first time. Beyond them, the sea—
‘The next bestselling novel?’ a voice asked from behind me.
I snapped my notepad shut and looked up to see Greg smiling down at me.
‘Maybe.’
A quick look at my cleavage, quelle surprise, then back up to my face. ‘We’ll have to keep an eye on him,’ he said, jutting his chin towards the man painting in the cave.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘And why might that be?’
‘Hanging around with teenagers. Looks like we have a resident paedophile on our hands.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Honestly, Greg, talk about jumping to conclusions.’
‘Really? So you’d let Becky near him? He’s clearly slept in that cave overnight,’ he added, pointing to a sleeping bag I hadn’t noticed before, lying at the side of the cave.
‘Just because he’s sleeping in a cave, that doesn’t make him a paedophile. There are a lot of people out of jobs thanks to this recession. Haven’t you been reading the papers?’ I walked past Greg and headed to the wooden path. I really wasn’t in the mood for him, especially after he interrupted my rare moment of inspiration.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Greg asked as he fell into step beside me.
I couldn’t help but sigh. ‘Aren’t you working today?’
‘Day off. Told Julie I’m getting nappies.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘Not now,’ he said, pushing his Ray-Bans onto the top of his head and smiling at me. ‘Needed to get out. All she talks about is babies, babies, babies.’
‘She has just had one.’ I peered at him sideways. ‘As have you.’
‘Yeah but it’s different for men.’
‘How?’
‘You know,’ he said, openly staring at my breasts.
‘No, I don’t actually.’ I stopped, crossing my arms. ‘How is it different?’
He gave me a sly grin. ‘You going to make me say it?’
Here it comes …
‘Fine,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Breasts. Babies need breasts and we can’t provide that, can we?’
‘Ah, breasts,’ I said. ‘Breasts, breasts, breasts, that’s all men talk about.’
‘Can you blame us?’ he asked playfully.
‘Yes, yes I can. They are mounds of flesh, their primary function being to feed babies.’
He laughed. ‘This is why I like you, fire in your belly. What do you say to a cheeky vino at the café?’
‘At this time of the morning?’
‘Why not?’ He grabbed my shoulders in excitement. ‘Seize the day! Let’s do something crazy! I know you’re like me, Selma, I can tell.’
I felt an overwhelming desire to slap him. But instead I pulled away from him, making my face cold. ‘I’m nothing like you. And if you think drinking wine at nine in the morning is seizing the day, then you really need to get a life.’
His face dropped, his dark eyes flashing with anger. ‘Clearly I was wrong about you. I thought you were the adventurous type.’
‘I have a call with a producer who’s interested in turning my book into a film,’ I lied. ‘I think that’s a tad more adventurous than sharing a bottle of wine with a married man, don’t you?’ Then I stalked off.
That run-in with Greg hung over my head like a dark cloud all weekend, making me tetchy with Mike and Becky. I’d like to say it was because I felt bad for his wife, but mainly it was because he’d stopped me from writing. I hadn’t felt so inspired in ages and now that sudden fizz was gone again. It wasn’t much better when I walked into the office on Monday morning to get on with my copywriting day job. I only had to endure the place three days a week: Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. But it was still painful.
I walked to my desk, feeling more of a black cloud than usual hovering over my head, my lack of word count still playing on my mind. Something needed to change and quick, otherwise I’d be back to working five days a week, even if Mike wasn’t made redundant. It had been hard enough convincing him I needed to go down to three days a week so I could write another novel. The problem was, I wasn’t writing it! How could I when I was forced to have all the creativity drained out of me three days a week by this soul-destroying job?
I ignored the voice inside that told me past soul-destroying jobs hadn’t stopped me from writing. The same voice that told me there had to be another reason.
I peered at my notepad in my bag, a sense of resolve filling me. I was going to write this novel. I had to.
‘Selma!’
I looked up to see Monica waving at me from across the room, people gathered around her desk. ‘Selma was there,’ Monica explained to the colleagues gathered around her. ‘She saw everything. Come over and tell them!’
I didn’t say anything, just put my bag on my desk and switched my computer on.
‘Selma!’ Monica called out again.
I battled with the desire to continue ignoring her, but then I remembered the look on Monica’s face as she saw her son in the ocean, that awful fear.
I sighed, making myself smile. ‘Nathan okay, is he?’ I called over.
‘Fine. Shaken up but fine!’ Monica called back. ‘Come tell everyone what happened.’
‘I’m sure you have given a better account than I could.’ I sat at my desk, noticing my colleague Matthew smirking at me from over our divider. I smiled back at him. He was the only person in the place I could tolerate. On my first day six years ago, he’d handed me some headphones. ‘You’ll need these, trust me,’ he’d said wryly.
‘Best day of her life, her son nearly drowning,’ Matthew said now in a quiet voice.
My smile deepened. ‘Naughty boy,’ I whispered back.
We both went quiet when our boss, Daphne, approached. ‘Good weekend, Selma?’ she asked.
‘Lovely, thanks,’ I replied. ‘Apart from the barbeque catching fire,’ I added.
Daphne put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no!’
It was a lie, of course. Anything to ease the pain of the predictable Monday morning ‘How was your weekend?’ ritual.
‘I heard your book’s being made into a film,’ Daphne said. ‘I hope we’re not going to lose you to the glitz and glam of Hollywood.’
I felt my face flush. How quickly rumours spread in this town. A mere mention to Greg and now everyone knew.
‘Oh, it was just a call,’ I replied. ‘Might come to nothing.’
‘It’s exciting either way! Better get back to work, no film deal for me to pay the mortgage. Chat later!’
I narrowed my eyes at her. Was that a dig? My boss was the queen of passive aggressiveness.
As Daphne walked off, Monica strolled over.
‘Oh God, she’s coming over,’ Matthew said, quickly putting his headphones back on.
‘Did you hear the man who saved Nathan is living in one of the caves?’ Monica asked, sitting on my desk, which was something I detested people doing.
‘I heard something about it,’ I replied as I yanked some proofs of an advert I’d written from under her bum.
‘I left a bottle of wine