Someone Like You(9)

The cool of the water against her knees was a relief and as she walked  deeper into the waves, the slow trickle of water inside her wetsuit  tickled every nerve ending, still on high alert from her physical  encounter with Dan the night before. She'd blamed the sticky overnight  heat for her restlessness, her shimmy with the sheets and her distracted  dreams. It seemed that every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd felt  Dan's arms around her, heard his heart pounding against hers as he'd  carried her away from the broken glass the night before.         

     



 

But that was all yesterday.

And now there was going to be a tonight. Dinner. Together.

Lizzie buckled her knees and ducked under the surface, submerging and  floating there for as long as she could hold her breath. She fought the  buoyancy of the wetsuit with upward strokes of her hands, flailing at  her sides like some kind of bizarre dance move. It was the beach  equivalent of a cold shower and, in the watery quiet with her eyes  squeezed shut, she wanted nothing in her head but the sound of the  echoing waves in her ears.

Finally, when she couldn't hold her breath any longer, she found her  feet and emerged from the sea with a gasp and a deep breath, the sting  of the saltwater in her eyes and the sun on her cheeks. She glanced up  to the big southern sky that stretched on forever and took it in, trying  to find a cloud on this stunning early summer's day. A glance to her  right and there was the pub high on the Point, to her left miles and  miles of beach and water and more sky.

It hadn't worked. The beach, the sky, the sun. She was still as jittery  as she'd been when Dan had left her place the night before. She needed a  good wave, just one good one, to carry her away. And she waited in the  calm Middle Point water for what seemed like half an hour. Finally, a  glance either side of her revealed she'd been fooling herself. No one  else was in the water. When the waves were on, the word went around via  phone and text message and the beach was packed. Not today and for very  good reason. There was nothing but blue to the horizon and beyond. Not a  white cap in sight. It was the north wind that did it, flattened the  waves, swept them back out to sea, transforming the waters of the south  coast into something that looked remotely tropical instead of a surf  beach.

Which was all very well if you were dressed in a floaty multicoloured  kaftan and strappy high-heels while holding, in your perfectly manicured  hand, a cocktail with an umbrella sticking out of it.

But not so okay if you wanted to be swept away. Lizzie pulled herself  onto her bodyboard and rested her chin on her linked fingers. She  floated over the rhythmic rise and fall of the swell, feeling the pulse  of it in her wrists and in her chest, and closed her eyes.

She would simply have to find another way to undo the knot in her stomach.

Lizzie snuck a glance at her wrist. The sensible part of her knew that  watching the time didn't actually make it go any faster. But the other  part of her, the one that remembered Dan's heavy eyes and he-man arms,  was having kittens.

Every half hour between midday and seven-thirty, she'd glanced up,  looking past the kaleidoscope of liqueur bottles sitting in haphazard  rows on the glass shelves behind the bar, to the old railway clock, its  roman numerals having confused young children for generations. There  were still hours to go. She sorted out a shift swap with two young  waitresses, one of whom was keen to drive up to Adelaide to see her uni  student boyfriend. Lizzie knew what that meant. It wouldn't be long  before she'd pack her bags and follow her heart and Lizzie would be on  the hunt for another staff member. The timing couldn't be worse. The  school holidays were about to start and then the real holiday season  would hit. It was their busiest time of year and she didn't need the  headache.

Lizzie shouldn't have been so distracted about seeing Dan again. Her  afternoon had been filled with enough to divert her attention. A  delivery from the local butcher had been delayed because his wife was in  hospital having their baby, three weeks earlier than expected, so the  rib eye steak had to be pulled from that day's menu. One of the local  police officers called to let her know that a young woman had made a  complaint against the pub, claiming Lizzie and her staff had been  harbouring drink spikers the previous Friday night. He was apologetic  but thorough and Lizzie listened patiently, answering all his questions.  She checked the bookings to find out who'd been in the pub that night.  There it was. A local netball team had booked a table of twenty for  dinner, celebrating someone's twenty-first birthday. She clearly  remembered them collectively staggering out the door at closing time.  The woman was absolutely adamant that she'd only had three drinks and  couldn't understand why she'd been hung-over all weekend, leading her to  the inevitable conclusion that someone had snuck something suspicious  into her vodka. That one made Lizzie smile. She'd seen it before. The  only thing that young woman's drinks had been spiked with was alcohol.  Lizzie assured the officer she'd seen no suspicious activity and, if she  ever did, she'd be sure to let him know.

