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“Just bringing a bit of colour to the beach.” She grins, having no idea she brings colour everywhere she goes, no matter what she’s wearing. “Are you telling me you haven’t brought bright yellow swim shorts?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but mine are black.” I reach into my bag and pull out my swim shorts. “Hang on,” I say as the thought hits me. “Where am I going to put these on?” I glance around the beach for the changing rooms.

“You’ll have to put them on here,” Alice says, her smile wider than it should be.

“And how am I going to do that?” I scowl. “It’s okay for you ladies, just rocking up in your bikini under your dress, but men need a little privacy.” I’m starting to sweat, and it’s nothing to do with the hot weather.

“Gosh, you really have never been to the beach before, have you?” Alice remarks as she stands up, pulls her large beach towel from her bag, and then stands in front of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, nerves worming their way through my insides.

She’s holding the towel out like a matador awaiting the arrival of the bull.

“I’ll hold the towel around you, and you can shimmy out of your shorts and into your trunks,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“You make it sound easy.” I scratch my head.

“It’s what everyone does on the beach.” She takes a step closer. “Don’t worry, I won’t peek, and I won’t drop the towel. Well, not on purpose anyway.”

I look down my sunglasses at her.

She holds my gaze. “Seriously, I won’t drop the towel. Now get over here.”

There’s no arguing with her, as she moves in closer and wraps the towel around my waist as if she were drying me off. She doesn’t touch me, and neither does the towel, but she’s so close I can smell the fruitiness of her hair, the freshness of her deodorant, and the slight saltiness of her skin where she’s started to sweat in the heat. I have to concentrate so hard on what I’m doing and not stare at her.

“I’m going to look away, so if there’s a sudden gust of wind, I won’t get an eyeful,” she says with a small smile.

“You’d get more than an eyeful.” I drop my shorts, feeling very vulnerable about the towel being the only thing separating Alice and the rest of the beach from my nakedness.

Alice chuckles as I try to bend to pull on my swim trunks, but there isn’t much room to manoeuvre, and my feet are sinking into the sand, making me wobble.

“This is harder than it looks,” I say as I get one leg into my trunks.

“I’d lend you a hand, but that’d mean dropping the towel,” she jokes, or, at least, I hope she’s joking.

“No hand needed. I’m almost done.”

“That’s what he said.” Alice laughs at her joke just as I get my other leg into the trunks and pull them up.

“Right,” I tell her, and she steps back, takes the towel away, and looks at me.

“You’ve got them on back to front.”

“Please, God, no!” I glance down at the shorts to find they aren’t on back to front, and Alice is laughing her head off. “Not funny,” I tell her.

“I thought it was hilarious.” She folds her towel up and places it on the picnic blanket, then pulls some sun cream out of her bag.

I know what’s coming. I’m going to have to sit here while Alice lathers herself in suntan lotion, and I’m going to have to pretend I’m not watching.

To distract myself, I take my shirt off, fold it up neatly, and place it in my bag. Then I fish my shorts from the picnic blanket and fold them up carefully, packing them away like it’s a military operation that requires 100 percent of my attention, hoping Alice is now fully sun-screened.

But as I turn back to her, she’s not bent over running her hands up and down her legs like she was in my vision; instead, she looks like a contortionist trying to release themselves from a straitjacket as she struggles to put cream on her back.

I’m asking for trouble, know I shouldn’t be offering, but I can’t stand here and watch her burn, as the alternative appears to be.

“Do you need a hand?” I ask.

“Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks. I just can’t quite reach the middle bit of my back.”