Deep Diving

by Cate Ellink

  I glance at Cooper. I need to listen to my own advice. My aversion to relationships and children may be defeating me before I start.

  Sue nods her thanks. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘I’m from Adelaide, you?’

  ‘We’re all from Sydney.’

  There’s a lull in the conversation before Matt takes up the unanswered question. ‘What did you say you did, Cooper?’

  Cooper’s smile is reluctant and rueful but he answers the question. ‘I play football.’ When Jim does a double-take, Cooper smiles. ‘Yeah, like you said, I look like him.’

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ Sue covers her mouth with her hand. ‘We won’t tell anyone you’re here. It must be awful.’

  Cooper brushes my arm lightly. ‘It’s okay. I’m used to it.’ He might be, but I’m not.

  Margaret looks from one of us to the other. She frowns up at her husband, obviously trying to convey something to him but he’s not receiving. Eventually she says, ‘I’m sorry, but it is league you’re talking about and you’re the Australian halfback?’

  Cooper nods and I do a bit of my own double-take. Australian halfback? He downplayed that. In all the Olympics talk he didn’t once offer that he too had represented the country.

  Margaret frowns and swings her hand in the air between me and Cooper. ‘But they don’t play league in Adelaide, do they?’

  The four men make that strained laugh men make when they’re embarrassed. I answer her. ‘Cooper and I aren’t…that is…’ Oh shit. What are we? I take a breath and try again, conscious of the burning intensity of Cooper’s gaze. I’ve jumped in too quickly and I’ve no idea what to say. I should have left this to him. I can’t embarrass him. I can’t straight-out lie. I don’t want to tell the complete truth. Hell. I look up and meet Cooper’s stare hoping to convey to him my difficulty in expressing us. He only smiles, leaving me to stammer, ‘We only met recently. We’ve been diving together.’

  A loud ‘Oh’ escapes the group. I’m not sure if that’s ‘Oh, our mistake, you’re not together’, or ‘Oh, you don’t want to tell us’, or some other ‘Oh’.

  ‘We’d best be heading off.’ And with that, Greg calls us all to attention and the walk begins.

  I was hoping the group would split into couples and I’d be able to speak to Coop, but it splits by gender, and I’m left with Sue and Margaret. They are lovely and it’s pleasant as we walk towards the base of the hills, chatting. But I keep zoning in on the men’s conversation, trying to hear more about Cooper. They’re talking football but it seems more generic than specific, and Coop’s not saying much.

  The walk is difficult for Sue and Margaret. It’s single file, lots of vertical climbs with just a rope and your balance to hoist you up, and they’re struggling. Although they’re continuing without complaint. The conversation drops as the walk becomes a climb. A serious climb.

  The vegetation is ever-changing. Thick and lush at places, stunted and struggling when exposed. Sometimes trees as far as you can see. Other times not a tree nearby and only small ferns and mosses struggling to hold to the precarious rock face. Big mountain palms break out from the top of the canopy whenever we get a view. It’s incredible. A challenging walk but breathtakingly beautiful.

  We reach the summit and it is spectacular. Worth every drop of sweat, every tired muscle. It’s a stunted rainforest, suitable for hobbits and other fairy folk. Sue and Margaret are ecstatic to have made the effort. The ocean is endless blue with only the solid grey wall of Balls Pyramid jutting from the deep to disturb it. Lord Howe Island, a gleaming emerald, is spread beneath us. Lots of thick vegetation, with tiny strips of flat pasture land. Incredibly beautiful. We’re so lucky to be here. The hills at the far end of the island look miniscule, and Malabar Hill is not miniscule as my legs well know.

  The sky is dazzling azure without a cloud to be seen, which is fortunate because if there were clouds they would no doubt be around the mountain hiding this stunning vista. A cloudy mist hangs in the forest and in each dip in the mountainside.

  The lagoon is still. Every shade of blue and green on display — turquoise, emerald, lime, azure, navy, teal, periwinkle, dark olive, and sea green. The patches of coral are dark, the holes we’ve dived even darker. Beyond the lagoon, the ocean stops at the edge with precision in white foam. There’s churning and deeper colours and shades where the ocean floor dips and hollows.

