For six weeks, Gemma’s holiday job meant she was in charge of the ice cream hut on the seafront. On damp wet drizzly days she wasn’t busy; the time dragged and she found it boring and wished for more customers. On sunny days, the opposite. Too many customers, long queues snaking all along the promenade.

Today was dawning balmy and bright. Soon she would be busy so she loaded extra boxes of Magnums and Cornettos into the freezer, stopping only to gaze across to the beach where the lifeguards were setting up for the day. She could pick him out easily – he was taller than the rest of the team, and in Gemma’s eyes he was the most handsome, with beautiful brown eyes with really long lashes. He always came to the hut to buy a Cornetto (mint chocolate) at 4 o'clock. He was polite, talked about the weather and probably spent only two minutes at the hut, but these were the best two minutes of her day. She guessed he was a bit older than her. He always thanked her by name (she wore her name badge on her uniform), as she handed him his ice cream.

About the same time each afternoon two small boys always came across from the nearby beach huts. The older brother, about nine, clutched a £5 note and did the asking and paying. The younger one seemed a bit of a handful, climbing on to and jumping off everything along the beachfront. He was called Nigel. Gemma had heard the older one shout his name to get him to come over, stand still and take hold of his ice cream.

By midday the beach was crowded and ice cream sales were exceptional. Gemma’s queue never seemed to diminish. No time for looking at the life guards. No time for daydreaming. Later in the afternoon she just found time to eat her packed lunch and look forward to his visit. Would he notice her new lipstick? Would he stop longer to chat? Would he… another customer interrupted her thoughts.

At 4 o'clock she saw he had arrived and was waiting in the small queue. Ahead of him was the older brother with another £5 note. Nigel was nearby jumping off a wooden bench and pretending to be Superman. At the third leap Superman did not land safely. He crashed head first onto the tarmac of the promenade with a loud thud and a wail. Gemma watched as ‘her’ lifeguard sprinted away from the queue and knelt down next to the crumpled form of the little boy.

‘Gemma,’ he called urgently. ‘Gemma, phone 999. Ask for an ambulance. Tell them concussion and a suspected broken arm.’ Gemma grabbed her mobile and did as she was told. She buzzed both from the urgency of the situation and also from the fact he’d remembered her name.

‘It’s on the way,’ she called out. She could see her hero on his knees next to Nigel. A lady in the queue was holding the older brother’s hand. Sensible as ever, he was telling her their Mum’s mobile number. Minutes later Mum arrived at the same time as the ambulance.

In half an hour it was all over. Mum and the two boys had gone in the ambulance to the local hospital and Gemma was left staring at ‘her’ lifeguard who now wanted his Cornetto (mint chocolate).

‘On the house,’ she said, offering it to him. ‘You were wonderful with that little boy.’

He smiled at her. ‘I knew he wouldn’t make it to the end of the week without some mishap. I’ve rescued him twice from drifting out to sea on his air bed. Thanks for your help.’ He took the Cornetto from her. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got time for a drink when you finish later?’

Gemma felt her cheeks redden. Did he really say that? ‘That would be lovely,’ she managed to reply. ‘But I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Nigel,’ he said with a grin. ‘Hopefully not like the other one!’