Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance

by Carla Caruso

  A nudist resort – in Robe? The mind boggled. But Winnie was most interested in the whole affair thing. Somehow she had to chat to this Lorraine floozy and find out the truth.

  Her head still spinning, Winnie glanced at Doris’s bracelet again. ‘What type of fish is it meant to be anyway?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t actually know, doll, but for some reason, it caught Benson’s eye. He’s the amateur fisherman. Always bragging about his wins at the Long Beach annual surf-fishing contest.’ Doris glanced at her husband, who’d gone back to affectionately tending to his plane. ‘What type of fish are these charms meant to represent, darl?’

  Benson looked up distractedly. ‘Hmm?’ He wafted closer again, glancing at the bracelet. ‘Oh, they’re inspired by the French angelfish. Gorgeous creatures, aren’t they? Known for being highly monogamous. Mating for life.’

  ‘Monogamous.’ Winnie’s voice was suddenly hoarse. ‘Something Mrs Mannix didn’t think her husband was particularly good at being. Though obviously she hopes she was wrong.’

  A smile crept across Doris’s face as she played with the charms. ‘And here I was thinking you didn’t have a romantic bone left in your body, Benson.’

  It was half an hour into the drive to Adelaide on Friday before Alex thought of broaching the subject of the night he stayed over, when Winnie lost her earring and they both almost lost control. She seemed to have avoided him for the rest of the week, bar texting and emailing him job updates. Life had certainly felt . . . quieter. The gap between seeing each other and his leaving early the following morning had made things even more awkward.

  He chanced a look at her in the passenger seat. Her strawberry-blonde locks shone in the afternoon sun, a tiny braid decorating her hairline. She certainly wasn’t her usual chatty self, but she’d relaxed considerably. There was no time like the present to confront the white elephant in the room – or ute, as it were. He coughed.

  ‘Ah, maybe we should clear the air about the other night . . .’

  Winnie’s posture grew ramrod-straight, her gaze fixing on the road ahead. ‘Sorry again that I disturbed you,’ she said primly. ‘I feel silly now about being spooked.’

  Okay, so clearly, she wasn’t going to talk about what almost transpired between them. The sizzling sexual chemistry – and his subsequent harsh words. But at least he’d tried. It was unlikely things would get messy between them again. Keeping things strictly professional was better for them both.

  ‘So, uh, no more bad energy at your place, then?’

  Winnie poked out her tongue, which seemed more typical. ‘Nope, I think you successfully scared off for the moment anything lurking in the closet.’

  ‘What about the mouse? Frightened it away, too?’

  Her chin jutted upwards. ‘Not exactly, but I’ve put cotton balls soaked in peppermint oil around my unit. It’s a trick I found on the internet. Apparently mice hate the smell.’

  ‘Could work,’ Alex mumbled doubtfully. He flicked on the indicator to overtake a slow-moving caravan on the two-lane highway. Scrub bordered either side of the road, the turquoise blue of the sky almost hurting his eyes. ‘And who’s looking after your cat?’

  Winnie crossed slim, honeyed legs, which were still distracting even if she was a no-go zone. ‘My neighbour’s keeping an eye on him. Not the old smoker guy, but the divorcee woman on the other side, who’s fastidious about her pot plants. I left some cat food with her and she was happy to help out.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘I know I won’t be gone long,’ Winnie mused, ‘but, funnily, I’ll miss the little guy.’

  Alex laughed good-naturedly. ‘So, being from Adelaide originally, I imagine you’ll be catching up with old schoolmates and the like while in town?’

  Dropping her gaze to her lap, Winnie picked at a thread on the hem of her denim shorts. ‘Nah, not from school. I haven’t talked to my old teenage friends for years. I didn’t really look back when I left for Sydney. From what I hear, they’re all caught up in marriage and babies anyway. Doing boring jobs and still living in the ’burbs.’ She pulled a face. ‘We wouldn’t have much to talk about. I’ll just be seeing Mum. It’s going to be a fairly quiet weekend. Boring really. But enough about me. Tell me about your siblings. Brothers or sisters – or both?’

  Alex’s jaw set. ‘One of each. I’m in the middle.’

  ‘Wow, that must be fun. You must be like peas in a pod when you’re all together.’