  After we’ve gasped and filled the air with oohhs and aahhs, we find a spot for lunch. Another group affair. There hasn’t been time for individual discussions, so I’ve not been able to talk to Cooper about my growing discomfort. There’s something about the men that bothers me. It prickles my unease. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. I spend lunch time watching and listening. If I think on the way down, I might work it out.

  Jim talks a lot through lunch. His kids have begun adult lives and he’s full of talk about them. I’m glad I haven’t been with him for most of the climb. He gets on my nerves with his endless chatter and bragging.

  He draws a breath and looks at Cooper. ‘You moved across the country when you were a kid. Your family’s in Queensland, aren’t they? I don’t suppose you see them very often.’

  I stare at Jim, then at Cooper, back to Jim. Does everyone know everything about him?

  ‘Yes, I grew up in Queensland, and no, I don’t get back there much.’

  I watch Cooper as he speaks. His words are quiet, delivered simply, but there’s unease about him I haven’t seen before. His eyes don’t quite meet anyone’s. His shoulders are drawn back tightly. And his smiles have disappeared. This is a Cooper I haven’t met before and one I’m not sure how to reach. And he hasn’t talked. He just rephrased what was told to him. That’s weird. Not like Cooper with me at all. They seem to know about him, and I know him. I think, although it makes me wonder.

  Once lunch is over, we retrace our steps. It’s almost silent and definitely awe-inspiring. There’s more time to look and listen on the descent. The occasional bird swoop and bleat, a discordant noise, tears the stillness. The ocean below hisses against rocks in a rhythm as soothing as a sighing breeze. Chatter is minimal. I’m not sure if it’s because the older couples require their breath or if the majesty of the place has captured and silenced them.

  I stand near Cooper at one tight corner where we’ve stopped for a break and I slip my fingers into his hand, squeezing and giving him a smile when he looks at me. He smiles back but it’s tight and strained. I trace my thumb across the back of his hand, stroking over muscle and veiny outcrops but he doesn’t relax. The walk continues.

  We head back to earth, and the path is slower going on the downhill journey. It’s steep and somewhat slippery. At certain points, Greg and Cooper help everyone across.

  Cooper naturally helps everyone. He’s unassuming, polite, but always there. Not once has someone needed assistance and he hasn’t been on hand to provide it. Even the simplest action of touching an elbow to steady Margaret, or holding out a hand to give Sue the confidence to jump a small opening.

  As I watch him, my heart swells. The dive buddy I’ve had is real. He hasn’t invented this kindness, this consideration. It’s truly him.

  I understand him better after today. I had no comprehension of his fame, for want of another word, but seeing the men ‘own’ him within seconds of meeting him has stunned me. The way Jim knew about Cooper’s family, and assumed he knew him, is frightening.

  I shiver.

  ‘Cold, Sam?’ Cooper’s voice is a soft rumble from behind me.

  I shake my head. ‘No, sorry. Just thinking.’

  ‘Whatever it is can’t be good.’

  I bite my lips together and shake my head. I know he can’t see my face but I don’t want him to know how my thoughts have affected me. If I speak, I’m scared he’ll hear my concern, my fear. I was beginning to think I could take a chance on him but I don’t know that I can survive his fame.

  We keep walking, almost in silence, until the path wid
ens. Cooper comes up beside me and our arms brush against each other. I turn and smile, ready to catch his hand and talk about the trip but Jim stops ahead of us and turns back, asking Cooper more football questions and effectively taking my place beside Coop. Margaret and Sue are in front of us. Greg and Matt ahead of them. I slip back and walk behind Cooper and Jim.

  I’m astounded that he’s done that. Why isn’t he talking to his wife, or his mate? I stretch my neck, rolling my head from side to side to stretch out the muscles. It’s no big deal. I can talk to Cooper tonight and tomorrow.

  The Mount Gower climb has been overshadowed by football and fame. Yet the conversation isn’t about asking Coop his opinion, it’s all about telling and wanting confirmation, or recognition, or acknowledgement.

  I’ve never experienced this. No one is this interested in triathlons.