That busy work only filled the hours until five p.m. when the first of  the locals began arriving for dinner. The pensioners came first, on the  dot of 5.15 p.m. They sat at the same tables and ordered the same thing  every week: Roast of the Day. Lizzie took a booking for a fiftieth  wedding anniversary party and answered a phone call about the  gluten-free options on the menu.         

     



 

And then it was six p.m. She couldn't contain herself any longer, so she  grabbed her phone, locked her office, and walked out to the pub's rear  car park. As the screen door clattered behind her, she looked around the  open and barren space. It had always been an afterthought, unused,  forlorn, as if it was sad about missing out on all the action happening  on the beach side. Dark bitumen, divided into parking spaces by bright  white painted lines, shimmered in the heat. A row of rubbish bins had  gathered in a huddle and a few cars were parked there. The glare from  the bright afternoon sun on the corrugated iron fence almost blinded  her. For the first time, Lizzie realised there wasn't even a tree to sit  under. She paced on the bitumen, shielded her face from the glare with  an outstretched hand and waited for Julia to pick up.

'Hey Lizzie.'

'Jools. I need to debrief. Or maybe that's pre-brief. God, I need to talk to someone.'

'This sounds interesting. What's up?'

'Dan's coming here for dinner. To the pub, I mean. Tonight. In,' Lizzie checked her watch, 'two hours.'

There was silence. Lizzie wiped the beads of sweat from her top lip. This place really was like an oven.

'Jools? Are you there?' If only Lizzie could see her best friend doing a silent happy dance in the middle of her kitchen.

'What did you do to lure him out of his house?' Lizzie could hear Jools'  sigh down the line. 'His house. That sounds weird. I still think of it  as my house.'

'Enough about you, Jools, this is about me,' Lizzie snapped.

'Sorry. You're right. Prepare for twenty questions: why are you freaking  out? How did this all happen? Where? When? And what are you going to  wear?'

Lizzie relayed a highly edited version of all the events so far. She  told Julia about Dan's surprise visit the night before, the wine glass  incident and Dan's parting words to keep a table for two. She  conveniently failed to include specific details about his eyes, his  shoulders, her raging hormonal response to being lifted off the ground  like she was a feather or the beard fondle. And she most definitely  forgot to tell her about the rejected offer of a drink. All of that was  way too humiliating.

'That all sounds extremely promising, Lizzie,' Julia said.

'It's dinner. That's it.' No strings, no expectations, Lizzie told  herself. The booking was at eight o'clock. It would probably be all over  by 8.45, including dessert. And then she could go home and watch a  weepy movie and get drunk. How ridiculous to be thinking this was  anything more.

'Lizzie. You've gone quiet. What aren't you telling me?'

Lizzie could hear the suspicion in her friend's voice and tried to snap  out of her ridiculous, uneasy mood. She'd been totally distracted by  Dan's eyes and body and that thing he did when he looked at her. That  thing that scrambled her brain and her resolve. Wasn't he complicated  enough without throwing sex into the mix? Staying away from him and his  problems was definitely the best thing she could do. So why wasn't she  doing it?

'I don't know why I said yes. I can't do this, Jools. Every time I see  him my resistance chips away just a little bit. You know me and my  pathological addiction to helping people.'

'Stop being such a drama queen, Lizzie. Would it be that bad to spend  some time with Dan? I could think of worse ways to pass the time. He  clearly wants to hang out with you and the only risk I see is that you  could get a crick in your neck from looking up at his chiselled jaw and  fine eyes for too long.'