It was one of those swelteringly hot July days. I remember I was wearing a loose, floral printed pair of calf-length slacks and my bikini top. We were out in our back garden lounging around the pool, with Wimbledon commentary quietly droning from the radio. My husband Bryan and I were sitting in deckchairs, he quietly snoring. My daughter Julia was floating in the pool, her arms stretched along the parapet and her boyfriend, Peter was propped up on one of the sunbeds, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and revealing a bare, hairless chest, his T-shirt abandoned beside him on the grass. The kids had just finished school and were enjoying a lazy summer before they went off to university. Jules had been accepted by my old Oxford alma mater; Peter's A-Level results had been slightly less spectacular and he would be studying just down the road at the University of Surrey.
Peter's mother and I had worked together as research chemists for more than 20 years before I decided to take a generous redundancy payment at the age of 45 a couple of years ago, and he and Jules had been together since their early teens. As I had numerous times before, I reflected on how lucky my daughter was to have a boy like him: intelligent, polite, considerate, and always most courteous to me, a real gentleman, so rare these days. He was quite good-looking too, a couple of inches shorter than me but with a good, rugby-toned physique, a mop of sandy-blond hair, twinkling blue eyes and a dimpled chin. Sitting on the sunbed, his legs splayed, the bulge in his shorts suggested he had plenty to offer in other ways too.
I felt a blush warming my cheeks and quietly giggled to myself - I had no idea where that thought had come from, it must have been the combined effect of the hot sun and the rioja I'd mixed into our jug of sangria. I'd never for a moment thought of Peter in those terms before, yet...yet now the notion had entered my head I found it difficult to resist my treacherous eyes slipping back in that direction. Guiltily I dragged my gaze away. A couple of minutes later I glanced back in his direction and saw with a shock that he was staring at me, a slight smile on his face. I smiled back politely, innocently I hoped; surely with my sunglasses on he couldn't have seen where my eyes had been looking? Just as I was about to turn away, was it coincidence or did Peter slightly adjust his shorts, seeming to make his crotch look even more prominent?
Julia chose that moment to haul herself out of the pool and slump face down on her sunbed. "Oh god woman, get a grip on yourself" I muttered, promising myself that later on I'd give my little vibrating friend in my bedside cabinet a bloody good workout. To distract myself I reached for the jug of sangria on the table between Bryan's and my chairs, only to find that we were down to a pale pink pool of ice water and fruit peel. Glad of an excuse to go indoors for a little while I stood and carried the jug through the conservatory and into the kitchen to make another batch.
Having chopped some more oranges and lemons I was just rinsing my hands at the sink when I sensed rather than heard the kitchen door being quietly closed. A moment later I heard Peter ask, in a soft voice, "How are you doing Mrs Howard?"
