by Dale, Lindy
I look into the depths I was ignoring to find I am, indeed, only millimetres from a huge mound of the stuff. Dammit. I swim back the way I came but a wave comes and I go forward instead. I feel the coral rip into my leg and it hurts like crazy but I’m not going to cry. I’m not. I’m just going to keep on swimming.
In the other direction.
The man follows at a safe distance. I think he senses I’m not in the mood for conversation, possibly because I am mortally embarrassed and naked.
“Did you know you have a mole on your back?” he asks. “Just near the dimple of your bum?”
The absolute cheek of him. He’s perving on my arse.
“Yes. I did.” My voice is clipped but then I am trying to talk while swimming. I wish he’d leave me to get to the shore in peace.
“You should get it checked out. It could be cancerous.”
Is he for real?
“I was born with it. It’s always been there.” Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even bothering to respond, I’m only encouraging him. I pick up my pace a little which is difficult when swimming with one’s face out of water.
“No need to get narky. It was just an observation. Are you sure you don’t want to hop on my board? Your leg is pissing blood.”
I look behind me to see a red streak trailing in my wake. Great. If it’s not bad enough I’m being trailed by a man who looks like Patrick Swayze in Point Break — which I’ve seen at least thirteen times because it was Mum’s favourite movie — now I’ll have sharks coming to eat me for dinner.
“I’m fine,” I reiterate and keep swimming.
There’s silence for a while. I can see the shore, but it isn’t as close as I thought so I decide to slow down to catch my breath. It’s then that I hear singing. God-awful, tuneless singing. I think it’s a song from The Little Mermaid movie. Surfboard guy is making fun of me because I’m bare-bummed in the water and he’s on a board having the time of his life looking at my bottom. Geez, I wish I could splash him or tip him into the water but I have a feeling that’s what he wants me to do.
“Can you be quiet please,” I say. “Your wailing is cutting into the peacefulness of my swim.”
“It’s a long way. I was bored. Sure you don’t want to hop on? I don’t mind sharing my ride.”
“I bet you don’t.”
Dirty perv.
I glance to the shore. It’s not getting any closer. In fact, I think the waves might be pushing me farther out, instead of in. And I’m feeling quite tired and more than a little scared. This doing new things is a load of cods. I’m going to stay where I can touch the bottom from now on. Assuming I make it to shore.
“I’m not sitting on the board,” I clarify, just in case he thought he was going to get a proper eyeful. “I’ll hold on and you can tow me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“There’s no need to behave like a diva. You’re the one drowning, not me. And I have seen a naked girl before, in case you’re wondering. It’s not like I’m doing this to cop an eyeful.”
Is he saying I’m nothing special? That’s even more insulting. Deciding there’s no reason for me to converse with him on our journey, I grab hold of his board, my eyes trained firmly on the shore. I tilt my chin in the air to reinforce the fact that I will not be conversing. Damn cheek.
The man begins to paddle, pulling me along. I kick my legs lazily to help him. The trail of blood grows longer. I feel faint thinking about it.
“Out of curiosity, what exactly were you doing out here without clothing?” he asks.
I can feel myself redden, even though I’m in the cold water. “Why? Do I need a permit?”
He holds up his hands in submission. “I was only asking.”
I relent. “I don’t know. I was jogging along and I saw the beach was empty and I had an overwhelming desire to throw myself naked into the waves.”
“Are you always so spontaneous?”
“Never. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been skinny-dipping in my life. And the last.”
He chuckles. “First time for everything. But, next time, you might want to check the water before you hurtle yourself into it unclothed. I’m pretty sure that bunch of blokes snorkelling out the back of the reef saw the lot.”
He’s joking. He has to be joking. I’m not sure — because I’m not, not, not looking at him — but I think he winked. And those snorkels sticking up on the reef are imaginary too. Not.
