Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance

by Carla Caruso

  Hey, stranger things had happened. Landing in the teeny Kingston, for one, all the way from the shining beacon that was Sydney.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A sharp knocking startled Winnie as she slurped on two-minute noodles after work for dinner – again. Despite what some might class as a dull night in, she was actually enjoying herself and none too happy about being disturbed. Dragging herself from the beanbag, Winnie prayed the person at the door wasn’t her chain-smoking neighbour wanting to borrow sugar, or something . . . creepier.

  Whipping back her front door, Winnie nearly jumped out of her skin as a figure stepped forward in the dark. ‘Cyndi – what the hell?’

  The beautician was dressed head-to-toe in black, complete with a knitted beanie pulled over her dark-blonde waves.

  ‘We’ve abducted Eden,’ the beautician offered solemnly. ‘For a surprise hen’s party. We wanted to do it early so she wouldn’t be too stressed with the wedding. Plus, we figured we’ve got to get some fun out of being part of her big day, too.’

  ‘You abducted her?’ Winnie peered out into the inky night, her eyes wide. Sure enough, Cyndi’s red Lancer coupé was parked near her front lawn, with shadowy heads visible inside.

  ‘We did.’ Cyndi nodded. ‘And I’m not sure how long it’ll take her to work out the furry handcuffs aren’t too hard to get out of, so we’d better get going.’

  The very last thing Winnie felt like doing was spending more time with Cyndi and co. so soon. But she was a little scared to say no outright. She tried to put off the inevitable. ‘Um, it’s just I’m not really dressed for going out.’ She looked down pointedly at her simple after-work outfit of a grey tee and jeans. ‘Plus,’ she feigned a yawn, ‘I’m pretty knackered. I had a big work day.’

  Cyndi was having none of it. ‘You’re a bridesmaid, right? Then you’re coming, no ifs or buts. And you look fine. We’re just taking her to the Royal Mail Hotel, nowhere fancy. It’s not Sydney. Plus,’ she peered inside Winnie’s unit, ‘you don’t look very busy.’

  At least it wasn’t the Crown Inn. The Royal Mail was Kingston’s other pub.

  Cyndi gave it another shot. ‘Aren’t you curious to see what Eden is like tipsy?’

  That did it for Winnie. ‘All right, all right. Count me in.’ Rushing to grab her handbag, she dumped her half-eaten bowl of noodles in the sink, shoved chewing gum in her mouth and trailed after Cyndi. In the back of the Lancer was poor Eden, wearing a sleeping mask with Bride-to-be spelled out in diamantes and her hands behind her back.

  ‘Help me,’ Eden bleated as Winnie climbed in. Though she didn’t really sound too distressed. In fact, Winnie noticed the hint of a smile flicker across her dial. Maybe she was having fun letting her hair down for a change. Not literally – the severe ponytail still looked like it was causing her scalp pain and possible future hair loss. Despite her delusions of grandeur and ordinarily uptight nature, perhaps Eden was just trying to find her place in the world like everyone else. Honey gave Winnie the thumbs-up from the front seat.

  Half an hour later, Winnie sat with Cyndi and Honey at the bar, vaguely keeping an eye on Eden as she sculled a champagne and orange juice amid cheers from a few other hangers-on who’d turned up. Being mid-week and a country pub, the place was relatively quiet.

  ‘All we’re missing is a stripper,’ Cyndi lamented. ‘That’d liven things up a bit more.’

  ‘Ooh, which local boy would we call to do the honours?’ Honey asked gleefully. ‘You know, if we were game.’

  One of the other partygoers, with coppery layers and a raucous laugh, leant forwards. ‘Alex Bass! He’s smoking hot. Mmm. Wouldn’t I love to lick whipped cream off those abs.’

  Winnie’s eyes rounded, but others in the group were nodding and murmuring in agreement. Huh. So he really was considered the equivalent of Ryan Gosling in these parts. Of course, she got it. His good looks were unmistakable, but it was also the whole unavailable vibe he had going on. Women dug it – lusting after what they couldn’t have. Winnie, though, was trying to rise above such behaviour. She’d already played with fire and been burned.

  Cyndi banged down her tumbler of Southern Comfort and Coke, interrupting Winnie’s thoughts. ‘Far out, Eden’s started with the karaoke – and she has the worst voice this side of the big red lobster. She’s only had two drinks. We’d better join her or she’ll never live it down and Flynn will kill us.’

