The Same Deep Water

by Swallow, Lisa

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I arrived home from Dunsborough, Jen was cagey, and after a couple of days she confronted me – once she’d had a couple of glasses of wine. When I told Jen what Guy had told me about his mother, she shut up. The topic hasn’t been mentioned since. Jen’s disapproval over Guy pisses me off because I never tagged her as a judgmental person and she has no understanding of our situation.

  I spend less time at my share house and tread the waters of a relationship with Guy. Back in Perth, a flurry of texts from Guy descend in the daytime and we catch up in the evening every other day at least. Already we’ve edged from bucket list ‘meetings’ to what normal people would term as dates. Within two weeks, I’m free falling into Guy faster than he did through the Australian sky.

  Tonight we meet at Guy’s place with the pretence we’ll discuss the lists and fool ourselves this is the main connection between us. We sit at Guy’s table in his shining kitchen with large glasses of wine and his laptop.

  “This weekend, I thought we’d tackle one of your bucket list items,” says Guy.

  “Do I get to choose?” Not surfing.

  He shrugs. “Sure. I’ve been researching everything. I’ve even taken a leaf out of your supremely organised book and begun to plan a timetable of what we can do when.”

  “Then we probably need to discuss what you’re planning.” I am not going back to people organising my life for me.

  “Sure. I meant I’ve found places and opening times, no point pinning down further than that before talking to you.” He drinks, looking at me over the top of his wine glass. “Apart from the overseas trip.”

  “Right.”

  Guy pulls up bookmarked websites on his laptop and talks me through his research. The old enthusiasm is back; the man on the beach who reached out to me has been submerged again.

  He clicks to the next page, a tourist page for a town between the sea and the desert. “One of yours. Sleep beneath the stars.”

  “I hope you don’t mean literally sleep under the stars.”

  Guy laughs. “I’ll take a tent, don’t panic.” He clicks around the site, opening a new page. “Here. To prove there’s a real-life campsite we can stay at.”

  “Okay.” I stand and hold out my hand for his wine glass; when he passes me it, his fingers touch mine. Since the sex, the way Guy looks at me is different. I expected him to switch back to casual but respectful, as if we’d done nothing but kiss, but something has shifted. This difference isn’t only the line we crossed physically a couple of weekends ago, but a deeper understanding from revealing more than each other’s skin.

  The sex hasn’t been repeated despite catching up for what we deny are dates, but the gathering need between us intensifies with each look or touch. Brushing fingers with Guy immediately triggers a shockwave of arousal inconsistent with such an innocent gesture. He curls his hand around mine and rubs the back for a moment, his shift in expression a nodded understanding he shares my need.

  “When do you want to camp?” I ask as I pour the wine.

  “Soon? You know I don’t want to waste time.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  He takes the glass I offer and looks up at me. “Your face doesn’t say that.”

  “I’ve never been camping, that’s all.”

  Guy wraps his arm around my legs and rests his head against my hip, surprising me with his relaxed intimacy. “You’ll have fun!

  “Sure…” I stroke his hair. “Where do you want to go to subject me to this?”

  “North.” He pulls open a bookmarked page with photographs of a star-filled sky above monolithic rocks in the desert. “Pinnacles.”

  “That isn’t too far, is it?”

  “A few hours drive. We’ll take a weekend off.” Again the look. The unsaid: remember what we did on our last weekend?

  “In a tent?”

  “In a tent.” He shifts his hand and rubs my ass. “Don’t underestimate the fun you can have in a tent.”

  I widen my eyes in response to the words and the sudden vision of climbing on top of Guy and asking him not to demonstrate what he’s suggesting, but he isn’t looking at me anymore.

  “Weird.” He points at the laptop screen.

  “What’s weird?”

  “Ever since I started researching, I keep finding pictures and ads on other sites I visit, for exactly the thing I looked at. Like this. Dolphin cruises.”