We reach the beach and the man hops from his board. He pauses and turns back, his face a mixture of curiosity and amusement as he sees me trying to hide myself behind his board. I look like a seal with one fin flapping about in the shallows.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Waiting for you to turn away. Face that way.” I point up the beach. He does so and I leap from the water, making a mad dash across the sand toward my clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten dressed so fast. My tank top is clinging to the wet of my skin which in hindsight makes dressing so quickly a rather bad idea. My nipples are clearly visible through my top and the crotch of my shorts is clinging where it shouldn’t. Blood is running down my shin. The cut is stinging like mad.
“You can turn now,” I say, knowing I might as well still be naked for all the soggy clothing is covering.
He faces me.
And that’s when I’m hit with the full force of him. I’ve never seen anything like this man before. He’s not handsome in the traditional sense but there’s something about him that’s charismatic. And it has nothing to do with his smart mouth. The man has deep brown eyes and tanned skin. His strong, square jaw is manly and his smile is crooked but adorable, the kind that tells you he knows exactly how adorable he is. His hair is dark with flecks of amber and gold, probably from time spent in the sun. He’s not the type of man who stands out in the crowd yet there’s something about him nobody could ignore. He’s like, literally, hotter than a furnace full of molten glass. So hot, in fact, my anger at him seems to be diffusing. Which is incredibly confusing, given he’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met.
“I’m Joel,” he says.
I put my hand in his and something odd happens to my tongue. It appears to have lost the memo telling it to speak. It’s as if lightning has struck and rendered me mute.
“And you are?” he enquires. His voice is deep, yet quiet. I can tell he’s feeling it too.
Silence. I’m in stunned silence. All I’m capable of is profuse blinking and goggle-eyed staring.
“Lorelei? Nixie? No wait, Ariel?” He smirks again.
The cheek of him. I straighten, slightly angered at the comparison. I am not the Little Mermaid. Though I am impressed that he can rattle off that many mythical women in one breath.
“Sadie. I’m Sadie.” I stumble over the words like I’ve developed a severe case of dementia.
“Not a cleaning lady, I’m guessing?”
There’s always one who wants to poke fun of my name and that old song from the sixties. I give him a look. “Not a single one in my family.”
“Can I give you a lift back to the bay, Sadie-the-not-cleaning-lady? I gather that’s where you came from. Seeing you’re not a mermaid. You’re not are you?”
“Nope. Just a girl.” I point my toe in his direction as if to prove the point. Silly really, considering he can see my feet for himself. And mermaids don’t exist.
“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to wonder.” He flashes a cocky, very white-toothed smile at me and I feel that tingle of chemistry. I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I mean, he’s so irritating.
“You should do something about that reef cut,” he adds. “They get infected easily.”
We both stare at the blood running down my shin but it’s like we’re incapable of doing anything to fix it, like we’re stuck to the sand or something.
“I…I…” Suddenly, I feel woozy. Blood and I are not friends. We have an understanding where blood
knows if I am to stay upright, it must stay inside my body. I flop onto the sand lying prone; knowing that what might be about to happen can’t happen if I’m lying down. After a minute, the dizziness passes.
Joel peers down at me, curious. “Is everything okay?”
“Just tired,” I say, attempting to look weary. “Phew. That swim was longer than I thought.”
I don’t think he believes me and I have no intention of telling him I have a legit, genetic, medical condition that causes me to faint when I get cut. People have been known to burst into fits of laughter when I try to explain.
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my car… if you want me to cover that cut.” He hoists his board under his arm and sets off up the beach.
I lift my leg, examining it. The bleeding appears to have slowed and I’m not so dizzy. Well, not while I’m lying here. That could change if I sit in a car next to Joel.
“Coming?” Joel calls.
“I’m fine. I think I’ll walk. The exercise will do me good.”
“You sure? That cut looks nasty.”
I look again, biting my lip with indecision, wishing I could just damn well say ‘yes’ for once in my life. “It’s stopped. Positive.”
Well, I’m trying to be.
He shrugs and turns back toward the dunes.
