by Lisa Glass
“I guess, but I was high for a lot of the time, so it’s mostly a big blur. I can barely remember faces, let alone names.”
“Terrific. When did you stop counting?”
“Pretty early on. But I wasn’t going home with chicks every night. Maybe one out of three nights.”
“That’s still ten girls a month. Bloody hell, Zeke.”
He put his hand over his eyes and ran it over his forehead, sweeping loose strands of hair from his face. “Yeah.”
“And this went on for how long?”
“Maybe two years.”
He’d slept with over two hundred girls. I tried to picture them standing in one long row and me walking past them all. How long would that take? What would they have told me about Zeke if I’d asked them?
“Please don’t tell my mom,” he said. “That is not the way she raised me.”
“I won’t say anything,” I said, thinking that Sephy probably wouldn’t be as shocked as Zeke thought. She seemed open-minded about everything. Still, talking to Zeke’s mother about his sexual history was not on my to-do list. I’d pretty much rather grate off my own tongue than have that conversation.
“Does Garrett know?” I asked.
If Garrett knew, then Kelly would know.
“Most of the time he wasn’t around. He did a year of college before he flunked out to go on this road trip across the mainland. He had a personal challenge thing going on. He was traveling alone, and the idea was to swim in every river he came to.”
“That’s so Garrett.”
“I know, right? But after a few months he got some ear infection that kept him out of the water, so the mission changed from swimming in every river to drinking in every bar. That went on until he got into a motorcycle accident, broke his foot and took the next flight to Oahu. You know, I think if Garrett hadn’t been away so long, I wouldn’t have gone so far down Route Meth, because if he’d seen what I was getting into, he’d have beaten me about the head and hauled my ass back home.” He looked away, remembering things he would never be able to fully share with me.
“What was I saying? What did you ask?” he said, looking up.
“About the girls. If Garrett knows.”
“He probably has an idea.”
“What about Wes?”
“Wes doesn’t ask me about stuff like that. He minds his business. And you gotta remember, the drugs were a big part of it. Everything was a blur, out of control. I wasn’t exactly writing a daily journal.”
“So no one knows except me?”
“Right. I wouldn’t just go tossing out that kind of information, even to my brothers.”
I could understand that. It wasn’t as if I’d ever opted to have a deep and meaningful conversation with my sister. Lily was the last person I’d confide in.
The next question I had to ask was beyond awkward, and there was no polite way of phrasing it.
“Could you have got any of those girls pregnant?”
Zeke recoiled a little at this. I didn’t see how he could be surprised though. It was surely something he had to have considered.
“Not that I know. I was . . . careful.”
Careful. The idea brought images into my mind that I could have done without.
“Always?”
“I think so. Mostly.”
“But you’re not sure cos you were high so often?”
“Right. I think I’m in the clear, because if I were that gone, I wouldn’t be able to, um, you know, but I can’t be one hundred percent.”
“But in theory it’s possible that there could be a bunch of little Zekes running around out there?”
“I sure hope not, and, you know, I think I’d have heard by now if there were.”
Not necessarily, I thought, and definitely not if Anders had anything to do with it.
“Man, I’m sorry, Iris. I regret it, like, so much. I wish I didn’t have to put all this BS on you and I wish I could go back and do things better.”
I knew that feeling so well. Wanting to go back and reverse all the terrible decisions I’d made, but there came a point where you just had to swallow shit and hope to keep it down.
“You were going through stuff. And anyway, you were doing what loads of people would have done in your circumstances. I mean, I’m not stoked to think of so many girls getting it on with my boyfriend, but we were both different people back then.”
“I’m glad you know, even though I’m sad too. Is that the way you feel?”
“I’m glad you were honest with me. Don’t freak out when I tell you I’m getting an STI test, but I’m not doing it to make a point. I just need to know.”
“I get it. I’ll come get one with you, even though those things are like terrible for guys.”
“They’re no picnic for girls either, by the way.”
“Iris?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, looking up into his face.
“Don’t ever do that again. Don’t leave me like that.”
I felt such a rush of heat then, like my body was coming round from pins and needles. I’d loved Daniel, but that wasn’t anything like this. Zeke and I were traveling together, having new experiences together, doing everything together, with no family or friends as a safety net. All we had was each other.
“I won’t,” I said.
Zeke kissed me, and though I was still raw with sadness and embarrassment, I felt like we’d turned a corner. I’d allowed him to see the very worst of me: the petty, angry, jealous sores I usually kept hidden because they were so ugly, and he hadn’t walked away. We’d been through the fire and we hadn’t given up on each other, which had to mean something.
He curled around me, his skin damp with night sweat.
“You think we can start fresh in the morning?” he said.
chapter twenty-four
When I came around again, the French windows were open and I could feel the morning breeze on my face. The sun was low in the sky and Zeke was cross-legged on the end of the bed, playing with his iPad.
He was showered and dressed, and looked perfectly fine. Whereas I had horrendous morning breath and the body odor of an alcoholic street-sleeper.
“Urrr,” I said.
“I just threw on some coffee. You want some?”
I shook my head. “Maybe later.”
“Feel better?”