  “Oh! Dolphins. How about that instead of the camping?” I peer at the screen. “That’s normal. Everything you search is likely to reappear as ads.”

  “How?”

  “I guess the internet just stalks us.” I laugh but Guy doesn’t. “Besides, sometimes the ads are helpful.”

  “How do they stalk us?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess your search history is communicated to advertising sites. Cookies or something.”

  He closes the lid. “I don’t think I like that. Can I stop it happening?”

  “Not sure. There might be something on your browser you can use, I don’t know.”

  “So some random company can see everything I look for on the internet?”

  “Why? Something to hide?” I tease.

  Guy shakes his head, but his face is concerned. “Nothing at all. I don’t like being watched, that’s all.”

  “Nobody’s watching you.”

  He wheels his chair back and pulls me onto his lap. “I saw something on TV about how the government wants ISPs to give up people’s search history details. Is that what’s happening? Bloody weird.”

  “That’s crime related. I don’t think we’re quite at the Big Brother point in history yet.”

  “But still.”

  I wrap my arms around Guy’s head, pulling him close, aware that by doing this his face is close to my breasts, and the top I’m wearing is cut low enough to see the swell. He turns his head and places his lips gently on the skin at the top of my breasts, then rubs my back. This physical contact we’ve avoided isn’t helping the arousal that begins instantly with him.

  He looks up at me. “Are you going home soon?”

  “Why? Do you want me to?”

  “No, but you always start watching the clock around 10pm and run home before I think the evening’s finished. Are you sure you’re not Cinderella?”

  I kiss his forehead, knowing if this conversation continues I won’t be going home. “I have to wake up early for work.”

  He sighs and shifts so I have to stand. “One day, I’ll make you let go of everything and lose yourself. The world still functions without your control, you know.”

  I wrinkle my nose at his typical honesty. “Yeah, I get it. I’m a control freak. I’m working on that thanks to the fact you point out I am on a regular basis.”

  “So stay.” He reaches out and takes my hand.

  “I haven’t planned to.”

  “You can borrow my toothbrush.”

  I shake my head at him, tempted. “I don’t know.”

  He drags me back down onto his lap and holds my waist. “Let’s stop this, Phe.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Since the night in Dunsborough, I’ve obsessed about you. You’ve stolen every rational thought from my head and replaced them with dreams of you. And I’m confused because I’m not sure what you want.” He nuzzles my neck. “I think you want more, but you’re guarded and I can’t tell.”

  My heart skips a beat in my chest. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

  “Seriously, Phe? Do you think I’d say no, if you told me you wanted more?”

  “But this is confusing; we’ve moved from friends to potential lovers and –”

  He breaks into one of his grins. “Potential? I think we’ve gone beyond that.”

  “I mean potentially lovers, not a one night thing.” I frown at his teasing.

  “Oh, no way is one night enough. Not with you.” Guy edges his hands beneath my shirt, stroking my belly with soft fingers triggering the aching heat between my l
egs. “I have day-long visions of you naked. I need to check those visions are accurate.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, so if you could take your clothes off and get into my bed that would be helpful.” I make a mock-gasp and grab his hand. He tugs his brow together. “Or did I put you off last time? Is that what’s wrong?”

  Memories of his hands and mouth on my skin, and switching off the world for one of our own, edge me closer to giving in to him. He places soft kisses along my neck, hands sliding along my side and pushing up my t-shirt.

  “No, you didn’t put me off. Why would you think that?”

  “You’re a closed book. Stay,” he says, mouth moving against the sensitive hollow of my neck.

  I shiver. Sensible, Phe. Work. “I can’t.”

  “Wrong answer.” Guy pushes my top higher and I grab his hand, but he pushes my fingers away. “Come on. Stay. I can’t promise you’ll sleep much though.”

  “That’s the problem!” I protest but allow him to remove my shirt.

