Beach Bar Baby. Heidi Rice

defend Ruby’s husband, whom she adored, if only in a purely platonic sense—because he actually was a little bossy.

      ‘Only because he’s got me to unwind him on a regular basis, and boss him about back,’ Ruby replied. ‘But more to the point.’ Her voice sobered, the jokey tone gone. ‘You don’t want my kids, you want your own. And if I deserve my little treasures—not that Ally and Max were particularly treasurable this morning when they decided to declare World War Three on each other using their Weetabix as nuclear warheads—then you certainly do.’

      Do I?

      The question echoed in her head, but she didn’t voice it, Ruby’s passionate defence counteracting at least some of the guilt that had been haunting her for over a week.

      ‘You’re going to make an incredible mum one day,’ Ruby added with complete conviction. ‘And, if you have to, there are lots of possible ways of achieving that.’

      ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘You know, like artificial insemination, IVF, donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption, that sort of thing.’

      Ruby’s matter-of-fact response shrank a little of the black hole in her belly. She hadn’t considered any of those options yet, the prospect of infertility too shocking to get past. But why shouldn’t she? If the worst came to the worst and Myra’s diagnosis was correct?

      ‘I guess you’re right, I hadn’t really—’

      ‘But frankly,’ Ruby interrupted, ‘I think we’re getting the cart before the stallion here.’

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Ella, your biggest problem when it comes to having a child of your own is not the possibility of a premature menopause. It’s the fact that every guy you’ve been out with since that tosser in college has been so mind-numbingly dull even I couldn’t be bothered to flirt with them.’

      Ella frowned, picturing the handful of guys she’d dated in the last decade. And realised that Ruby’s outrageous statement might not actually be all that far off the mark—because she couldn’t recall a single one of them with any degree of clarity.

      When had dating become such an effort? And sex such a chore?

      Was that why she’d had a rush of blood to the head at Cooper’s casual suggestion of a drink later? Flirting with him had been exciting, exhilarating, and yet she’d totally freaked out when he’d offered her the chance to take it further.

      What was that about? She was thirty-four, for goodness’ sake, not ninety.

      ‘The thing is, Ella,’ Ruby continued, ‘I know sexual chemistry isn’t everything in a relationship—and Randall the dickhead is a case in point.’

      Ella winced at hearing Randall’s name spoken aloud—a name they’d both avoided speaking for sixteen years. But the gaping wound her college boyfriend had caused—which she’d believed then would fester for the rest of her life—had scabbed over in the years since. Because the mention of his name didn’t hurt any more; it only made her feel ashamed, that she’d fallen for him so easily, mistaken a couple of really spectacular orgasms for love, and then let him bulldoze her into doing something she would later regret.

      ‘But sometimes chemistry can come in very handy, if you need a serious pick–me-up in the dating department,’ Ruby continued. ‘Which brings us right back to Captain Studly from your snorkel tour.’

      Didn’t it just?

      ‘So tell me again,’ Ruby continued. ‘Why exactly can’t you take him up on his offer of a date?’

      ‘Because I’m not entirely sure he meant it.’

      ‘And why would you think that? Talk me through it.’

      ‘Well, he asked me if I’d like to hook up for a drink at this local hang-out after he finished work at seven and I panicked.’ She’d chickened out, because Cooper Delaney had been more man than she’d had the guts to handle in a very long time—it all seemed so obvious now. ‘And then I had to get off the boat, because he was busy. But it was all very casual, and we never agreed on anything specific.’

      Even if the memory of Cooper’s offer of a date thrilled her now, instead of terrifying her, the memory of his face, closed off and impassive, when she’d said that final goodbye wasn’t far behind.

      ‘Did this local hang-out have a name?’ Ruby probed.

      ‘No, but I think...’ She searched her memory; hadn’t he told her where it was? ‘Half-Moon Cove.’ The location echoed in her head in his deep American accent. ‘He mentioned it was on the south side of Half-Moon Cove.’

      ‘Fantastic. That’s all we need.’

      ‘It is?’

      ‘Yes, now shut up and listen to Auntie Ruby.’ Ruby paused, and the tickle of excitement in Ella’s belly began to buzz as if she were being stroked by the vibrator. ‘Captain Studly most definitely did invite you on a date. Time and location are all the specifics you need. And you are flipping well going to go on it.’

      ‘But what if—?’

      ‘No buts.’ Ruby cut her off. ‘It’s way past time Ella Radley started dating the sort of man candy that might actually have some hope of exciting her enough to get her past first base.’

      ‘I’ve been past first base in the past decade,’ she said, indignantly—even if she couldn’t remember the events in any great detail. ‘But I don’t think—’

      ‘Uh-uh-uh, didn’t you hear the “no buts” stipulation?’ Ruby paused, but not long enough for Ella to form a suitable response. ‘That goes hand in hand with the “no panicking” initiative. If you feel yourself starting to hyperventilate because Captain Studly is too Studly, just think of him as a test run. You need to get your flirt on, Ella, and he sounds like the perfect guy to practise on.’

      And just like that, the buzz in Ella’s belly sank even lower and became a definite hum.