  Winnie looked from Eden, now shuffling across the stage trying to do the moonwalk while butchering Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’, back to Cyndi, who’d jumped off her bar stool. Honey, who’d been downing strictly non-alcoholic beverages, also heaved herself off hers. They joined Eden in channelling their inner Michael Jacksons, which was a pretty funny sight. Winnie felt a rush of warmth. Maybe the pair even had a weensy soft spot for Eden after all. At any rate, Winnie was impressed the duo were willing to make a spectacle of themselves to protect the bride-to-be – some Sydney sorts would be too busy sizing up each other’s outfits or trying to catch their pals in unflattering shots to post on social media. But there was no sense of competition here. Despite their flippant exteriors, the girls she’d written off as small-town eccentrics appeared to have a heart. Maybe they weren’t half bad, after all.

  Trying out a mini moonwalk of her own, Winnie slid off her seat, preparing to join the trio on stage. Didn’t they say if you can’t beat them, join them? It couldn’t be any more mortifying than dancing alone to a jukebox or throwing herself at Alex. She might even have some fun. If Bruna could see her now.

  Winnie returned to Mrs Mannix’s house on Wednesday afternoon. As unglamorous as the museum launch had been compared to Sydney standards, she’d decided to do a story on it for the magazine’s social pages anyway. She knew how to fudge things to make them sound better than they were – and she needed something to fill the space.

  This time, Mrs Mannix had laid out a spread of homemade cherry-choc biscuits and rose tea. So far there’d been more chitchat than actual interviewing.

  Winnie swallowed another biscuity mouthful. ‘So, do you have any kids who live around here still?’

  Mrs Mannix’s hand trembled as she filled Winnie’s cup with more tea from the pot. ‘Peter and I did have one daughter, Cecilia, but she died after a week in the incubator. I wasn’t blessed with motherhood for long. I also had three miscarriages.’

  Winnie’s hand sprang up to her mouth. ‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I – I shouldn’t have been so nosy.’ She’d royally put her foot in it now.

  Mrs Mannix set the teapot down again. ‘Why? Life happens, dear, and you weren’t to know.’ Still, her eyes looked moist. ‘I think not having children pained Peter the most. He was one of eight and always wanted some of his own.’

  ‘I’m sure he would have been happy spending his life with just you,’ Winnie said quietly.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Mrs Mannix wiped crumbs from the checked tablecloth. ‘Peter was my everything and even he was taken away too soon. But I’ve become accustomed to a solitary sort of life. I don’t tell many people this, dear, but I was actually the illegitimate child of a prostitute and a policeman. Can you imagine the shame – especially in my time? I was adopted by church folk, but we didn’t see eye to eye in my teens and eventually lost touch. Then, of course, I didn’t have children I could watch grow up.’

  Winnie’s mouth hung open slightly. Despite Mrs Mannix’s questionable dress sense, her voice was decidedly posh. Who knew she came from such humble beginnings?

  Shaking her head, Mrs Mannix pushed on. ‘Even so, moving to Kingston from Adelaide because of Peter’s work was truly wonderful. The local community has been more of a family than I’ve ever known before. Through thick and thin, the people have taken me under their wing.’

  That Lorraine woman aside, obviously. Mrs Mannix’s life made Winnie’s woes pale into insignificance. For some reason, Winnie’s nightmare about the lighthouse flitted into her mind and she couldn’t help asking, ‘Do you . . . do you ever fe
el your husband’s presence still? Since he passed?’

  The old woman gazed at her with watery blue eyes. ‘Always, dear.’ She pressed a hand above her chest. ‘He’s in my heart.’

  Suddenly, his appearance in Winnie’s dream seemed less nightmarish and just sad. Overwhelmingly sad.

  Winnie surprised herself by heading with Cyndi to the backyard gym of a fisherman’s wife. Coupled with working smack-bang across the road from the Cakewalk Bakery, overindulging in Mrs Mannix’s cherry-choc biccies had been the clincher. To think a few short days ago, she wouldn’t have been caught within a hair’s breadth of the kooky beautician.

  At the shed-turned-gym, there were no shiny cross-trainers or treadmills, unlike the slick Sydney outfit where Winnie had put a membership on hold. All that could be seen were some sweaty-looking padded exercise mats on the ground and an overly perky woman at the front, greeting the locals as they straggled in.