  Guy moistens his lips as he looks at me. I’m unable to pull back from the physical us, the crackle of the energy arcing between and drawing us together. Since the weekend at Dunsborough, when we’re together, we touch constantly: lacing fingers, stroking skin, anything to keep a grip on what we have.

  “Okay, Prince Charming,” I whisper and rest my head on his.

  Guy stands, keeping hold of me and I wrap my legs around his waist. “Shush. I told you, no princes.” He kisses me leisurely, his lips soft and teasing against mine. “Go for the Big Bad Wolf instead.”

  I nip his bottom lip, wishing he wouldn’t stop. “Big Bad Wolf?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He heads toward the stairs, still gripping me to him. “He sees you better, hears you better, and eats...”

  “Ohmigod!” I laugh and put my hand over his mouth.

  Guy’s eyes shine and he twists his head away from my hand. “You’re staying. End of story.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I have the nightmares, they follow me into the daylight every time. I’ve learned to block the memories and blank my mind, but the anxiety triggered by my sub-conscious doesn’t subside for hours. On those days, my world is shrouded in red; I’m on constant alert against threats to my peace of mind. When these days coincide with negative experiences at work, things spiral.

  I see the change happening, as if standing outside and watching the anxious Phe unable to focus, making endless lists or staring into space. I recognise her and hate when she slips back in. I don’t want her here but know she’s hard to shake again.

  Time with Guy switches off the anxiety; but away from Guy, things magnify and this worries me. Who am I lying to more when I say this is no-strings, no real connection – him or me?

  The afternoon in Dunsborough, when I told Guy I only wanted something physical, I fully intended to follow through. I didn’t expect to feel anything apart from purely sexual pleasure. Then I told myself this was a one-off, a release of pent-up frustration and emotions from months of control. Wrong. Each time we have sex, I’m drawn closer to Guy. The physical connection is different than before; nobody has looked me in the eyes or spoken to me when lost in the physical intensity. Yes, I have Guy’s care and respect; but in his eyes, I see more. Something is winding around us, each time tying me tighter to Guy in a way which can only be unhealthy.

  This is how the fear creeps in, over the loss I’m facing. We don’t speak about Guy’s illness, in the same way he doesn’t probe me about my mental state. I’ve attempted to research his condition on the internet; but I was met with a confusing array of symptoms and varieties of brain tumours. One thing is certain: Guy will become affected physically.

  We fool ourselves we’re living in the now, but our lives are focused on what lies ahead. I’m not sure I can cope with a bright future turning black again. I tell myself I’m stronger, that I’m walking into this with my eyes wide open, but my heart is open and exposed too.

  Through Guy I’m learning I don’t have to remain frozen in a moment, or controlled by the past, and that my reliance on medication only to change my life is wrong. He echoes suggestions I’ve been told for years, painting a holistic picture of my recovery. Guy persuades me to attend yoga classes with him and join him for walks at the weekends. We’re no longer travelling companions; we’re companions. Lovers. A couple.

  I attempt to back away and pull at the binds, but they’re too tight. I need to see this through to the end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  2 Sleep Beneath The Stars

  The red dust and long roads point us in the direction of the Pinnacles. The West Australian sky holds nothing but the sun, some times of the year no clouds appear for weeks. This’ll make stargazing beautiful. The further we travel from the city, the more relaxed I become, the hum of the engine and Guy’s music pushing in a holiday atmosphere. I position the aircon to blow across my face and sit back, eyes closed.

  “How was your week?” asks Guy.

  “Pretty good. I spoke to Pam about writing another article and she said she’d think about publication.”

  “What’s the article about?”

  I side glance him. “Mental health issues.”

  “Hmm.” Guy taps the steering wheel. “Great you asked her, but do you feel up to re-visiting that kind of thing?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Tapping into things you’re hiding, Phe, could trigger something.”

  I look out of the window, at the red sand and scrub landscape. We could be in the same place we were an hour ago because nothing’s changed. “I’m fine. You know I am. I want to do this and I asked which was a big thing for me!”

