Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance (17 page)

‘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 chocolatey 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.’

‘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 had 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.

In the distance, a camera flashed and Alex stopped short, his throat dry and his hands curling into fists. A young guy’s voice sounded behind him. ‘Watch where you’re going, mate.’ He shoved him with his shoulder on the way past, but Alex ignored him.

His gaze still fixed ahead, Alex could now see the flash had come from a Japanese student in pigtails and knee-high socks taking a snap of her similarly attired friend. He was just being paranoid.

His preference, of course, was being on the other side of the lens – never the subject.

Alex picked up his pace again, digging his hands deep into his jeans’ pockets. The camera shop was in his sights at the mall’s end, just across a set of lights. And tomorrow he’d drive like the devil home – to his
adopted
home – and be back in relative safety again.

The smell of pancakes lured Winnie to her mum’s kitchen early, in spite of herself. She’d slept like a baby. Not that spending the night before watching reruns of British sitcoms was her idea of the perfect Friday evening, but it’d been bearable. It had helped she’d forgone checking her phone’s Facebook feed to see what Bruna and co. were up to. That would have only made her sick to her stomach with jealousy.

For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to ponder how Alex had spent the night in town after hitting the shops. Maybe he’d gone to the city hangout for country bumpkins, Woolshed on Hindley, knocked back countless bourbon and Cokes, and taken home the first skirt that wafted his way, some woman who didn’t wear fuzzy socks to bed. It didn’t bear thinking about. Nor was it her business.

She should just have been grateful he’d dropped her at her mum’s place yesterday, especially when it hadn’t exactly been en route to his city hotel.

‘Hungry?’

Darn, Bacchus was the one behind the frypan in the kitchen, and her mother wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She wished she had the resistance just to make herself some tea and go, but the sweet scent filling her nostrils was too tempting.

‘Yeah, ravenous,’ Winnie admitted glumly.

Bacchus, back in his revolting footy shorts, grinned. ‘You’ll be impressed. They’re lemon-blueberry quinoa ones. So good they have to be tasted to be believed. Of course, I can’t claim to have come up with the recipe.’

Winnie smiled limply. She just wanted to eat, dammit. She didn’t particularly want to get chummy with another of her mother’s beaus, it was too exhausting. Before long her mother usually drove them away somehow. Winnie slid onto a pine stool at the breakfast bar and reached for the
Advertiser
, hoping it would dissuade Bacchus from further conversation.

Cheerily humming ‘Blue Suede Shoes’, seeming oblivious to her surliness, Bacchus pushed a plate stacked high with pancakes her way. Next, he plonked a bottle of organic maple syrup in front of her and nodded at the newspaper.

‘You know your mother’s got a scrapbook filled with your articles – from the old’
Tiser
ones to today. She even used to print out your
Slicker
pieces from the online edition.’

‘Really?’ Winnie frowned. ‘I didn’t know that.’ An unexpected flutter of pleasure rippled through her stomach. She didn’t think her mother took much notice of anything she did, particularly work-wise – mainstream media wasn’t really Georgy’s thing.

As if on cue, her mother sashayed into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper. ‘I’ve been
hacked
,’ she announced dramatically, sounding much more like Georgy. ‘Someone’s tried to take two thousand dollars from my savings account via my PayPal. They must have somehow guessed my password. Luckily I didn’t have enough funds in there and it got dishonoured, but I still got slugged a bloody dishonour fee. The dirty mongrels. I’m going to have to call the bank to reverse it. Though the thought of waiting in one of those phone queues gives me a headache.’

Winnie was surprised her mother had even bothered to check her bank statement. Still, the outrage was classic Georgy. Bacchus gently steered her by her elbow onto a stool.

‘Let’s not do anything on an empty stomach, shall we? Have some tucker first and then we’ll think back through your latest purchases. Don’t want to be mistaken, now, before we go blasting some poor person at the bank.’

Winnie swallowed a mouthful of pancake, barely tasting it, despite how exquisite it really was. Could the eccentric Bacchus actually be what her mother needed – a voice of reason to keep her on the straight and narrow? It certainly seemed the case. That was compared to the designer-suit-wearing charmers of old, who enjoyed the side trip into her mother’s bohemian life before racing back to reality without a backwards glance. Bacchus had even shown Winnie that her mother had a sentimental side and wasn’t always thinking about herself – or animals – like Winnie imagined.

The disgusting footy shorts at his age, though, couldn’t be forgiven.