(As seen at Catapult )
‘Old fashioned diving suit for two!’
It sounded so much more romantic, painted on a board at the end of the pier. I’d assumed, because who wouldn’t, that the basted-looking man leaning against the winch actually worked there! That may have been mistake number one. He’d sucked his bottom lip, scrutinising Daphne in her bikini, mumbled “Honeymooners, huh?”
We bob. I’m not sure if we’re being tugged from above or something in the water’s banging against us.
“I told you we should’ve got in back to back, not face to face!” Daphne says into my neck. Her breath stale, short of oxygen. We’re both fountaining sweat over each other, this isn’t remotely pleasant, but if there was just enough room for her to crouch a little, I think I might just be able to see out, over her hair…