"I am not getting out in this," said Veronica, wiping the condensation from the car window. "There's absolutely nothing romantic about a stony beach in this lousy sleet."

"Oh, come on, Ver," begged Geoffrey cuddling closer. "You're not happy with the back seat and you won't get out. I must get home soon or Annette will suspect something."

"And she'll be right, won't she."

"Look," begged Geoffrey. "If we can get out into the shade of the seawall, the sleet won't bother us.
Come on, it won't take long."

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" complained Veronica as the sleet tip-tapped on the car roof, "Rolf doesn't like me going to night-school as it is."

Geoffrey and Veronica had been attending evening classes for six months and had made it a habit to visit Mersea beach for 'a spot of closeness' - a situation Geoffrey had engineered - a trap that Veronica had fallen into willingly.
The seven-year itch, Veronica told herself - nobody was getting hurt.

"Come on," said Geoffrey, "I'll use my coat to keep us dry."
Veronica was suddenly jerked from the car into the wet, dark night; the only lights visible were from the defunct nuclear installation across the estuary.

"You're getting me wet," she shouted into the wind. "How am I going to explain that to Ralph?"

"Tell him we had a puncture," shouted Geoffrey over his shoulder.

"We had a puncture last month," said Veronica. "You're too impetuous," she giggled helplessly as they dropped down onto the beach.

"Just randy," laughed Geoffrey pulling her closer in the shadow of the wall. Their lips came together to the exclusion of all else.

"What's that?" whispered Veronica, suddenly untangling herself.
They froze; the shadow cast by the seawall grew darker as, like a ghost, a beam of light swept above them.

"Who's that?" asked Geoffrey stupidly.

"I don't know," she hissed. "They'll see the car."

"No," said Geoffrey regaining his breath. "That light's coming from the other end of the car park."

"Oh, my God," said Veronica in panic. "I hope they don't stay long. I haven't got all night."

"They'll be gone soon," said Geoffrey knowingly. "Come here."

Veronica pushed him away. "No. We need to get out of here, now. Go and look."

"Why me?"

"You're the man, aren't you?"

"I certainly am. Let's ignore them."

"Get your hand off of my leg and get over there. You're already wet."

"Spoilsport," muttered Geoffrey sulkily, retreating from her, his hair matted with icy balls.

"It's two people. They're dragging something across the beach."

"Who are they? What have they got? Is it a body?"

"Don't be silly, Ver."

"Maybe they're terrorists attacking the power station; you read about things like that. Let's call the police."

"We can't do that," said Geoffrey as he bobbed back down in their hidy-hole. "The first thing they'll ask is what we were doing here at this time of night. I'm frozen," he added.

"You're right," replied Veronica. "Get over there and see what's what."

"Me? Why?"

"Yes, you. You never know," she added seductively, "there might be a surprise waiting when you get back."

An enthusiastic Geoffrey leapt into the darkness, his hair a solid of frozen ice. Crawling carefully across the sand and pebbles, he could just make out two silhouettes backlit by the lights across the estuary. Moving closer he could hear their voices. A man and a woman, it seemed - "the crafty devils," he muttered hypocritically. The voices were familiar - too familiar.
With a sudden intake of breath he scrambled crab-like back to Veronica.

"Who is it?" She whispered.

"We've been cuckolded," said Geoffrey. "It's Annette and Ralph!"

[THE END]

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