.." Yes," said Marla, putting the hand that held her ball pen onto her lap. "The waves are beautiful. I could watch them for hours. They are very restful. And you? Where do you come from? I don't recognise the accent. Are you Australian? A New Zealander?" Am I fuck!" he said, rather surprised. "Do I sound like an Ozzie? No, I'm English, me. I come from Newcastle." He noticed Marla's blank expression. "It's in the North West. Near Scotland. In fact, it's a sort of Viking place. It was you Danes that we Geordies originate from." Oh yes," said Marla. That was fascinating. She knew her history. She knew England had once been part of the Danish Empire, but it was very curious to meet an Englishman who was part of the same heritage as her, if in a rather indirect way. "I'm Marla, by the way." Paul," the young man said, reaching out a hand at the end of his skinny bare arm and shaking hers in an unpractised way. "Pleased to meet you, like." Are you here on holiday by yourself?" Naw! But me. “Well, who’s this handsome young man?” my mom Lorraine came out to ask.“Excuse me ma’am, my name is Douglas Goode. Susan here asked me in to have a glass of water. I have been looking for my dog, Scruffy for two hours in the heat – I hope nothing’s happened to him. I have had him since I was nine years old...”“I thought you said his name was Ruffles?” Susan said.Damn! Marty told me to keep my lies easy to remember, “Well, everybody else calls him Ruffles, when he used to climb up on my bed to rest, I started calling him Scruffy – he’s too old to get up on my bed anymore.” I started to cry a little, not intentionally.I felt an arm on my back, “Come sit down, Douglas, it sounds like you miss him – like he might already be gone. Lorraine, could you get him a big glass of water, please?” Susan asked.I heard a baby cry, “Well it sounds like Linda’s up,” mom said coming out of the kitchen handing me the water and heading upstairs.“I’ll keep him company, Lorraine – take your time, it’s OK..
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