  And then it hits me. They are. It’s to a lesser degree but there are fanatics everywhere. Often it’s a retired triathlete, or a failed one, or someone injured, who captures you and dissects each leg, each race, each competitor. It happens. It’s happened to me. You’re stuck, caught in a web where you can’t upset them because they’re a fan, so you can’t get away.

  ‘Excuse me. Excuse me.’ I push past each pair to catch up to Greg. ‘Greg, I’m really sorry to do this but it’s getting late and Cooper and I need to run along to catch a night dive. It’s been a fantastic trip, thank you, but do you mind if we take off?’

  ‘Not at all. Sorry, I didn’t realise you had to get back.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. We can run and make up time. Thanks Margaret, Sue, Jim and Matt. It’s been a great day.’

  Cooper is looking at me as if I’ve sprouted a pair of horns from my head. Or maybe it’s my nose growing from the lies I’ve told. But he doesn’t disagree. He makes his farewells and we jog away from the group. When we reach flatter ground we stride out and stretch into a run. The tension in my body eases.

  ‘Sorry I lied.’ I flick a glance towards Cooper who is laughing silently. His face is again relaxed and the old Cooper is there.

  ‘I’m not.’ He flashes that knee-weakening grin at me and I try not to lose stride but it’s difficult.

  We run home along the flat ground at a fast pace and it’s a strain to keep up with him but the exhilaration is something else. I feel young, alive, vibrant, buzzing. I’m tired but wired. The stress of the day’s discoveries lessens. Air blows over my face, tangy with sea salt, cool and refreshing.

  By the time we’re home, we fall through the door, both panting. I bend over to catch my breath. ‘God, Coop, I didn’t think you’d ever break a sweat.’

  He grins, that knee-weakener on serious mega-wattage. ‘Samantha Caine, why did you lie to those nice people?’

  I catch his intense gaze, meet his deep chocolate stare. I should be flippant. I should say I needed his body. But this moment demands the truth. Although my stomach turns knots thinking about admitting why I lied, a tiny part of my heart is ajar, waiting to see where this leads.

  ‘I couldn’t listen to them any more. Geez, Coop. You weren’t a person to them, you were a topic, a commodity. I couldn’t stand watching you close up. I couldn’t bear it any more.’ My voice tapers off because he has a look that I can’t read and my stomach has flipped over itself and is strangling my guts. I can’t breathe and I’m scared I’m going to puke.

  ‘You lied for me, to protect me?’ His voice gives me no inkling as to what he’s thinking either.

  ‘Fuck. It was only a white lie, a tiny one. I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m sorr—’

  ‘Don’t you dare apologise.’ Cooper steps towards me and captures my hand in one of his, the other cups my cheek and lifts my face upwards. His thumb strokes across my cheek. Strong and soothing. ‘Sam, what am I going to do without you?’ His lips catch mine and his kiss disturbs my insides. My heart has been pushed wide open and I’m not sure I want to jam it closed again.

  There’s this part of me that hurts, though. And I need to face that part before I can have any portion of my heart available.

  I pull away from the kiss. One step backwards gives me the distance to think. I draw in a deep breath. ‘You played for Australia. Why didn’t you tell me that?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘I raved on about the Olympics and you didn’t think to say you’d represented Australia too?’ My heart’s thumping and I’m more wired up than I should be. It’s like everything is escalating.

  ‘You didn’t rave, Sam, I enjoyed listening and hearing about your experiences.’

  My teeth gnaw my lower lip. He’s avoiding answering. I need to nail this. I need to work through these things that have stirred up enough to bug me. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it but wouldn’t it have been better if we shared? Compare, contrast, discuss the same experience.’ I wave my hand as I try to get across my thoughts.

  It’s trite when I say the words aloud. How do I explain that I feel cheated because he knows all my experiences and I don’t know his?

  ‘I… Yes, I suppose I should have said something, but…’ He threads his fingers through his hair and his gaze avoids mine. He shifts a little further away, turns his head slightly, and folds his arms across his chest. ‘I didn’t know you well enough to tell you then. But you’re right. I should have told you. It’s just…I don’t know how to explain it.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘Did you see Jim today?’ I nod. ‘Most people are like him. And if they aren’t, then…’ He shrugs. ‘It sounds like I’m skiting.’