  “Sorry. I worry about you.”

  “That’s sweet and very perceptive; but if you’re going to teach me to be more assertive, I’ll apply the new attitude to you too.”

  “Oh, really?” Guy arches a brow and glances at me.

  “Yes. So be quiet.”

  Guy chuckles. “So, you haven’t camped before?”

  “No. Not sure I’ll like it.”

  “You can always sleep in the Jeep if you hate sleeping in a tent that much.”

  “Isn’t the bucket list idea that we do things we never have before?”

  “True. Yours intrigue me, as if you’re setting yourself challenges rather than doing things you enjoy.”

  I know.

  “You don’t think I’ll enjoy sleeping under the stars?”

  “Not if you don’t like camping.”

  “How about you? Do you camp much?” I ask.

  “Not as much as I used to.” Guy launches into stories about camping as a child, then later as a teen. I picture the younger Guy with the friends he mentions, and wonder why he spends so much time alone.

  The campsite is located in a small town with little else than a few cafes and basic shops, much of the place geared towards tourism. We head off the road through the gates of the campsite, the bright blue ocean a few hundred metres away past the chalets and tent pitching sites. Guy disappears into the reception area and I wait.

  “Have you ever seen the Pinnacles?” asks Guy as he hops back into the Jeep. “We could stop there first?”

  “I’ve heard of them.”

  “You don’t sound keen.”

  “Shouldn’t we pitch the tent or whatever before the sun goes down? Go tomorrow instead?”

  “You are a very practical lady, Phe. Maybe we can sneak in the National Park at night, or close by anyway. The stars will be unreal there.”

  We have an ample choice of spaces with amazing beachfront sites; the tourist season has all but ended. I hang back as Guy pulls all the camping gear from the back of the Jeep. He tips the canvas from the bag and shakes the tent into place; the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing as he does. His singlet top is cropped at the arms, revealing the edge of his tanned chest coupled with his board shorts low on his hips. My sexy, Aussie surfer Guy.

  Guy straightens
. “Are you going to help or just stare at my awesome body?”

  “Ha, ha.” I pick up a canvas bag and tip pegs onto the floor, then look at Guy in despair.

  He shakes his head. “You’ve missed out if you’ve never camped before.”

  “Not quite the accommodation my grandparents liked.”

  “So no school camp?” Guy grabs a couple of pegs and mallet, setting about securing the tent.

  “Once, but we were in chalets.” I indicate the row of wooden, blue buildings behind us.

  “Right. Would you have preferred that?”

  “No. I have to sleep under the stars to tick off the list. Or in a tent at least.”

  He grins and throws the mallet in the air, then catches. “Exactly.”

  With little help from me, Guy finishes putting up the tent. Inside are two small sleeping sections and a space between where Guy has dumped cooler of food and drink. I haul my newly purchased sleeping bag from the car and Guy appears next to me to lug my bag out.

  “Glad to see you’re travelling light.”

  “I don’t need much for one night camping.”

  “I bet you wrote a list,” he says with a half-smile. “And ticked everything off.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Nah, just threw stuff into the car.”

  “How do you know you haven’t forgotten anything?”

  Guy takes my face in both hands, blue eyes searching mine. “I have the important things and I’m with you, so what else matters?”

  He retrieves two low camping chairs from the boot of the jeep and puts them up. “For you.” He gestures and I sit.

  The lawned tent pitching areas stretch toward the beach, thinning to sand a few hundred metres away. An ocean breeze blows through the late afternoon heat, carrying the ozone scent and call of the seagulls. I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

  Peace.

  “This unscrambles things, don’t you think?” he asks.

  I open an eye to where Guy has taken the other seat and sits looking toward the beach too. “This place is peaceful.”

  “No city, no traffic, just nature. I think people relax because places like this empty our minds. Reality is so far away and can’t intrude.”

  “I guess.”