“A bit.” Which was to say: not at all.
My phone started ringing and Daniel’s name flashed onscreen. I pressed Ignore and added him to my phone’s block list.
“Who called?”
“I don’t know. Spammers, probably.”
“You think you can eat breakfast?”
I felt my stomach lurch. Even though I was quite hungry, the idea of food was horrendous. A bite of toast and I’d puke. A glass of water and I’d puke. In fact, I thought, jumping out of bed, right now I’m gonna puke.
I ran to the bathroom and managed to get the majority of it in the loo, but sick spatter decorated the floor tiles and the toilet seat too. My knees were weak and my eyes watered. I stared at the redness of the vomit, thought it was blood and then remembered the wine. I was attempting to use some toilet roll to clear up the worst of the mess when my chest heaved again.
I didn’t hear Zeke come into the room, and even though it was mortifying for him to see me like this, I was glad I wasn’t alone. He rubbed my back and told me to get it all out so I’d feel better, and when I was finally through with emptying my stomach, he led me toward the shower, helped me out of my clothes and ran me a stream of cool water, which was just what I needed.
When I stepped out of the shower, twenty minutes later, I saw that Zeke had cleaned up my disgusting mess, which must have been torture for him, puke-phobic as he was.
I brushed my teeth, towel-dried my hair and then went into the bedroom, which was empty. I opened the doors to the balcony and saw that Zeke had set the table with a glass of water and some graham crackers.
“What time is it?” I s
aid.
“Nine twenty. Can you eat crackers?” he said, concern in his eyes.
I nodded, and he got up to pull out a chair for me. He hadn’t said a critical word, hadn’t blamed me for getting so drunk; he just cared that I was all right.
I drank my water and ate my crackers, which were actually more like digestive biscuits. I didn’t want to think about the night before, our first major argument, but I punished myself with other thoughts. Like flirting with Seb. Like calling Daniel.
“Oh crap,” Zeke said, as his iPad started pinging out its alert tone. “We better get down to the port. We have that photo shoot for Ursula.”
When we arrived down at the docks huge cargo ships everywhere, stacked high with brightly colored shipping containers Ursula ran at us, kissed us both on both cheeks and said, “What is this black eye I’m seeing, Zeke? MAKE-UP!”
“Yeah, I hit my face on my surfboard,” he said, lying his ass off but at least looking sheepish about it.
Ursula shook her head and started giving us instructions in a hyper voice, while jogging on the spot. She was wearing a bra top and hotpants and she had her hair in loose bunches. She’d decided against a motorcycle spread and was instead going to include Zeke in some health-and-fitness feature how to get a six-pack in three days or some such rubbish. And as well as the spread, she wanted a short video to put on their website. She’d brought two photographers with her, a camerawoman, several assistants and a dozen extras. Worse, she insisted I be in the picture too, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I didn’t mind keeping fit and did a few hours’ exercise most days: yoga; a nice jog along the beach; some open-water swimming; a bit of coasteering when the swells weren’t too crazy, and surfing every minute I could. Stuff that felt fun. Stuff where you didn’t really notice you were training.
This was not that.
This was constant, muscle-shredding repetitions in the blazing morning sun, surrounded by fitness-obsessed strangers in Lycra. And worse, this was in front of cameras, so I couldn’t even slack off. I’d been expecting a bit of light posing.
“Zeke,” I said, gasping for breath, “water.”
“Sit this one out. We’ll get drinks after.”
I tried to crack on for a bit longer but it was agony. It wasn’t just that my muscles were tired. I felt as if I had torn my abdominals, done damage that would take a week or more to heal. And the fact that I had a brutal hangover made it all so much worse.
Five reps into the third set of stomach crunches, I got up and walked to the main road.
Zeke was right behind me.
“I’m so sorry about this I should’ve said no.”
“You’re fine. I’ve just had enough.”
“So you’re going? Like, halfway through?”
“Yeah. I didn’t even want to be in this picture anyway.”
“Wait up I’ll come with you.”
We turned back and everyone was staring at us, waiting for us to come back to the set.
“Ursula’s arranged all this for you, and she wants you to stay. You should stay.”
“I’m not ditching you.”
“No, I’m ditching you. I have Google Maps on my phone. I’ll be fine. Go do press-ups and look pretty. I’ll find myself a cafe and chill out.”
And that was exactly what I did. For the next two hours. And it was exactly what I needed.
When I finally texted Zeke to tell him where I was, I felt better; and when he arrived, he looked better too.
The waitress brought our drinks over and I sat there sipping a tea, which was basically lukewarm water in a china cup, served with a fresh teabag on the side of the saucer. I dunked it in but it barely changed the color of the water, and there wasn’t even any milk. Then she brought me my biscuits, which turned out to be savory scones, which immediately sucked all the moisture out of my mouth.
Zeke popped to the loo to wash away the make-up they’d plastered all over his face in an attempt to cover up some spots and his black eye, and when he came back he sat across from me and jabbed at his phone.
I was tempted to ask him what he was doing, but I thought I’d take a leaf out of Kelly’s book and play it cool. Eventually he said, “I just sent you a link to Dropbox. Check it out.”
