by Amelia Hart
“The best way to get over one man is to get under another one. It won’t be long and they’ll all have gone home. We must make the most of every opportunity life hands us.” She folded her hands together piously and blinked at Suzanne with mock innocence.
“Yeah, whatever,” Suzanne sniggered her appreciation.
“Speaking of opportunities, phwoar! Check out this guy. They don’t come much hotter than that!”
“Who? Where?” she craned her head obligingly towards the entrance.
“You missed him, he’s behind you. Now look over at the counter. Check out that ass. Wait a second. He’ll turn around once he’s ordered.”
Looking at the broad shoulders and blonde hair of the large man, Suzanne began to get a sinking feeling she recognized him, even before he turned. She angled herself away from the counter, picking up her handbag and rummaging around in it as a cover to keep her head down.
“Look, look, you’ll miss him.”
“He’s just another tourist. Who cares?”
“Damn he’s fine. He’s looking over here right now. Ooo, he’s looking at us. He’s looking at you. Sue, he’s looking right at you and he’s coming this way. Sue!”
“What an absolute pleasure to see you again, your majesty,” said that smooth American voice. She looked up at him through her lashes and saw he was grinning at her with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. He made their small table seem tiny as he towered over it.
She didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing, with as much dignity as she could muster. If anything, his grin broadened before he switched the warm glow of his attention to Anita.
“Hi. I’m Justin. And you are…?”
“Anita.” She held out her hand, and he took it and shook it without hesitation. “Do join us.”
“I’d love to, he replied shamelessly, collecting a chair from a nearby table with a single casual hand. He set it down back-to-front, laying his corded forearms along the top of the ladderback in a move that brought his impressive shoulder muscles to the attention of any interested onlooker. Suzanne wondered cynically if it was a calculated tactic.
She glared meaningfully at Anita, who shrugged and mimed touching her forefinger to her tongue and then to her shoulder in a gesture she liked to use. Suzanne could almost hear the hissing sound she usually made to accompany the move, to indicate something was red hot. Suzanne rolled her eyes, not particularly caring if he picked up this non-verbal byplay.
“So you two know each other?” Anita jumped right in.
“We met just yesterday. But we definitely shared a moment,” he waggled his eyebrows comically. Obviously he sensed an ally in Anita. Correctly, it turned out.
“That’s great. Suzanne could use a little playtime. She works much too hard. You’re just visiting, right?” When he nodded, she carried on: “Then she could take you out and about to see the sights. What a lovely idea! I can’t think of a better person for the job. Grew up here, knows everyone, everything there is to see. You’ll be in good hands.”
“Sounds perfect. I’m keen. I really haven’t seen anything other than the beach so far.” He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, taking hold of the top rung of the ladderback and leaning back in a classic rower’s pull, the picture of ease in his board shorts and ragged T-shirt. All he needed now was cheap rubber jandals to complete the picture of the down-at-the-heels local surfie.
Hinemoa – the curvy and serene waitress – chose that moment to interrupt them with the quiche and nachos. She smiled on them benevolently then glided on, big hips swaying. A savoury, cheesy aroma drifted up from the two plates. Suzanne inhaled deeply in anticipation, and took her time unfolding the napkin wrapped around her cutlery and smoothing the fragile paper over her knees.
“I think I’ll have to pass on that. But do have a great time.” Dismissal was clear in her tone.
His grin re-emerged. “That’s just too bad. But I’m going to be on the Barrier for awhile. Months. I’ll certainly be seeing you around. So you can let me know if you change your mind.”
“Lovely,” she said through gritted teeth. “Will do.”
He got up and sauntered off to an outside table, the only one free in the café, to all appearances quite pleased with himself.
The moment he was out of earshot, Anita said: “Good God! How could you possibly turn him down? What were you thinking?”
“He’s not that irresistible.”
“Yahuh, yes he is.”
