Free Lemonade and Lies by Elaine Johns

exhilarating – no other word for it.”
    “And you’re stoked?” I said.
    My friend laughed. “Exactly.” She waved an airy hand towards the bronzed Adonis beside her, towering over people of normal height. “Meet Dave.”
    “David,” he corrected her. “David Ovenden.” He stuck out a confident hand, reaching across Alice to shake hands with me, for not only was he was a glorious example of rippling musculature, but he seemed different from Alice’s other conquests. He could speak for himself.
    Alice carried on, didn’t seem to notice the interruption. I listened patiently and so did the surf dude. Stopping my friend once passion had taken hold was like trying to turn around a force of nature - one with an attitude problem.
    She explained the mechanics of catching and riding a wave. The surf instructor smiled benignly, like she was his latest prodigy. Another one who’d fallen under her spell. After the magnificent total of an hour’s surfing instruction, Alice had become a convert, an expert on the subject, and was ready to start listening to the Beach Boys’ back catalogue.
    With evangelistic zeal she tried to recruit others to her flag. But I was a lost cause. I wouldn’t even risk a belly-board out in surf now. The thought of just paddling up to my ankles in Atlantic breakers brought me out in a cold sweat. It wasn’t logical, but then fear rarely is.
    “Catch you later,” said David Ovenden.
    “Have lunch with us.” Alice beamed at the guy, confident her normal charisma would fasten him to the spot.
    “Things to do.” He gave her one of those cool winks - movie star quality.
    “Awe come on,” cajoled Alice.
    But this guy was different. He patted her neat, wet-suited rear and was gone before my friend could protest.
    “Did you see that?” said Alice.
    Alice: astonished, intrigued, happy, the light of conquest ablaze in her eyes.
    “Yeah, some cheek,” I said.
    We laughed. And I noted that she’d forgotten all about being canned by her boss. And me? Well, I relaxed too. Alice was good for me. We’d go to the restaurant on the beach, eat barbequed prawns, drink wine (just a glass!) and enjoy the rest of half-term.
    Life was good if you wanted it to be.
    It was what you made it.
    You were in the driver’s seat.
    Just how wrong could one person be?

Chapter 10
     
     
    The restaurant stood on a sandbar. Over the years it had become famous for the live music and atmosphere, and the fact that you have to trek across the beach to get to it.
    You could sit outside and enjoy a long cool drink, eat barbequed king prawns (like us) under colourful beach umbrellas and watch the ocean. Or move inside to escape the heat of the sun, and lounge in deep wickerwork chairs in front of the huge mahogany bar. We stayed outside, for it was pleasantly warm. Not sub-Saharan Africa. But enough to encourage the more hardy of us to reveal our white bodies in the hope of a tan.
    By day the atmosphere in the restaurant was relaxed and casual, with people carrying sand in on flip-flops. At night the ambience became sophisticated, the food extraordinary, the music chilled. (Bill had taken me there once when I’d moaned that we never went out). Today it was crowded, bustling with activity. The air crackled with people talking, people laughing, people drinking, throwing off the shackles of their everyday lives for a short visit to paradise. The place was called The Paradise Café.
    But it wasn’t working for me. I tried to relax, shrug off the guilty feeling that I should be doing something. Just veg, like Alice, I told myself. But she was knackered from all that exercise, and the remains of the alcohol in her system. That would be why she’d recruited George for the overnight drive, for even Alice wouldn’t drive when she was hammered.
    I was edgy. I needed to be on the move, doing something. Obviously not swimming, or surfing, but some kind of physical activity. I looked up at the cliff path and dug Alice in the