so small!’
‘Is not. Is just that you are kind of girl a man see once and he remember anywhere.’
‘Oh, vomit,’—my father says under his breath.
Okay, admittedly, from anybody else that would have sounded a big corn. But I just think, he saw me twice in Newcastle, he remembered my dress for heaven’s sakes, and now I’m seeing him here. How completely, unbelievably—
‘Fate,’ he says. ‘Don’t you think?’ Then his gaze slides past me to a woman’s bottom in a bikini.
He’s practiced at this. He’s a good-looking, cocky, rather past-it lifeguard who stares at women’s bottoms in bikinis, and happens to have a good memory for faces. And dresses.
And I’m married.
‘Seriously though,’ he pulls me aside now so he’s out of earshot. ‘That was real reason why I did not come over to talk
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