  ‘Not really. Particularly my older brother and me. We – we don’t really see eye to eye. He’s the spitting image of my father.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I would have killed for a sister or brother when I was young. I still would.’ Winnie turned to look at him, any rigidity from earlier having melted away. ‘So your family name, Bass – is that like the fish or that rich kid, Chuck Bass, from Gossip Girl?’

  Alex felt his expression darken. ‘Definitely not the latter.’

  ‘We’ll go with the fish then! It’s better than having a last name like “Perfect” or “Smart”, I reckon. Those names would be hard to live up to. Though you don’t want to know the things I got called in the playground with the surname Cherry . . .’

  ‘I hate to think,’ he murmured. Little did she know the crushing weight his family name really represented.

  An hour later they stopped at the waterfront town of Meningie to stretch their legs and have a bite to eat. Takeaway purchased, they sat on the foreshore of Lake Albert, soaking up the vista of seemingly endless grey-blue water. It was a refreshing change from the sleepy warmth of the ute. Alex had gone with fish and chips doused in vinegar for an early dinner, while Winnie had opted for a vegetable pastie.

  On the banks of the lake, two amateur fishermen dropped lines into the water. Alex gestured at them. ‘You know, when my grandpa was a kid, he reckons he used to fish with just a bit of bamboo with a string on the end. He’d walk with his cousin for miles from home to the ocean and they’d sit on the edge of the rocks with their feet dangling over the edge until they got a bite. Then they’d make a fire, use the frypan they’d brought along, and eat their catch for lunch.’

  ‘Huh, the simple life.’ Winnie shook her head. ‘Though I rather like the idea of picking wild berries all day and feasting on them.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  A seagull cawed overhead and Meningie’s notorious wind picked up, toying with Winnie’s hair. She tucked it behind her ears, then reached over to tug a strand of his. For once, he didn’t lurch back.

  ‘You know, your hair’s almost long enough to put in a ponytail now,’ she teased. ‘What are you growing it for anyway?’

  He offered her a half-smile. ‘To hide behind.’ It wasn’t really a lie.

  ‘Along with that stubble of yours, anyone would think you really were in disguise. I suppose it goes with your whole “lone wolf” image.’ She jiggled pale eyebrows. ‘Rugged and mysterious.’

  ‘I’ll take it you mean rugged in a good way and not as in “craggy and rough around the edges”.’

  ‘Take it whichever way you like,’ Winnie said with a grin, turning to pluck something from her handbag. A chocolate bar. She brandished it at him. ‘Want some? Kingston’s turned me into a bit of a sugar addict. My butt’s going to spread like Vegemite sooner rather than later.’

  Alex chuckled. ‘Nah, it’s all yours. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. Besides, the chocolate in Australia doesn’t taste as good as that overseas. It’s less creamy or something.’

  ‘Bulldust,’ Winnie retorted. ‘Your gypsy tastebuds are just confused from hopping around the globe’s little fishing villages, not knowing where to call home.’

  Little fishing villages. He smiled to himself at the assumption.

  ‘If the chocolate is harder here,’ she continued, ‘doesn’t mean it isn’t delicious.’ She popped a chocolate square in her mouth with relish. ‘Mmm, yum.’

  Alex rolled his eyes at the display.

  Winnie paused to wipe a ch
ocolatey smudge from her bottom lip and he dragged his gaze away from its pink plumpness. The water was a safer place to look.

  ‘I know you like to say you’re of no fixed address, but what made you trade hemispheres for Australia anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘My grandpa. It was always his dream to come here, but he was terrified of flying so far.’ Alex shrugged. ‘After he died, I decided to take up the challenge.’

  He felt her steady gaze prickle on his skin. ‘Sounds like you had a real soft spot for your grandpa.’

  ‘I admired him, yes. He was an upstanding, respectable sort. I could do worse than to follow in his footsteps.’ Alex threw the last of the chips from the grease-stained paper to the hovering seagulls. The birds squawked their acceptance. He inclined his head in Winnie’s direction. ‘Ready to hit the road again?’

  Nodding, she got to her feet, dusting her pert behind, which in no way resembled spread Vegemite or spread anything. He followed suit.

  ‘Mind if I drop into the newsagent across the road to grab some celeb mags before we head off?’ she asked. ‘I can live vicariously through the stars and their glamorous lives while I’m stuck in boring ol’ Adelaide.’