  Cyndi wanted to look good for the Miss Showgirl judging she was doing at the upcoming South-East Field Days. For Winnie, the gym was her alternative to her usual trashy midweek TV night with Bruna, watching Snog, Marry, Avoid? and Fashion Star.

  Cyndi glanced over at Winnie before the class started. ‘Hey, would you be free Sunday week, around lunchtime? I’m throwing a baby shower for Honey. I’ve got a whole bunch of silly games planned, so it’ll be fun, not boring, I promise.’

  ‘Bummer, I might have to miss out.’ Winnie picked at a jagged nail. ‘A friend of mine’s coming up from Sydney and I’m not sure what she wants to see or do yet. Plus, it’s my birthday weekend, too – sorry.’ She didn’t add that the one thing she was sure Bruna wouldn’t want to do was attend a baby shower in a backwater, unless blingy prizes, expensive Bugaboo prams and celebrity guests were in the mix.

  Cyndi tugged back the fabric of her aqua top, where it had fallen off her freckled shoulder. ‘No problem. Just thought I’d ask. And if you do wind up having the time and feel the urge, your friend’s more than welcome to tag along, too, of course.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Winnie mumbled, though she was certain it was one party invite Bruna would happily turn down. ‘Actually, Cyndi, I have something I wanted to ask you, too.’ She filled the beautician in on her idea of a makeover for Olive the following week.

  As Cyndi clapped her hands together excitedly at the prospect, her generously sized breasts jostled like puppies beneath her top. ‘Ooh, that’d be fun. Olive doesn’t realise half the assets she’s got, aside from those pins she’s always flaunting. Count me in. I’d love to help out.’

  ‘Brilliant!’

  Winnie took a slug from her water bottle just as an over-confident voice wafted into her right ear. One that made her blood chill. ‘Hello again.’

  Turning, Winnie snagged gazes with the Coastal Herald reporter with the laughing violet eyes, the one who’d written a gossip item about her and the whole jukebox-dancing episode. Darn being early to class. Now the blonde was unfolding her svelte frame on the adjacent exercise mat. Super. She must be using her country gig as a leg-up at the start of her media career as she had a distinctly eastern-states air about her.

  Winnie coughed. ‘Uh, hi . . . Yasmin, isn’t it?’ Unfortunately, she’d have to play nice or risk winding up in the catty column again.

  ‘It is indeed – Yasmin Cox,’ the journalist said with an emphasis on her surname. Along with making Winnie think of male appendages, the reporter’s name reminded her of a contraceptive pill brand. Not a good combination. ‘I’m in training for a few triathlons,’ Yasmin pushed on, ‘so I thought I’d better drop in here ASAP. You?’

  A few triathlons. Of course.

  Winnie moved her hands about in a hopeless sort of gesture. ‘Just, uh, general fitness.’

  Nodding, Yasmin toyed with her purposely messy topknot, then leant forwards. ‘So . . . how’s the little magazine going?’

  Suddenly, as clear as day, Winnie could see Beach Life as Yasmin saw it: competition. She sat up straighter, feeling buoyed. ‘It’s going great guns actually. Swimmingly. We’ve got a lot of exciting stuff locked in for our first edition. I couldn’t be happier.’ It was a slight overstatement, but Yasmin wasn’t to know. ‘How about the rag? All going well?’

  Yasmin smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on her yellow sports crop. A diamond bellybutton ring gleamed at her taut, tanned navel. ‘Travelling along nicely. There’s so much to cover. And deadline’s over for the week, which is always good.’

  Thankfully she’d missed the scoop on Winnie exiting Cyndi’s beauty salon naked save for a robe. Biting her lip at the memory, Winnie nodded. ‘So, have you been at the Herald long?’

  ‘About a year, and in Naracoorte before that. I’m from Adelaide, but country newspapers are a brilliant training ground, I reckon.’ She wet her finger and ran it over an eyebrow. ‘I’ve got my eye on a gig at WIN News next.’

  ‘Nice.’ Winnie could just imagine Yasmin’s picture-perfect features gracing TV screens, too. She was certainly blonde enough, courtesy of the peroxide bottle.

  ‘What about you?’ Yasmin fastened Winnie with her steely gaze. ‘Where do you see yourself next?’

