over. Trust him to be early.
‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re out safely.’
‘You’re being ridiculous. You’re forty-eight, Richard. No forty-eight-year-old man wants the trauma of seeing his mother naked. Now bugger off and came back when you said you would be here.’
‘Oh, I’m being ridiculous. Says the woman bobbing around in the English Channel without a stitch on, before most people are out of bed. Nothing wrong with that.’
Olive couldn’t work out if it was a hint of sarcasm in his voice or if this was pigeon-gate all over again and she’d finally sent her son over the edge. ‘It really is glorious. You should try it some time.’
It was the wrong thing to say. Olive knew it as soon as Richard chucked the towel on the ground in a rage.
‘I am not going to take up skinny-dipping, Mother, and I would really, really appreciate it if you would just get the hell out.’
At that moment, Olive spotted Skylar arriving at the beach huts and thanked her lucky stars. She didn’t want to enrage her son any more, but there was no way she was changing her mind about coming out starkers in front of him. Even with his promises of having his eyes closed, there were some things that weren’t worth the risk. And as risk assessments went, she was prepared to take the chance of being swallowed up by a riptide over the odds of towel slippage and her son catching a glimpse.
‘Skylar…’ Olive beckoned her friend over, knowing that if someone was there to ensure she didn’t drown herself, she might convince her son to go sit in his car for a bit and return again when she was respectable.
Skylar waved a response and headed over to see why she was being flagged in that direction. Olive admired her friend as she navigated the sandy beach. She was everything Olive would have liked to have been at her age, although with a few too many body piercings for Olive. Skylar rented the beach hut next to Olive’s and it was painted a rich red. Olive always knew when Skylar was there because of the sound of wind chimes and the waft of joss sticks. As she wandered in their direction, Olive wondered if she’d ever get to learn her story. This girl with long skirts and string-vest tops who was simple and complex all at once. She was a walking oxymoron who Olive often wanted to know better, but she was yet to get her to open up.
‘Everything okay?’
Jerked back to the here and now, Olive realised the situation needed a bit of explanation. ‘Ummm, I’m hoping you won’t mind taking over lifeguard duties from Richard. He’s arrived a little earlier than expected. We’re in a bit of a standoff situation to be honest.’
‘Mother…’ There was a visible flush to Richard’s cheeks as he lifted the towel from the sand and shook the grains off. ‘Apologies.’ Richard turned to greet Skylar, a hand outstretched ready for a formal greeting. ‘I’m Richard Turner. I’m just a little concerned about my elderly mother catching pneumonia because she’s refusing to come out with me here. Average morning activities. Nice to meet you.’
‘Skylar, would you be a darling and take over towel duties? Tell Richard to buzz off until nine when we were expecting him and hopefully we can forget this ever happened.’
‘You could just get out, Mother. Save us all from any further embarrassment.’
It saddened Olive that her son saw her like that. An embarrassment to him, although, if she remembered rightly, that was one of the roles parents were supposed to fulfil.
‘Olive, are you naked?’ Skylar laughed at the realisation. A delightful crisp sound that filled the air and set the seagulls off as if returning her call.
‘I most certainly am, darling.’
‘Fantastic. You go, girl!’ Skylar’s face lit with delight and it made Olive immediately less conscious, unlike her son’s reaction.
‘So, would you mind? Take the towel from Richard, get him to disappear, then avert your eyes while I get out.’
‘No problem.’ Skylar attempted to take the towel. ‘You do know she’s not coming out unless you move. I’ll let you know once she is.’
Richard was reluctant to give in. Olive saw it in the steely stare he sent her way, but he handed the towel over all the same, and stomped his way back towards the promenade, briefcase in hand. Never had a man looked more at odds with his surroundings.
Once Richard was off the sands, Skylar turned her attention to Olive with a broad smile playing on her features. ‘Olive Turner. How is it you never cease to surprise me?’
‘I surprise myself some days. I guess at my age you get to the point of not caring. Try telling that to Richard, though.’
‘He didn’t look very impressed.’
‘I think that might be the understatement of the century. I can’t imagine many men would be too happy at finding their mother naked in the sea.’
‘Ha! I very much doubt it happens to many men, to be fair.’
‘Don’t be siding with him now. I’ll never hear the end of this as it is. Time to avert your eyes. This wrinkled prune has wrinkles on her wrinkles. No one needs to see that.’
Skylar straightened out the towel and held it out in front of her, craning her neck round as well as closing her eyes. ‘What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have got Richard to do this? I’m sure your dignity would have remained intact.’
Making sure Skylar wasn’t going to get a look, Olive stood letting the water drip off her body. The chill against her skin was enough to send shivers to her bones. She really had stayed in there too long. She didn’t like to admit her son was right, but staying in cold water for prolonged periods really wasn’t something she should be doing. ‘I didn’t want to risk it.’ It wasn’t just a case of a mother not wanting to risk her son seeing her in the nude. Laced on her skin, she knew, were memories of the past. Scars she kept covered because of the reminders they provided. There was a reason she kept those marks hidden from him. There was a reason diving into the sea with no clothes on was so wild and freeing.
When Olive reached Skylar, she wrapped the towel round tight, hiding any signs of the mark on her side. Her body shivered against the brutal breeze the English Channel was dishing out.
‘You’re freezing, Olive. You need more than that towel to get you warm. How long have you been in there?’ Skylar placed an arm round her shoulder, leading her towards their beach huts. She wanted to answer, but her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and it was impossible to form words.
Fortunately her friend was one of the most resourceful people she knew. Soon Olive was ensconced in blankets with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, warming up by her gas heater.
‘I know you don’t want me siding with your son, Olive, but you really can’t be letting yourself get that cold. It won’t do you any good at all.’
‘Don’t say “at your age”, please.’ Olive had recovered enough to form sentences, but wasn’t quite ready for a lecture while still faced with the prospect of trying to prevent her son from insisting she stop renting her beach hut.
‘You know I’d never say that to you.’
Olive and Skylar had had many conversations about how Olive didn’t feel her age and how going into retirement quarters made her feel a fraudster, but then she’d had her wake-up call. She wasn’t infallible. However much she didn’t want it to, age was catching up with her. As a result, the desire to live alone had left her, and while she’d much rather be one of those ladies who spent their last days on cruise liners flirting with waiters young enough to be their sons and never lifting a finger to do domestic chores again, sadly, this move wasn’t going to be as luxurious as all that. It was more about practicalities. Richard wanted her to be contained so he’d know she was being cared for in his absence, and although he didn’t need to know why, these days she was inclined to agree.
‘Good. Because