  He tossed his fish-and-chip paper in a nearby bin. ‘If you like. Though you know what’s presented is only a fantasy. You only see the tip of the iceberg of their lives. Things wouldn’t be half as perfect as they seem.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Besides, if you think so badly of Adelaide, what must you think of Kingston?’

  ‘It has its . . . charm,’ she ventured.

  Alex smirked. ‘Right. I’ll wait in the ute.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want me to drive the rest of the way?’ she teased.

  He almost choked. ‘Nah, I’ll be right.’

  They slowed together at the kerb as a stock truck full of pigs trundled past. Many of the swine were squealing as though begging for escape and some looked bruised and battered. Even to Alex, it was a sorry sight.

  Winnie shook her head sadly. ‘And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don’t eat meat.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘This is it.’ Winnie held onto her seatbelt as Alex came to a sudden stop outside her mum’s modest abode. She hadn’t given him much warning, as though she were in denial about being there. Which, in fact, she was.

  The red-brick house was near Brighton Beach, though not close enough to be worth anything much. It was the one thing her mother had gotten out of the divorce; the one thing of value she actually possessed. From the ute, Winnie could see the garden beds were overgrown and Merry Christmas in gold lettering still adorned the front door, despite it being February. It seemed nothing had changed.

  She could barely imagine her super-slick dad ever living there. He’d left when Winnie was four – the longest relationship her mother had had. Despite his absence throughout much of Winnie’s life, her father’s glossy existence appealed to her more than her mum’s.

  Jumping out of the ute, Winnie peered back through the opened window. ‘Thanks again for the lift,’ she said. ‘And have fun with your camera shopping.’

  She was putting on a cheery front, though she suddenly felt as drained of energy as her phone at the day’s end. At least being cooped up in a car with Alex after the near-kiss hadn’t been as torturous as she’d thought; it all seemed trivial now compared to the dreariness that lay ahead. And the lift had certainly been handy.

  Alex unclicked his seatbelt. ‘Let me help you with your suitcase.’

  ‘It’s cool, I can do it,’ Winnie protested, but he was already out of the ute. Great, just what she needed: Alex meeting her mother. Her feet felt leaden on the way down the cracked concrete front path as he rolled her wheeled suitcase behind them.

  The Beatles’ ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun’ could be heard playing loudly through the screen door. Typical and embarrassing. Reluctantly, Winnie pressed the dusty doorbell button, mentally willing Alex to leave sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, he was ever the gentleman and remained rooted to the spot.

  Barking immediately started up inside the house, though the last time she checked, her mother didn’t own a dog. Obviously she’d picked up another stray. Winnie shifted her feet on the doorstep, exchanging nervous smiles with Alex for what felt like hours. ‘You can go. Mum just mustn’t have heard the doorbell. I’ll try again. She should be here in a minute —’

  The creak of the screen door made Winnie’s head whip back around. A man with a black ponytail, balding at the crown and wearing an obviously fake Armani T-shirt and tiny footy shorts, appeared in the doorway. Speaking of strays . . . Winnie swallowed a sigh. She didn’t recognise him. The last thing she felt like doing was sharing her mother’s company with a stranger – the weekend was going to be tough enough.

  The man’s dark eyes shone. ‘Ah, you’re early. You must be Georgy’s daughter.’

  She looked the scruffy forty-something up and down. Clearly her mum’s taste had changed a little since the shiny-suited men of old.

  ‘Early?’ Winnie echoed faintly as an ultra-skinny greyhound hurtled from the hall and out the front door.

  ‘Silverfox!’ the man shouted. But he wasn’t quick enough to stop the canine from jumping up on Alex and covering his face in licks. Winnie might have laughed if things weren’t so dire.

  Alex gently removed the greyhound’s paws from his shoulders, nudging it to sitting. ‘Down, boy.’

  The stranger quirked an eyebrow at Winnie. ‘Your mother’s rehoused a retired racing greyhound. He still requires a little house-training, though. Anyway, I’m being rude. Introductions are needed. I’m Georgy’s boyfriend, Bacchus. It’s lovely to finally meet you.’

