Chapter 8: Sunshine

I woke in a white bedroom with the sea going on outside and no idea where I'd put my shoes.

Two bags from the cottage stood by the door, packed by someone who didn't know me.

Under them was a note on heavy paper: Pool is through the glass doors. Coffee is where it should be. R.

I followed the sound of water.

The pool ran along the whole back wall of the house, long and green.

A chair lift stood at one end, and I wasn't sure he ever used it.

Ronan was swimming laps.

He swam steadily, without a wasted motion, his shoulders rolling out of the water in turn.

He turned at the wall and came back.

The second time he reached the edge, he planted both hands on the tile and lifted himself clear of the water in one smooth haul.

I should have gone back inside.

Water ran off his back in sheets, over a long pale surgical scar down the middle of his back.

He sat on the edge and breathed, and the muscle across his shoulders rose and fell.

"If you wanted a closer look," he said without turning, "you could have asked."

"I wasn't looking."

"Then you were doing something very focused with your eyes."

"I came for coffee."

"The coffee is in the kitchen. The kitchen is that way." He pointed over his shoulder, wet and unhurried. "You're standing in the doorway."

"Dream on," I said.

"Towel."

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