I feel my mouth open to call him back as he walks away. My hand lifts to get his attention and then hangs aimlessly in the air like a hat without a head to perch on. Why can’t I say yes? Why does this happen to me every time there’s an opportunity to do something new? Of course, I know the reason why. Mum’s voice is quite clear in my head. She’s reiterating the dangers of getting in cars with strangers. She’s telling me over and over that you should never go with anyone you don’t know, that strange people hang out on beaches waiting for girls like me.
“Thanks, anyway,” I call.
“Sure. It was nice meeting you, Sadie. See you round.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
As I watch him jog off over the sand, his board under his arm, an odd feeling comes over me. And I don’t think it’s from the blood.
I stomp back along the beach kicking myself. Well, not literally, as that would make me look even more insane, but in my head I’m definitely giving myself what for. I should have said yes to Joel’s offer of a lift. I mean, if he’d been going to attack me he had plenty of chance while we were alone on the beach. There was something in the way his eyes held mine, that look, something that makes me think I may have made a very big mistake by turning him down. Not only that, but my shorts are rubbing the insides of my thighs something shocking, my leg is hurting and I know I’m going to be sunburnt by the time I get back to the cottage.
I’m such an idiot.
I don’t know what’s come over me. In the space of hours, I’ve transformed into the sort of girl who imagines every guy she meets is in love with her. Or worse, that she is in love with them. How can it be that I am suddenly so flighty and fickle, so strongly attracted to the type of guys I normally avoid like the plague? It’s not me. The sun must be affecting my judgement or my sadness over Mum is making me more sensitive to a few kind words. I feel so conflicted. All it took was one look and I was putty.
Silly putty.
At last, I reach the house and I stop for a second, my hands resting on the beach gate. It could be that I’m more susceptible than I’ve been in the past but I felt that chemistry. It was there with both of them and it was like nothing I’ve ever felt in any relationship I’ve had. I know they felt it, too.
The question is… assuming I ever meet them again, what on earth am I meant to do?
CHAPTER FOUR
After dressing the cut on my leg, the rest of my day is spent lazing in the hammock drinking home made margaritas and skimming my highlighter pen across pages until it’s almost run out. Feeling accomplished at the huge amount I’ve done — despite the fact I spend a great deal of time in a daydream that involves both Joel and Nicholas — I decide to shower and head to The Beach Hut for a meal. This is a first for me. I would never eat alone back in the city. I’d never go anywhere that’s meant for couples and groups without actually being a part of one. I’m not that confident.
It’s a warm summer night and as I head along the beach, my sandals hooked over my fingers, I’m feeling relaxed. Mum is gone but I know she’d want me to be happy so that’s what I intend to do. I’ll never forget her, of course. I’ll think of her every day. But I know now I can do that with fond memories, not regret. These days at the beach have shown me that. Life is for living, not swimming in sadness. It’s meant for adventures not for being stuck in the same house and the same job decade after decade, eating the same toast for breakfast.
A string of colourful lights are glowing around the perimetre of the restaurant and I make my way up the sandy path and stop at the reception desk. The server from the other night when I was here with Nicholas looks up from the reservation book. She has a different uniform on tonight. It’s a pale lemon colour with a white collar and pink piping but it’s no less tight. I can see her red polka dot bra quite clearly where the buttons are gaping at her cleavage. Her boobs look as if they’d be happy to escape it. I’ve never seen the allure of getting your boobs out like that… but then I’d have to have a push-up bra with extra push to achieve anywhere near close to her level of boobage.
“I don’t have a reservation but is there any chance of a table for one?” I ask.
“We’re fully booked,” she replies. “But let me see what I can do.” She glances back to the reservations and then around the room a couple of times. She’s being far more amiable tonight and I’m thinking she doesn’t see me as competition standing here in my white maxi dress looking like I’m about twelve. Emily hates it when I wear this dress, she says its too baggy, that I look like I’ve escaped from a nativity play and all I need is some tinsel on my head to transform me into an angel. I like it. I like white. I watch the server as she sucks on the end of her pen, thinking. I bet if Nicholas were here things would be different. She’d be giving me daggers for sure, like she did the other night but she’d find us a table without any wait. I wonder briefly what Nicholas is doing, how his work thing went, if it’s completed. More to the point, I wonder if he’ll be here.