  Cyndi’s presence suddenly felt larger than life beside her. Discreetly scratching her arm so as to avoid looking into Yasmin’s truth-seeking peepers, Winnie said, as breezily as possible, ‘Oh, I haven’t really thought about it yet. I’m happy where I am right now.’ Cough, cough.

  ‘Huh.’ Not having a career plan didn’t really seem to compute with Yasmin. After a beat, she said, ‘Well, I guess having Alex Bass on your books would be distracting. Talk about serious eye candy.’ She tittered. ‘Half the town wants to know if you two are an item. Spill the goss! Promise I won’t tell a soul.’

  Yeah, right. What was it with this town trying to lump her and Alex together, just because they were young and single? It was ridiculous. Winnie felt Cyndi’s gaze searing into her skin.

  ‘We’re definitely not an item,’ she offered primly. ‘There’s absolutely nothing going on between us beyond a working relationship. Feel free to print that.’

  ‘Mmm hmm,’ Yasmin murmured, not looking entirely convinced.

  Thankfully, Winnie was saved by Shania Twain as the stereo was turned up, signalling the start of the class. Being on the other end of a reporter’s probing wasn’t half as fun as doing the probing yourself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Hello?’ Alex said groggily into his phone, not bothering to check the caller ID. He’d already seen it was midnight on his alarm clock radio; he figured the boss was cancelling the morning’s fishing trip. It had turned blustery overnight, though he’d thought it would calm down in a few hours. Right on cue, the windows rattled.

  A small, breathy voice came down the line instead. ‘It’s Winnie. Sorry to disturb you so late.’

  Alex sat up so quickly he almost banged his head on the picture above his bed – an old painting of his grandpa’s, one of the few things from home he’d brought with him to the other side of the earth. His heart pumped in his chest. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay?’ Even he was surprised by the strength of his reaction. Still, it was the type of concern he might show for his younger sister, too, if she were in dire straits. Nothing more.

  ‘Um, yeah, kind of. It’s not an emergency or anything, just . . .’ A tiny cough echoed in his ear. ‘It’s going to sound stupid, but I went and saw Mrs Mannix today, and we got talking about her husband who died and her past, and it – it got me kind of nervy. Plus, it’s the silence, in between the wind whistling through the windows – that’s the worst. It’s just so eerie.’ Her voice grew even harder to hear, more faraway. ‘I’m not really used to living alone.’

  Alex heaved in a sigh. This is what she’d woken him from his much-needed sleep for – for a second time? ‘You know I start work in roughly five hours?’ he said tiredly, rubbing his temple.

  ‘I know, I know, and I’m sorry.’ Her tone had turned louder, more pleading. ‘I just couldn’t think of who else to call
. I feel a bit, I don’t know, cast adrift out here.’

  Alex frowned. He could think of a number of people she could have called. Olive, Cyndi, Eden . . . Why disturb him?

  Winnie pressed on. ‘Would you mind coming and sleeping here for a bit? Before you go to work. I just —’ Her voice broke. ‘I don’t want to be alone right now. I know it sounds crazy . . .’

  ‘I thought you had the cat for company.’

  ‘Try thinking of it this way,’ she persevered, adopting a bargaining tone. ‘I won’t be in town in less than two months’ time, all going to plan. So you won’t have to put up with me much longer, I swear. But just for now, if you could help out, as work associates, I’d really appreciate it. It’d be your good deed for the week . . .’

  Closing his eyes, Alex gritted his teeth. He’d already performed plenty of good deeds where she was concerned. But she’d woken him up now and he’d only lie in bed feeling guilty if he didn’t go. The damage had been done.

  ‘See you in twenty-five. So long as we’re clear this sort of thing can’t become a habit?’

  ‘We’re clear.’

  He terminated the call with a jab of his thumb. The last thing he needed was Winnie constantly relying on him. The boundaries of their working relationship had already begun to blur, from his picking her up from the beauty salon when she was half naked to her sleeping in his bed after the fishing trip. He needed to start laying down the law – beyond tonight.

  Almost half an hour later, he knocked quietly on Winnie’s front door, still a little bleary-eyed. Light spilled beneath the door’s curtain. The glass slid open and she greeted him shyly. ‘Hey, thanks again for coming.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘No problems.’