As always, I hope you enjoy this. A vote and/or a comment from you is a good reward for us writers. The dialogue at the end surprised me, but came out like that; your thoughts are welcome.
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He came out of the surf.
The afternoon sun was gleaming on the water around him, highlighting the tiny, swirling bubbles as they rose and burst, making the seawater fizz. As he churned through the shallows, wavelets slapped his legs. He felt each motion of the water against him, every tug and lift. He felt the sun on his back and across his shoulders, the tingle that meant that sunburn was on its way if he was not careful. The hard sand under the water became soft, wet sand at the water's edge, then dry sand above the tideline. He watched his feet pressing into the coarse grains and felt the gentle abrasion.
The swim had been good. For this short trip back to his home town, he did not think there would be time for a surf, but the combination of good weather and good memories seemed to direct him down to the beach. Now, he felt relaxed and refreshed, and slightly nostalgic: he had walked out of the surf in just the same way so many times as he grew up.
He reached his towel and shirt (the only things he had brought) and started to dry himself, then thought better of it. He used to enjoy the feeling of salty water drying on his skin: he would try it again, for old time's sake.
Leaving the beach, he climbed the stairs rising up the low cliff. The town council charged brutal fees for parking at the beach, but he knew that the little streets at the top of the cliff allowed free parking, for only a slightly longer walk. He picked up his car key where he'd hidden it in a crack in the rock - no risk of losing it in the sand that way. His shirt rubbed the salt on his shoulders in an old, familiar way.
He got to his car, slipped into the passenger seat and stripped off his wet trunks. He gave himself a quick pat down then wriggled into his shorts. This too was a well-known manoeuvre. He got out and went around to the driver's side. Only then did he notice the girl standing in the road, a short way off.
She was standing near another car, pointing and gesturing, talking to the driver. He heard a tentative revving, then saw frantic waving. The car jerked to a halt, now protruding into the road at a messy angle. After a moment he worked out that the car must have been parked in. The stander was spotting for the driver so they used as much of the little space they had. In addition, the revving told him the car was a manual with an inexperienced driver, which would make inching out of a tight spot much harder.
Now what? With the road blocked, he had to wait for them to eventually get out. But how long would that take? He could go and offer to help - but that would be demeaning, wouldn't it? Or possibly creepy. How much time did he have? He glanced at his watch, then up the road... the girl was standing, leaning on one leg in a suddenly very familiar way... he had to check.
The stance, the arms folded, the steady gaze as he walked towards her... it was her. Was it? The swim at the old beach, the nostalgia, the warm sun, the salt, it was all playing tricks in his mind. He addressed the parking problem.
"That looks tricky. Someone's come in after you and parked you in pretty tight, I'm guessing." The driver looked up at him and scowled. She had much darker hair than her light brown friend in the street. He didn't recognise her, but as to the other one, he was certain.
"It's, it's Ghislaine, isn't it. Hi!"
The aloof gaze melted into a broad smile, accentuated by a gap between the front teeth. Seeing it, his heart skipped a beat. "Rollsy! Hell, I didn't pick you at all! I thought you were just some dickhead about to mansplain everything to us!"
The driver spoke up. "Hey Gill, did he just call you Ghislaine correctly? Jill-enne? Really? Nobody says it properly!!" She was amused by this, and relieved. The scowl softened as well.
"Oh yes. Sophie, this is Roland, an old, old friend. Are you still Rolls? 'The only Rolls I'll ever own is my name!' I still remember your awful jokes!" She gave him a very warm hug. "Rollsy will get us out of this!"
But after a few attempts, and an explanation of "right hand down, left hand down", the car was still firmly wedged in. Sophie was getting flustered; not being used to a manual gear shift was making matters worse.
"Look, I don't know if a mansplainer is better or worse than a guy who just takes over, but if you like, I could have a go."
"Well, a man's fucked up this morning, I guess you can't make it much worse." That wasn't quite the reply he was expecting, but he took it as a 'yes'. Sophie got out of the car.
"Just, you know, be careful. My brother hates me borrowing his car, So if it gets a dent I reckon he's gonna kill me."
It was an old Mini, a tiny car, ridiculously low to the ground, but so light and manoeuvrable and simply great fun to drive. No wonder Sophie had "borrowed" it. Roland's own brother had driven one years ago and he knew a few of its oddities. He sat in the car and adjusted the mirrors so he could see his corners better. Ghislaine leant her elbows on the window sill of the car and spoke softly.
"Thanks. Yeah, Sophie's boyfriend broke it off this morning and she's pretty upset. She thought it was going to be... something special today. And I was the one who suggested coming down for a swim, in the bro's Mini, for a bit of a distraction. So, if you could sort this out..."
She smiled (showing that gap again) and tilted her head slightly, left, right, left. He vividly recalled how she would do that. It was instead of asking him directly, and every time he would agree, to anything. He smiled back at her, then quickly looked away from the view down her front she was giving him.
It took a few attempts, but at last the car was free, and dent-free as well. Roland could feel Sophie's relief. She gave him a warm smile, which he found quite attractive, especially after the looks he had got earlier. Ghislaine gave him that broad smile that used to stop him in his tracks.
"Thank you. That is a huge relief, let me tell you! We owe you one. In fact... what are you doing right now? We were just going back for a few drinks & some badly-heated frozen pizza. Would you like...?" Ghislaine's breezy offer surprised Sophie, who probably was not exactly in the mood for having company. Roland tried to gauge the situation, but took too long.
"Good! Well, I'll give you the address, or you could just follow us. Let's go, Sophe!"
He followed the little car, with the two girls clearly discussing something important, judging by the hands. Ghislaine was doing most of the talking, even with a phone up to her ear. He hoped she wasn't wearing her friend down to accepting him. He decided he'd stay for just one drink.
Ghislaine's phone reminded him he should text his parents. One drink or not, he didn't want them waiting for him for dinner. He felt a momentary twinge of remorse and resolved he'd visit them more. The possibility of seeing Ghislaine more often helped him.
On the way, the girls stopped outside a fish and chip shop. He pulled in a short way back and watched. He smiled to himself: I'm now a minor character in a bad cop show, he thought. Suspects entering premises. Card purchase. In possession of the package.
The girls came out of the shop, still talking.
It turned out to be excellent fish and chips. The fish was soft and flavoursome, the chips thick and crunchy. Roland tried a scallop for the first time and decided he would get these in future. Cold beers from the fridge made sure everyone was relaxed. Ghislaine clinked her bottle against his.
"Rolls, Rollsy, Roland. Here you are, at last. All those years at school, thinking about me - I could tell you were interested! All those secret looks across the room. Don't worry, I secretly enjoyed them! You wanted me, didn't you, you chased after me! For how long? And, all you had to do was wait till I had car trouble!" She laughed as she said it.
"Yep, wait a couple years - how many now? - and she'll come running!" Roland tilted his beer to her as another toast. "Go and tell that to the next horny 16 year-old you see! Ah Gill, you have no idea how much I wanted you! I was so infatuated with the slim, exotic girl with the French parents. I even kept up the French because you were doing it - that's why I can say your name properly, Jill-enne. I remember now, I'd go around whispering "Ghislaine, je t'aime." Oh boy! I hope I wasn't too embarrassing!"