  ‘Oh, and I didn’t sound like that?’

  He holds up a finger and thumb a few centimetres apart before giving me his trademark grin. ‘Only a tiny bit.’

  I swat his bicep, my anger dissipating quickly. One stupid grin and I weaken. How bad am I? ‘Are you saying I was skiting?’

  He chuckles. ‘Only enough to lure me into wanting you.’

  Laughing, I swat his arm harder. ‘I did not lure you.’

  ‘You did so. Everything you do is alluring.’

  ‘Oh, like the wolf-whistle you hated.’

  He leans right over me, his chest brushing against my nipples, his breath skimming across my neck. ‘No one’s ever wolf-whistled me before.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I’m laughing and I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking.

  ‘I never kid.’ His lips nibble at my neck, along my collarbone up to my shoulder, then along my ear and jaw. I lean into him. Concentrating on the wet heat he’s trailing across me. The cool air of the room drifts across the damp trails, making me quiver. He reads this as arousal, and I am in no position to argue. All my worry vanishes in my haze of lust.

  We’re still hot and sweaty from the day and the run home but the sweat only increases my arousal. His scent is strong, filling my mind with only him. My body slips against his. My arms slide freely around his neck. I drag my hands down his damp T-shirt and then struggle to pull it over his head without losing contact with him.

  It’s impossible to undress and kiss. We break apart and clothes fly. Then we’re together again, slithering against one another, tasting and touching. He presses me against the wall and I climb his body trying to be in a position to take him inside me. It’s hot and completely heady. His cock presses hard between my thighs and I rock over the head waiting for his surging entry thrust but he holds off. A second too long.

  ‘Coop?’ All my frustration comes out in his name.

  He just grins and holds me still.

  ‘Forgetting something?’

  I stare at him. Nothing comes to mind except the pounding need for him. I squirm again. And stop.

  ‘Oh my God.’ A chill slides down my spine. ‘Oh, thank God you stopped.’

  Cooper puts an arm under my butt and holds me clinging on to his hips. ‘Stay there. I can grab one. Just don’t squirm.’

  I can’t believe I didn’t remember safety. I’ve never done that. Or not in the last 20 years, anyhow. I tip my head back as self-recrimination hits.
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  ‘Don’t you dare leave me.’ Cooper’s words are punctuated with a tongue licking across my nipple, first one then the other. ‘That’s better.’ He moves and I lean to help, pulling out the condom and holding it for him. He sheathes himself.

  ‘I can’t bel—’

  His mouth on mine cuts off any more words. Again I’m pressed to the wall and his cock presses for entry. But my mind, with all its worries and doubts, has kicked in and Cooper seems to know it. He takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks, biting, flicking, extending the tender flesh between tight lips. His hands hold my hips tightly, thumbs digging in hard, directing my hips in a slow rolling movement while his mouth feasts on the other nipple. My brain turns to lust and his cock surges inside me. I arch, cry out, then drop against his hips trying for deeper or harder or more. Something.

  It’s fast and hard but slower than this morning’s efforts. And somehow, even in all the fury and haste, there’s emotion I haven’t felt before. A togetherness, the sort I’ve never experienced and so can’t identify. Maybe it’s just that we peak simultaneously, with no effort at all. That we fly at the exact second without waiting or coaxing. The synchronicity amplifying my orgasm so that it’s harder, stronger, deeper and more shattering. And leaves me lying limply over his shoulder.

  I’m lucky that Cooper doesn’t weaken. He strides to the shower with me still attached. The spray hits me hard and I leap. His cock comes free and he discards the condom before gently lowering me to the floor. Then he washes me with a tenderness that almost breaks me. He shampoos my hair, and holds me close while he washes himself. Then he bundles me against his huge chest, holding me close and pressing butterfly kisses across my face. He dries me and wraps me in a towel, sitting me on the ledge to wait while he dries himself.

  Once we’re both dry and clad in towels, he lifts me to his chest again and carries me to the bed. He sits on the edge but doesn’t release me. His hand skims my hair. His lips press against my temple.