Lime and Soda ✓

four - low tide

Astrid goes away for the weekend with her family, but not before thoroughly embarrassing me.

We sit in her kitchen, drinking tea. Sandy's in the garden, and Max is out with his friends, so there's no one to hear us. Astrid takes full advantage of this the second the front door closes behind Max.

'So, I've been thinking,' she announces. 'I think you should hook up with Jay.'

I'm raising my mug to my mouth when she says this, and I immediately take an enormous gulp of steaming tea and sear my tongue. The hot liquid hits the back of my mouth and I choke. Smoke billows out of my ears as I swallow the tea with difficulty and glare at Astrid.

'What the hell?'

'He's cute.'

'Astrid, I've met him once. And I don't do boys.'

'Why not?'

Because I've never met anyone I like enough who likes me back. Because of my skin. Because I'm ashamed. Because I'm scared. Terrified.

'Because I'm not Celia!' I explode. Astrid shrinks, becomes smaller.

'Okay, maybe hook up was the wrong term. Date, then.' She pushes her curly hair behind her ears and looks at me expectantly.

I'm lost for words. I open my mouth and close it again. I'm a fish, out of water. On Mars. This is undiscovered territory.

'No,' I eventually get out. Astrid looks disappointed.

'Why not?'

'Because I don't know him. I don't do one night stands or hook ups or flings or relationships or boys AT ALL. And because you telling me I should hook up with him doesn't make me attracted to him!'

Astrid recoils and holds up her hands. 'It was just an idea. You have to admit he's cute.'

'Honestly, I can't remember what he looks like. I barely spoke to him and you know how drunk I was.'

Astrid scrapes her chair back and stands up. 'Okay. Noted. But don't say I didn't warn you when someone else gets there first!'

-

With Astrid gone, it's a quiet few days. No gatherings, no parties. I don't hear a word from the others - I don't have their mobile numbers, there's no need. We're summer friends only.

The sun comes out and it really begins to heat up now. Tourists flock to the beach in earnest, and the village cafes and gift shops are always busy. I take it upon myself to go exploring.

The beach isn't an option, it's far too hot and crowded. The only time I frequent the beach is the early morning, before breakfast. I rise early and head down to the water. Sometimes I swim, sometimes I read, sometimes I just sit and watch the waves. They call to me.

After breakfast I explore. I take a bag of food and water and suncream and a book and sometimes my camera and I just walk. Once I end up walking over the cliffs, so far until I get to the next town. The next day I walk through the fields in the other direction, and discover some wild blackberries. I fill a tub with them and bring them home. Bea makes crumble. Another day I stumble across a patch of woodland, and spend a glorious afternoon sitting on a log, reading and stroking all the dogs that come by.

The day after that, it rains. For the whole morning, it pours and pours, like God has turned the bath taps on and gone off for a nap and forgotten all about them, and they overflow and spill down and down, until we are all soaked to the skin. Not me and Bea, though - we stay inside. My morning beach trip is called off for the day.