“Well if you like him so much, you go on over there and offer to be his tourguide. He’s too much like Gavin for my taste.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t. If he had looked at me for one second the way he just looked at you for two minutes, I’d be all over him like white on rice. And what do you mean he’s like Gavin? Who’s Gavin?”
Suzanne laid down her fork and started to twirl the straw in her drinking glass, her eyes on the table. “Gavin’s that guy from Napier who was here the summer at the end of Year 12,” she said quietly, not looking up. After a moment she relaxed her tight mouth and deliberately took a sip from the bottle beaded with water, rolling the apple and guava juice around on her tongue before letting it slide down her throat.
“Oh. Yeah, I remember him I guess.” Anita gave the matter some thought, playing with her artfully dyed blonde hair. “I wouldn’t have said he looks like Justin here though. Didn’t he have black hair?”
“Both good-looking, both confident and smooth, both just visiting for a couple of months. I think they’ve got a lot in common.”
Anita looked at Suzanne with dawning consternation. “Suzanne, that guy was an arsehole. And maybe we didn’t pick up on it till it was too late, but I think we’d see him coming a mile away, now. I mean, you wouldn’t make the same mistake these days, would you?”
Suzanne bit her lip.
Stupid to drink too much. Stupid to trust a guy just because he looked beautiful and his admiration made her feel good. Stupid to take chances.
She had never been so stupid again. Ever.
The memories were enough to make her sick to her stomach. She pushed away the last few bites of her quiche, saying: “No, I think you only make that sort of mistake once. Once is enough. Quite enough.”
“He was revolting. I do remember. I didn’t realise you were still hung up about it.”
Suzanne looked down into her lap, pleating the paper napkin into precise folds.
“Seventeen-year-olds are allowed to get things wrong you know,” Anita grimaced. “You have permission to forgive yourself and let it go. Trusting him doesn’t make you an idiot. It makes him an idiot. For taking something precious and trading it for kudos with his friends. He’s the loser. Stop giving him this power over you. You deserve the right to seduce a hot guy like that one over there.”
“Oh I wouldn’t even know where to start with a seduction. I haven’t got the first idea. Even if I wanted to.”
“Well if you don’t want him or someone like him, what do you want?”
“Just to be left alone.”
“Suzy, Suzy, Suzy.” Anita shook her head in consternation, Suzanne tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, blinking quickly. Anita leaned forward to put her warm hand over Suzanne’s, where it lay on the table. “That’s just plain wrong. All this time I thought you were aloof cos you’re picky. Is this really all about Gavin? I’d like to rip that guy a new. . . No, don’t cry sweetie.”
“I’m not, I’m not,” said Suzanne, dashing a quick hand under her eyes.
“Listen, you need to get out there, let loose, have fun and enjoy your saucy, sexy arse off. There are so many lovely men out there. Don’t cut yourself off. It’s just not like you. You’re just the most capable, can do woman I know. You’re not afraid of anything.”
Suzanne winced at the word ‘afraid’. That was precisely what she was.
“And what if I get it wrong again? What if I fall for someone who is just using me?”
Anita shrugged. “Everyon
e takes that chance. How often have I made a fool of myself over some man? That’s just life. You don’t decide you’re not going to live it in case you get it wrong. Take a chance. Trust your instincts. If they’re telling you to hunt this guy down then go for it.”
“They’re not. They’re telling me to run in the other direction.”
“Okay, so forget your instincts. They’re based on old scars. Time to get some new instincts. Listen to your poor libido instead.”
Suzanne laughed helplessly, a sad laugh ending on a sigh. “I can’t. I don’t think I have it in me.”
“Rubbish. I bet you’ve just spent so long holding back and damming up your feelings you’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually tune into what you want.”
“Even if I was going to take a chance, it wouldn’t be with some stranger nobody knows, who will take off at any moment.” Suzanne pinched her lips together, looking out the window at the back of the blonde head she could just see sitting at one of the outside tables. Actually from the way he was laughing and talking with Murray, maybe he did know a few of the locals.
