I gotta say, I’m high as a kite as we climb into Micheál’s truck and head out along the coast road.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, glancing at the cooler in the back seat.

“I thought I’d show ye the shop and then take ye surfing,” he says grinning.

“Surfing?” I ask touching my, for once, perfectly-styled tresses.

“Ye surf, right?”

“Nope,” I answer, all gee whiz, what a pity. Truth be told, the sea kinda scares me. I mean I like walking along the shore, or paddling in the little waves but mounting a wall of water to ride off the end of it on a fibreglass board seems kind of like a death wish behavior to me.

“Not to worry, I’ll teach ye.” He keeps his eyes on the road, his mind probably already tasting the salty water of the surf.

“Great. Can’t wait.” I look out at the sea crashing against the rocks. He doesn’t speak, but I don’t do silence all that well. “I didn’t know there was surfing in Ireland. I thought it was too dangerous.” There may still be a way out of this madness and I’m not giving in without a fight.

“Too cold, maybe,” he says, laughing as though he’s just said the funniest thing in the world.

“Ha, ha,” I chime in. There will be no backing out, then. No one will ever accuse Erin O’Neill of cowardice.

We pull into the car park of the shop and go inside. There aren’t many customers, and when Micheál greets the salesperson behind the counter, I see it’s Siobhán.

“Hey, Siobhán, how’s it goin’?” I say, very cool. She’s still kind of intimidating but I know she and Micheál are just friends. Do I still sense a tiny bit of rivalry though? Nah, I’m probably just being paranoid.

“Yeah, great, Erin. How ‘bout you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” I smile and nod and have a look around the shop while Micheál and Siobhán talk business. I can see Siobhán showing him a print-out while shaking her head sadly. My gaze wanders. The shop is great; it’s a large space with wooden floors and big windows. They have everything anyone could want to take advantage of the outdoor lifestyle here — surf boards, wind-surfers, kite-surfers, sea kayaks, as well as mountain bikes, rock-climbing equipment and hiking gear. But there are no customers.

“But Micheál…” I can hear Siobhán almost pleading.

“Siobhán, darlin’, ye worry too much. It’s all good.” He kisses her on the forehead, and I look away, embarrassed.

“Well, Erin, what do ye think?” he asks, his arms spread outward taking in his kingdom.

“Yeah, it’s great. I love it!” I’m being honest, too.

“Ye up for a surf, then? We’ll go to Lahinch. It’s got the best waves. Siobhán has picked out a steamer and board for ye, so we’re all good.”

Siobhán smiles at me as if to say, you’re welcome, and I smile tightly back.

“Ye can change in the dressing rooms,” she says helpfully. “The beach is in walking distance from here.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Micheál is talking to a customer about waxing his board, so I take the wetsuit and all the other bits and go to get ready.

I remove Ridlee’s clothes carefully and am left in my VS underwear that now seems ridiculously out of place. Goosebumps appear all over my skin, so I try to get into the wetsuit as quickly as possible lest Micheál, or worse, Siobhán appear. The wetsuit, otherwise known as a steamer, I guess, has long sleeved arms and legs, and I can only hope that I’ll be steaming in the warm sense of the word once I have it on. I bend down to see what else she has given me. There’s a hood — bye-bye sexy hair — gloves, and slipper shoes. “Fuck, how cold is it gonna be?” I mutter to myself, trying to zip up the wetsuit.

“You okay?” calls Micheál from way too close. He’s hovering on the other side of the curtain.

“Yup. No probs. Just coming!” I manage to get the zipper up, thanks to the long attachment, and pack my hair under the hood. The rubber pulls at tiny hairs around my hairline and tears involuntarily prick my eyes. It covers my whole head and much of my face. Even the shoes have to be forced on. I stand up, a little unsteady; the suit isn’t exactly easy to move in. I look like an incompetent burglar. So much for sexy arse! Neoprene does nothing for me.

“Are ye right, Erin? Time’s a wasting!” calls Micheál.

I walk out as casually as I can.  Siobhán stifles a giggle.

“So glad to be able to brighten your day, Siobhán,” I say, presenting myself.

“Ah, Siobhán! She doesn’t need the hood and the gloves today.” Micheál tries to remove the hood but my hair is tangled up in it. By the time we free it, the waves have become tight knots matted here and there on my head. I pull off the shoes and gloves and deposit the items in front of Siobhán, who is innocently standing at the cash register.

“Oops,” she says, barely hiding her laughter.

“Yeah, oops,” I echo. Like I said, maybe a tiny residue of rivalry. She’s probably worried I’m going to hurt Micheál. I give her my most open I come in peace smile.

She warms a little. “Relax, ye look hot in that,” she says, in what sounds like a sincere tone. I look around at the large mirror behind me. I do look hot. I smile. “Shame about the hair, though.”

“Surf does that anyway,” she says shrugging.

Micheál, who had gone in the back to change, reappears also wearing a wetsuit with a surfboard under each arm. He hasn’t pulled his wetsuit all the way up and his chest is exposed. I look away ‘cause my knees are literally beginning to buckle.

“Shall we go?” He nods toward the sea.

I take my board, the longer of the two. “After you.”

The rain has let up a little and is now what the Irish call bog, or a soft rain, which is barely considered rain at all.

“The weather’s being good to us,” says Micheál looking up at the sky, somewhat over-optimistically in my view, but hey, it’s only weather.

We walk across the road barefoot and head down to the beach at Lahinch. I’m surprised to find that there are already quite a few surfers in the water. We get to the water’s edge and Micheál stops.

“Right … a few pointers.” He places the boards on the sand.

I cock my head, ready to receive and absorb important information. Taking me by the shoulders he places me in front of him on the board, facing away from him. His touch makes me tingle all over. I can feel his chest against my shoulders, his fingers lightly on my neck. I wait, barely breathing in anticipation of his next move.

Without a word of warning he shoves me forward, almost violently.

“Hey! What the…?” I turn on him, half ready for a fight. “What d’ye do that for?”

He laughs. “Ye’re goofy-footed.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say about my feet?”

“Ye’ll put your right foot forward when ye surf. That’s how ye find out which foot ye use naturally. Left foot forward is regular-footed, right foot forward is goofy-footed. Ye’re goofy-footed. So am I.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, somewhat appeased. “What else?”

“Paddling and popping up.” He gets down on the board and shows me how to push the board under the waves and then pop up the other side.

I try too. “Seems simple enough,” I say as I get to my feet. “What else?”

He smiles at me and continues with his pointers. “On yer first couple of waves, try to catch the whitewater and ride it straight into the beach. When ye see a small wall of whitewater rolling yer way, point yer board toward the beach, lie flat on yer stomach, and paddle. Stay on yer stomach, don’t try to make it up to yer feet. Instead, stay lying on yer stomach, notice how the board moves when it’s riding a wave, rock side-to-side to test the board’s stability and how easily it turns. Okay?”

“Gotcha.”

We get into the water and begin to paddle out to the breakwater. It’s cold but soon the suit warms me up and I stop thinking about it. Paddling and popping is hard but I start to get the hang of it and I even manage to catch a couple of small waves. I shriek with laughter as I go bombing along the white water until I reach the shore. Then I turn around and paddle back out. At one point I’m bouncing along the foamy white water and I see Micheál riding the wave I’m on but he’s on it properly. He looks magnificent, knees bent, leaning into the wall of water, riding high until he turns his board and drops into the sea.