Okay. I hope he’ll be here. Yes, I hope.
The girl leans across the desk. “The couple in the corner have finished mains. They only have dessert and coffee left. Would you like me to reserve that table for you? You can have a drink at the bar. I’ll come and get you when the table’s free.”
I nod and smile. “Cool. Thanks.”
I walk around the corner of the bar and take a seat on one of the high stools. I order another frozen margarita. It tastes way better than the ones I made for myself and before I realise I’ve finished it and ordered another with a bowl of nuts to nibble on while I wait.
Over in the corner, a band starts playing. It’s only a guitarist, a keyboard player and a guy on double bass but they sound good and their music selection is the stuff people like to dance to. The interior lights have been dimmed and out on the beach the moon has risen and is casting a silvery glow over the water. There’s a warm breeze fanning through the palm trees by the beach. It’s like a picture perfect holiday brochure, like a movie set for a romantic island honeymoon.
A man comes up and sits on the empty stool beside me. He’s wearing the cliché Hawaiian shirt in orange and beige and matching chino shorts with more pockets than should ever be allowed on a pair of pants. “Hello,” he says.
“Hello.”
“I saw you enjoying the music. Do you want to dance?” He gives me an expectant smile and though I’m assaulted with the stench of too-much-garlic-for-dinner, I know I’m going to dance with him. I’ve never been able to say no for fear it might hurt the other person’s feelings. It’s only three minutes of your life, after all.
“Sure.”
His grin widens as I hop off my stool and we head into the mid
dle of the small area used as a dance floor. A few other couples are there, so we don’t look as obviously ridiculous as if we were dancing alone.
Which might be a good thing after seeing the way he dances. His legs are like heavy lumps of concrete and keeping in time doesn’t appear to be his forte. His arms, by contrast, seem to want to flap like a bird, so much so that he almost whacks me in the eye. Fortunately, I have quick reflexes and am able to duck in time.
“Oops, sorry,” he says as he reaches over to stop me from falling. Then, “I’m John.”
“Sadie.”
“Have you been in the bay long, Sadie?” His flapping motions are becoming more frenzied and I fear he may take off at any second. Lucky he has those lumps of concrete where his legs should be.
“A while.”
He shuffles closer and does a funny side movement that reminds me of people in a conga line at a wedding. I can see a speck of something stuck between his teeth. Probably a chunk of that garlic. “I’m staying at the resort up the way. The rooms are very nice. Spacious. Great view of the ocean.”
I hope he’s not going to ask me to come back and check it out.
“Don’t suppose you fancy coming back to mine for a drink after this?”
“Maybe some other time, John—”
Like when I’m about ninety.
“ —But thanks for the offer.”
Unable to get the hint, the man insists we dance for another two songs. He chatters on like I don’t exist but I think it’s because he’s nervous, so I reply when he lets me, which isn’t often. He’s adept at holding a conversation for two people. By the third song my compassion for men who have the nerve to ask a girl they don’t know to dance has worn off. We have nothing in common and even though the poor fellow is asking me every question under the sun to try and find a bond between us, I feel nothing other than a need to escape. Especially when he pretends to inadvertently brush his hand over my bottom. What does he take me for?
Desperate, I look over to the table meant for me. It’s empty and the waitress is cleaning it… but if I go he’ll follow and want to eat with me. The thought is enough to make me want to hide my head in a toilet bowl for a very long time. Then, as I study a hair which has fallen onto his shoulder the oddest thing happens. I feel somebody lean into my back. I feel the warmth of cloth on the bare skin of my shoulder blades and a pair of hands on my waist, clasping me firmly and giving me the slightest tickle along the skin near my armpits.