“But that’s where he’s just perfect. No muss, no fuss, no commitments. You have some fun, let loose, get a bit wild, and then before you can say ‘uh, this is starting to get complicated’ he’s gone and you can try again on someone else. Better than getting hot and heavy with the limited selection of residents. When things fall apart and you keep bumping into them…awkward.” She sang the last word, rolling her eyes expressively.
“You’re such a cynic. What about love?”
“I’m not a cynic. I’m all about love. Always ready for it. But you have to kiss plenty of toads to find a prince. Besides, we’ve got years, years before we have to get serious about anyone. I may be ready, but I’m not desperate. Plenty of time for fun. Which is exactly what you should be having.”
“Alright, alright. I’ve heard you. I may not agree, but I’ve heard you. Okay? Let’s talk about something else!” Suzanne made herself look away from Justin’s blonde head, instead examining the work of a local painter that hung on the wall next to her while her mind roiled. She did not often examine her internal world. She was made for doing, not for navel gazing. But this was an area of her life that was damaged. Scarred, as Anita said. It was easier by far to turn away from desires and needs that put her at risk. She had been doing exactly that for years, and focusing all her attention and energy on building a safe, controlled world to occupy. Work; her students; her friendships; her hobbies. No men, no passionate relationships.
Everything Anita said – in her forthright, cheerful way – made sense. How would she ever be a wife and mother unless she took a chance on being a sexual being first? This was not a world made for women who were scared to dip their toes in the pool of sexual adventures. Sure enough there were toads in that pool. But it was very lonely standing on the edge and watching everyone else rush in and enjoy their lives and their bodies while she held back.
She sighed, propping her forehead in one hand and rubbing at her temples. Anita was right indeed. It was time to unlearn it. No matter how painful the journey, and how doubtful she felt about starting a change. She did not want to be still alone in ten, twenty years.
It was time – and past time – for a little courage.
While Anita applied herself enthusiastically to her slice of cake – with an occasional mumble of acclaim – Suzanne tried to imagine standing up right now and walking outside to Justin. Perhaps she could lay a casual hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Say something confident like: “Okay, sure. I’ll play tourguide. You might like to see the Kauri Dam. It’s an attractive and challenging walk. We could do that tomorrow if you’re game?” And give him the sort of warm, meaningful smile that would delicately imply she was game for much more.
She could almost see the picture. But that bold imagined her was nothing like the hesitant woman who sat frozen and blushing in her seat, awkward and faintly nauseous.
So maybe Justin was too intimidating to start with. Perhaps the next man she bumped into would be more her speed. She could feel her throat closing over in what was beginning to feel like a panic attack. Actually she didn’t think she would ever be ready. If facing down this reaction was what she must do to overcome her habit of being single, she might have to spend the rest of her life alone. She gritted her teeth, carefully unclenched the fist that was holding her crushed napkin. Then she began to tear it into tiny pieces, focusing all her attention on that meaningless task.
“What are you doing?” asked Anita, eyeing her busy fingers, cake fork suspended and mouthful tucked into one cheek.
Suzanne gathered up the soft white shreds into a pile as she replied: “Nothing. Have you finished with that cake? Because if you’re leaving the rest then I’m having it.”
And in the ensuing verbal tussle over the cake and leftover quiche – which Suzanne let Anita win – deeper topics were set aside.
Chapter Three
It was a week before Suzanne went to Medlands Beach again. All her work was finished and she was completely free and armed with a new book by her favourite author, which she had ordered by internet several weeks before.
Today the sea was calm, perfect for a swim. She splashed into it with giant leaps, enjoying the resistance of the water, then threw herself into a shallow dive and took off at full speed for the horizon. Ten minutes or so later she turned around and swam back more leisurely, cutting cleanly through the water with a precise stroke. Close by the shore her pace slowed to a gentle drift, walking her hands over the sand, enjoying the warmth of the shallows after the cooler depths that had chilled her deliciously.