I loaded up Dropbox on my phone, and frowned.
“What is this?”
“Hypnosurfing.”
“My aunt Zoe did hypnobirthing.”
“This is for surfers.”
“Pregnant surfers?”
“All surfers.”
“And you want me to listen to it?”
“It can’t hurt.”
“Hypnosurfing? Are you serious?”
“Why not? I mean, you said you’ve been stressed here.”
“Because we’ve been arguing. And because there’s hardly any swell. If I was surfing proper waves, I’d be fine.”
“OK, it was just an idea.”
Suddenly Zeke’s face registered shock, he jumped up out of his chair and I heard a familiar female voice say, “Surprise.”
chapter twenty-five
She was wearing a hippyish orange dress, her dark hair lost under a printed scarf, and she was cooling herself with a Japanese fan. She looked utterly beautiful.
“Hey, kids! What’s cookin’?”
“Mom!” Zeke said, jumping up and launching himself at her, “You made it!”
“You knew she was coming?!” I asked, surprised that Zeke had managed to keep this brilliant secret to himself.
“Of course I knew she was coming! We arranged it last week. I just called her from the john.”
“Is Dave here too?” I asked.
“He wanted to come, but he’s working sixty-hour weeks right now. A couple of the other paramedics left without much notice so his hands are tied. He sends you both so much love.”
“How long can you stay?”
“Half a day only, unfortunately. It’s just a layover on my way back to England. So, Zeke, I wasn’t going to ask you this, because I’m not sure I need to hear the answer, but why do you have a black eye?”
“I earned it.”
“Fighting? Child of mine, I thought you outgrew fighting with G.I. Joes and squirt guns.”
I could think of at least one other fight Zeke had been involved in, and three other occasions when he’d seemed on the brink of getting involved.
“You know, you’re nineteen. You need to take a breath before you swing. And if you do swing, you need to move.” She reached up, cuffed Zeke lightly around the head and he grinned. “When are you going to go visit Newquay? Garrett and Wes miss you.”
“They can come see me.”
“I guess everyone’s just wondering if there’s a reason you guys haven’t gone and visited yet.”
“We’ve been so busy,” I said.
“Anders?”
“Yeah. He just keeps booking stuff for us.”
Sephy looked at Zeke, “And you’re not asking him to do that?”
This seemed like a weird question to me. Why would he want Anders to keep us so busy with engagements that we hardly ever had any free time? Zeke was massively into his career, no question, but some downtime would mean we could freesurf, and so many of the events Anders lined up for us were land-based: PR stuff, meet-and-greets, awards ceremonies, interviews with surf journalists and bloggers; stuff that actually took us out of the water. This had definitely surprised me; I’d had no idea that being a pro-surfer would involve, for instance, so much time spent on the Internet, developing Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and YouTube profiles.
What confused me, though, was why this stuff didn’t seem to bother Zeke. At times it was almost as if he was glad to have a break from the water, which didn’t at all tally with what I knew of his mad surfing addiction.
“It’s contractual BS we can’t get out of,” Zeke said.
“Honey, it’s not forever. Keep your eyes on the prize one of these days you’ll be freesurfing full-time. You’ll have en
ough security to go surf wherever you want, whenever you want.”
“One day,” Zeke said, looking glum.
“So guess what I swung by our place in Oahu and put it on the market.”
“To lease, right?”
Sephy frowned. “To sell.”
“You’re gonna let go of our family place?”
“It seemed wrong to keep it. People need homes there. It shouldn’t lie empty. And Newquay is home now.”
“Wow,” Zeke said. “I can’t believe you did that, without even talking to us about it.”
“Honey, this should not come as a surprise. I haven’t been there in months. You haven’t been there in almost a year. A family could be living in that house. There was mold. And termites. It’s not right. But forget about that. Look what got delivered for you.”
She passed him a gold envelope.
“What is it?” I asked. But Zeke already seemed to know.
“Can you believe it, baby? You finally got picked!”
Sephy was hugging her son and saying something so quietly that I couldn’t make it out.
“Mom, I know,” Zeke said, “but it’s not that easy. I can’t just . . . I mean, I promised.”
“Can’t what? Surf Mavericks? You can totally do that,” she said. “You did it before, you can do it again, right? The only difference is that you’ll be competing with other guys this time.”
“Wait,” I said. “You’ve made the Invitational?”
“Who even cares? It’s just another surf contest.”
The Mavericks Invitational was a huge deal in surfing. It was a specialized wave contest for an elite group of big-wave surfers. Super-elite. Only the very best were invited. That Zeke would be included at the age of nineteen was an honor and a show of faith.
“Was this what you’ve been waiting for? What Chase and Anders were asking you about?”
Zeke nodded. “I didn’t want to mention it to you until I knew for sure.”
“This is it,” Sephy said. “This is the big league, baby.”
“Bloody hell, Zeke. Congratulations,” I said.
He looked at me and said, “Thanks.” Nothing else. Just thanks.
“I hope it happens soon,” Sephy said. “I’m gonna be so nervous until it’s over and done with. I know you’ll be just fine, but that is such a heavy wave.”