Hilaryboyd The New Swimming Costume

John is lovely… but Maggie’s not 21 any more and the long weekend in France he’s booked is giving her sleepless nights

Maggie lay awake at night, worrying – about a swimming costume. She owned an old black Speedo with a faded maroon flash on the side, which she’d had when Pete was alive, so it must be at least seven years old now.

It did fine for splashing in the freezing Cornish sea with the grandchildren, or for the aqua-aerobics class to which she was dragged – unwillingly – by her friend, Jill. But there was no way on this planet it would do for John Huntley.

John had walked into the deli – which she’d set up with her husband, Pete, nearly twenty years ago – early one morning, when the shop was empty. He’d ordered a black coffee and a beef and horseradish sandwich to take away.

“Do you know Harefield House?” he’d asked, waving a glossy estate agent’s brochure in the air.

Wow, he’s handsome, Maggie had thought, by anyone’s standards. Tall, fit, tanned, thick grey hair, his laundered blue shirt matched his eyes – which lit up charmingly when she answered.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t buy that, if I were you. They’ve been trying to flog the place for years and it’s haunted.”

She hadn’t meant to be so direct, but something about the man made her flustered. He’d raised an eyebrow.

“Not even worth a look? I’m not much of a believer in the supernatural.”

She’d blushed and busied herself with cutting his sandwich in half and wrapping it in greaseproof paper.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. The ghost is only rumour.”

So the long and short of it was that John – long-divorced, apparently – had asked her out for a drink. Maggie had nervously accepted. The next time he was down from London doing the rounds of the local agents, he had asked her out again. Maggie had accepted again – less nervously this time.