Finally, reluctantly she stood, feeling the water sheet off her body, lifting her hands to squeeze more from her bunched hair.
The tide was on its way out so the sand was firmly packed and damp by the shoreline. But up by her towel it was scorching and she ran the last few steps to the refuge of her sandals. She shook out her towel, baked hot and crispy in the heat, and dried herself briskly before adding more sunscreen. Then she set up the beach umbrella she had packed, and stretched out in its shade. With so little wind it was unlikely to blow away.
She had been lying there, pleasantly involved in the initial pages of her book, for nearly twenty minutes when someone came to stand over her. Squinting upward she was surprised to see it was the American again. Justin, she remembered, and frowned.
“Pleased to see you too,” he said quizzically.
She buried her nose in her book without answering him, refusing to acknowledge the tiniest trickle of pleasure that he had sought her out again. His persistence was flattering, she’d give him that.
“I’m staying in one of the houses right on the beach,” he went on easily, lowering himself to the sand just beyond the shade of the large umbrella. “I was looking out of the window when you drove up. Did you have a nice swim?”
“Lovely, thanks.” Her tone was politely dismissive, leaving him no opening. But he didn’t need one.
“The water’s unbelievably soft on a day like this. Perfect temperature, silky, refreshing.” He lifted one hand and made a gesture as if he was stroking the air. “Makes you want to get straight back into it as soon as you’re out.”
Exasperated, Suzanne plonked her book facedown on the sand. “Look, honestly, really and truly, could you leave me alone! I’m not interested!” It set her teeth on edge to be rude. But he really left her no choice. Polite rebuffs were getting her nowhere.
“Interested in what?” he summoned an expression of surprise.
“In you! Nothing personal.” As she spoke, she met his eyes, but found she could not hold his steady gaze. Her own eyes skittered away, and she looked out to sea instead. “I just don’t want to get involved with someone who is going to leave soon, and go back to his real life. I’m not prepared to be an easily forgotten holiday fling. I don’t hold myself that cheaply.” She winced a little at her own moralistic pomposity.
Yet he didn�
�t seem taken aback as he said in an almost dispassionate tone: “I don’t think you could ever be easily forgotten,” his head tilted to one side contemplatively as if thinking aloud. “Of course,” he went on, and now his sideways glance was mischievous, “You’re assuming an awful lot. I mean, I don’t think I recall actually offering you a fling. Holiday or otherwise. No, I’m quite sure I didn’t.”
Suzanne blushed furiously, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She didn’t know what to say.
He looked down at the sand between them, where his fingers began idly to draw a pattern.
“Actually, what I’m doing is my real life. I work only when I have to, and the rest of the time I can be wherever I want to be. I travel a lot, but if I like a place, I may stay there for months.”
“I’m not sure that a drifting layabout is much more appealing,” she said tartly.
“So it’s my joblessness that bothers you?” His teeth flashed in a quick grin, and then he looked up and caught her gaze with his. This time she couldn’t glance away as the smile faded, and he said with an unexpected intensity:
“Don’t you know how easy it is to fall into the trap of living to work? To gradually give your life over to the need for more money and possessions? There is nothing in the world which has a greater value than life. Once it’s gone, you can’t do anything to live it over. I hope,” and he smiled again, pensively this time, “to be still on the beach when I’m eighty, waiting with my board to catch the next wave. But if I can’t be, I don’t want to be crying into my cornflakes because all I did with my time was merge into suburbia.”
She looked at him, then at the little hillock of sand his broad palm was collecting and flattening, collecting and flattening as he went on quietly:
“I’m sure you must see what I mean. You choose to live here on the Barrier. Don’t you feel that your life is richer and more real when you are away from cities? When you can step outside and smell the clean air?”
“Perhaps,” she said, noncommittal. “But there have been times,” she continued, thinking of her painting, “when I would have given a great deal to be away from here.” She stopped, unsure of how much she wanted to tell him, or why she was talking to him at all. She was so confused by her own reaction to this man.