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talk. I can pick up the mobile and do that. Now are you going to open the bloody door or am I going back to my roof?’
    She loved the way he undressed her, gently peeling off each garment with throaty noises of appreciation as if he saw her with new eyes every time. He pushed her into the changing room and drew the inky blue curtain around him then lifted her on to his thighs, her back against the wall, so they could watch themselves in the mirror. Having admired her slender legs gripping his muscly bum and been reassured that her small breasts were still worthy of their silver nipple ring, Cathy lifted her head, tossed back her long hair and concentrated on more important things.
    ‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh GOD!’
    ‘Oh Christ, my legs!’ said Rick. ‘That’s what you call a knee-trembler.’ Ever the gentleman, he reached out for one of the long floaty scarves that people seemed to buy but never wear and slid it between her legs as he eased out. Cathy made a mental note not to put it back on display.
    ‘I thought you were showing off a bit,’ she teased, watching him trying to rub some life back into the tops of his legs. ‘I’ve got some juniper oil in the shop somewhere. S’posed to be good for overexertion. Don’t go away.’ Backing out of the changing room her smile froze when she found that neither of them had remembered to put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door, and she was being regarded with some confusion by a Miss Marple-alike.
    ‘Are you some sort of protestor?’ asked the little old lady, bearing her handbag in case of attack.
    ‘No, absolutely not,’ beamed Cathy. ‘I’m—’
    The little old lady waited.
    ‘I’m—,’ Cathy looked down at the ends of the scarf still tucked between her legs. ‘I’m Salome in our amateur dramatic production and I was just practising my dance of the seven veils.’
    A flash of the old lady’s very white teeth signalled her approval. ‘And do you sell tickets?’
    Cathy’s mind went blank. ‘What sort of tickets?’
    ‘For the show. It looks like great fun!’
    Seeing Rick’s rigid feet and bare ankles protruding from the changing cubicle, Cathy rose to the challenge of making them quiver. ‘No, unfortunately members of the cast aren’t allowed to, but you will be able to buy them from the library in a couple of weeks. Five pounds is the usual price, but it’s half that for students and senior citizens. Quite a bargain, wouldn’t you agree?’ A muffled guffaw from behind the curtain told her she had hit the spot.
    ‘Splendid! Now I’d better not hold you up any longer. Keep up the good work!’
    Hastily locking the door before Miss Marple remembered what she’d originally come in for, Cathy surprised a sober-suited businessman who was staring in at the window display. As he shot off looking somewhat pink about the gills she wondered whether, after her impromptu streak, he would be more or less likely to buy the Blue Heaven massage oil he’d been eyeing.
    ‘You might have to practise that dance in front of me later,’ Rick grinned, zipping up his jeans.
    ‘Oh yes?’ said Cathy, spotting her knickers at last. ‘And what do I get on a plate?’
    ‘My balls if I don’t get back to work soon.’
    ‘Better get a move on then, I prefer them where they are.’ She straightened up and looked at her husband. ‘That was fun, wasn’t it? Like the good old days.’
    ‘So I’m past it, am I?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Not you as well. I get enough from the blokes on site calling me bleedin’ granddad.’
    ‘Oh don’t be so daft!’ She wrapped her arms round him and buried her face in his neck. The old hurt was still there no matter how careful they were not to prod the scar tissue. ‘I do wonder where the years have gone.’ She sighed. ‘It only seems like yesterday that the girls were babies. Now Stevie’s at university, and May … I hope she comes to her senses and realises just what she stands to lose in this bid for what she calls