  Winnie unenthusiastically shook Bacchus’s extended hand. Oh, the humiliation. Now Alex would know she wasn’t even acquainted with her mother’s current lover, let alone being aware of him. ‘Um, hi.’ She glanced to her right. ‘And this is Alex, now covered in dog saliva. We work together. He gave me a lift from Kingston.’

  Bacchus displayed a mouthful of yellowed teeth. Delightful. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, shaking Alex’s hand.

  A leaf blower started up in the distance – the sound of the suburbs. Winnie darted a look at Alex. ‘Anyway, I guess you’ll have to make tracks —’

  Unfortunately, her mother chose that moment to make her presence known, her blonde hair flowing behind her. A tendency to float through life meant Georgy, irritatingly, had barely been touched by age.

  ‘Pooh!’ she exclaimed, flouncing through the doorway. ‘I thought you were coming tomorrow morning. I really must start writing things down. Come give your mother a hug.’

  Weakly, she accepted her mother’s embrace, breathing in the odd blend of acrylics and apple-scented shampoo. Sometimes, when it came to her mother’s laissez-faire attitude, Winnie wondered why she bothered tying herself up in knots to make an effort at all.

  Georgy pulled back, gesturing at her tee, emblazoned with the words Hunting is not a sport. ‘We’ve just been to an anti-duck-shooting protest,’ her mother informed her. ‘It had a fantastic turnout, too. At least thirty people.’ Stop the presses, Winnie thought cruelly. Georgy turned to Alex. ‘Hello. You’re a friend of Winnie’s, I gather? Like to come in for a cuppa?’

  Please no, please no. Winnie could barely imagine him settling down amid Georgy’s haphazard domestic mess to some sort of hippie tea that hadn’t been strained properly. Even if Alex wandered the earth and didn’t always wear shoes, his own place at least was neat. Normal.

  ‘No, uh, I should keep going, but it was nice to meet you.’

  Phew, he seemed just as uncomfortable as Winnie. Nodding his goodbye, he headed back down the front path, leaving Winnie alone with her mum – and Bacchus.

  Georgy didn’t even wait until the front gate had clicked before she prodded Winnie in the ribs. ‘Well, he’s not a bad-looking sort.’

  Reaching for her suitcase’s handle, Winnie rolled her eyes. ‘We work together, Mum.’ Not that that h
ad stopped her in the past – recent or otherwise – but she was trying to change. ‘I’ll just go unpack,’ she added.

  ‘And I’ll put the kettle on,’ her mother offered brightly, seeming oblivious to Winnie’s defeated tone. ‘It’ll give you and Bacchus a chance to chat and get to know each other better.’

  Joy of joys.

  Alex pushed through Rundle Mall’s crowds, en route from his city hotel to the camera shop. It was Friday late-night shopping and the small CBD of Adelaide felt alive with hustle and bustle, particularly after Kingston. Dance music spilled from boutiques, multicoloured shop lights glowed like disco flooring, and inane chatter swirled about. Head down, Alex stuck to the shadows, happy to fade into the throng.

  A flash of red-gold hair up ahead caught his eye and instinctively he picked up his pace. Just as suddenly he slowed again, mentally shaking his head. It wasn’t Winnie, nor should he be distracted by thoughts of her; they should have been left at the door of her mother’s house, where he’d dropped her off.

  He was meant to be starting afresh in Australia, wiping the slate clean. Not beholden to anyone or anything, and vice versa. He couldn’t sway from this aim, not after everything he’d risked.

  Still, he’d seen a different side to Winnie more recently, from her behaviour the night he’d stayed over – until the unmentionable incident – to seeing her at her mother’s place, playing the dutiful, albeit reluctant, daughter. There was certainly a vulnerable, softer aspect to her. She wasn’t all he’d painted her as in his mind, which meant she also wasn’t immune to being hurt. Another reason to steer well clear of her. He didn’t want to be responsible for causing her any pain. Not when he couldn’t offer her anything lasting.

  He kept his eyes ahead as he strode past a lit-up, glass-fronted newsagency, enticing customers in with its racks and racks of colourful magazines. Again he thought of Winnie and the trashy reading material she’d picked up in Meningie. He hadn’t been able to look at those titles. The very last things he wanted to see right now were gossip rags. He much preferred shots of real people and landscapes, not airbrushed portraits from an artificial world. Or scandalous headlines.