Debbie Johnson - The Birthday That Changed Everything - Perfect summer holiday reading!

He pointed at the stick. ‘This,’ he said, ‘controls the tiller. You use this to steer, and turn around. When you’re sailing a dinghy, you use your bodyweight as ballast, which is what stops it from capsizing. That bit there’s called the dagger board. You sat on it earlier. You can see the sails yourself, and they’re attached to the boom at the bottom. Watch out for it, if you don’t pay attention it can whack you on the head.’

Great. Another way to injure myself. I was obviously fated not to get to shore safe and sound.

He did some strange slow-motion action that involved him feeding the stick – sorry, the tiller – behind his back, pulling on the ropes, and moving from one side of the boat to the other. All of which he did with total ease, of course. Bet he was never picked last for the netball team.

He tried to make it simple, but I was distracted by a million and one things: exhaustion, stupidity, and the lazy curl of lust in my tummy as I watched him moving and listened to him speak.

‘Right – your turn,’ he said.

‘No. Sorry, but I’m knackered. I need you to be a knight in shining armour for a bit longer.’

‘Well, when you put it like that,’ he answered, laughing, ‘how could a man resist? I’m going to need you to move around when I tell you to, though, okay?’

As we made our way back, he mentioned that Jake’s mother took him sailing when he stayed with her for holidays. Hmm. That meant he had Jake full time, which wasn’t what I’d assumed…I’d assumed, in all honesty, that he was a weekend dad. Shagging his way through his middle-life crisis Monday to Friday, and going to McDonald’s on Saturday.

It sounded as though I’d been wrong. I hated that. Before I could find out any more, he moved quickly on to another subject.

He asked about Ollie, who he’d met that morning snorkelling, and about Lucy, who he hadn’t met and who I hoped he never would meet, for his sake. He didn’t ask about their father – showing me the same discretion he misguidedly expected himself. Probably, knowing how close these Blue Bay people were, Allie had already filled him in on the situation.

I was pleased if she had. It saved me having the whole conversation again – I was here to try and forget Simon for a while, or at least relieve the pressure of thinking about him twenty-four hours a day. I’d have been happy if she’d issued a press release about it, in fact, if it saved me having to describe my loveless state to anyone else.

Instead, we talked about Jake. About his school life. About Dublin. And, against my better judgement, I realised that I was starting to relax around him. Even enjoy his company. It was a mix of his obvious competence, his drool-inspiring voice, and the fact that he looked like a walking piece of erotica.

But I still knew that – no matter how attractive the packaging – he was a man. I was still an emotional wreck, and jumping into bed with someone really wasn’t going to help at this stage, no matter how well defined their abdominal muscles.

I could still enjoy window-shopping, though, I thought, stretching my arms up into a long, languid stretch and allowing myself a few naughty thoughts. I fear I might have even purred, or at the very least sighed.

‘Shit!’ he shouted, out of the blue.

I snapped to – he was sitting with his head in his hands, blood trickling from between his fingers. The boom was swinging, a matching patch of red shining in the sunlight.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he said, clearly in pain. The wound was a few inches above his hairline; like most scalp cuts, it was bleeding like crazy. He tried to wipe some of the blood out of his eyes, smearing it over his forearm.

I moved across to take a look.

‘No!’ he said. ‘Stay there or we’ll go over. I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.’

He’d taken quite a bang, but didn’t seem on the verge of passing out or falling overboard. Which was lucky for us both; we’d have been floating adrift for eternity if it had been up to me to captain the ship.

‘I’ll get us back then I can sort this out. Can’t believe I got caught by the bloody boom,’ he said.

‘What happened?’

‘Erm, I got momentarily distracted,’ he said, nodding towards my chest. I looked down, having the awful feeling I knew exactly what I was going to see.

Yep. Two large brown boobs, enjoying the sunshine a lot more than they’d enjoyed Marcia’s bloody bikini.

We splashed back to shore as soon as the boat was safe in the shallows.

‘Come on, up to my room,’ I said, taking his hand, ‘and don’t argue.’

‘Okay…but is this really the time?’ he asked, looking shocked as I led him along.

‘Oh shut up – your virtue’s safe. I’m not planning to seduce you, I just want to get a better look at that cut.’

We made our way up the stairs to my room, stopping to answer a few enquiries as we went. James’s inner macho man kicked into action. He stood there, looking as though he’d been slaughtering a pig, insisting there was nothing wrong. Men and their egos. A constant source of amazement to me.

‘Can I tell them what happened?’ he asked as we climbed the stairs.

‘Do, and I’ll kill you.’

‘Okay. But that’s not fair – I’d feel like less of an idiot if I could at least tell the blokes. One look at you and they’d all understand why I lost it…’

Even under the circumstances – gaping scalp wound, all my fault – a comment like that made my heart skip a beat. My bruised ego was lapping it up like double cream. Pathetic.

I unlocked the door, having first knocked on Lucy’s room to see if she was still around. No answer. She must be out sacrificing goats in the woods.

‘Come on in, ’scuse the mess,’ I said, leading the way. I went over to the windows to throw open the curtains, and turned back to tidy up the bed. I needn’t have bothered – a messy duvet was the last thing anyone would notice in this particular room.

‘Oh, the little cow,’ I said, stopping dead and gazing around in shock. My room had been transformed into Mr and Mrs Smith’s house of horrors – a showcase for their amazing Range of Rubber. Stupidly, I’d left the interconnecting door open at a time when I was number one on Lucy’s shit list. Served me right really.

Suck-Me-Dry Sally was fully inflated and propped up on my pillows, handcuffed to the wrought-iron headboard. She had Black Beauty between her plastic legs and was looking understandably shocked.

The butt plugs were lined up on the dresser in order of size, next to a giant jar of lubricant that said Slippery Dick on the label. Both my bedside cabinets had vibrators on them, as though I kept them there for night-time emergencies.

‘Interesting room you have here,’ James said, deadpan.

‘None of it’s mine,’ I snapped back. ‘It’s all from the suitcase that got swapped. My cow of a daughter has been in here doing this. And it looks like the cleaners have been, too, so they’ll have me down as a pervert for the rest of the holiday as well. I’d like to throttle her scrawny neck…’

‘I’m sure the cleaners will have seen it all before. And I won’t hold it against you – I was a teenager once myself; I know what they’re capable of.’

It was so the right reaction. Not a sign of the nudge-nudge wink-wink I’d expected, even with severe provocation. I pulled myself together and told him to sit on the bed. The man was dripping blood on to my carpet, for goodness’ sake – I could kill Lucy later.

I went to fetch my first-aid kit from the bathroom. I have the world’s best first-aid kit. Occupational hazard of being a mother, a teaching assistant, and an almost-doctor.