Losing Faith (Surfers Way) (8 page)

Whilst my wardrobe is an issue, I’m super relieved that Mum and Dad are both at work, because having them around and making small talk with Quade would make this a billion times more nerve-wracking. I’ve already chewed most of my nails to the quick this afternoon.
Mum won’t be impressed.

Three swift knocks on the door have me jumping out of my skin.

“Fuck,” I growl to myself, looking at the clock, which is bang on seven.
Why does he have to be so punctual?

Tonight is an epic fail on my part, and I hate it because I’m not a princess when it comes to getting ready. Five minutes and I’m usually done, but not this evening. A dress to the pub is too formal, and shorts seem too casual.

I wrap the towel back around me and suck in a deep breath. Blood rushes to my face and heat spreads across my chest with each step towards the entrance. I pull the curtain across just enough to grip the sliding-door handle. I nudge it open so that he can see only a slither of me. He doesn’t need to catch me in a towel, or witness how disorganised I am.

“Hey,” he says, huffing as he casts a curious look down my body.

“Did you run here? Why are you puffing?”

His brows bunch together. “No, I just walked through a giant spider web. Glad you didn’t witness the freak-out. Kind of emasculating.” He chuckles and points at my towel. “You’re not ready.”

“I’m sorry. I promise I just need a few more minutes.” I smile at him with gritted teeth as a wayward apology.

“Nothing to wear, huh?” he says.

I huff out through my nose and roll my eyes. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“How about I go wait in the car for you?” He takes a step back.

“Thank you. I’ll be like two minutes, five tops,” I blurt out, and then shut the door.

I rush back to my wardrobe and pray that a magical piece of clothing will present itself. It doesn’t. And that sucks. Each minute that passes has me more frantic.

After destroying my room, in the end I go with a plain white tank top and dressy black high-waisted denim shorts with black sandals and a long chain with a diamante heart charm which was a present from Mack for my seventeenth birthday.
Damn I miss her
.

My phone buzzes with a text on my dresser.
I don’t have time for this now!

What was I thinking about just before? I step into the bathroom and put on some light pink lip-gloss, not one for wearing much makeup. My chain clangs against the vanity.

Oh yeah, I was thinking about Mack.

What would she think about tonight’s date? That’s if you can call it a date. Would she be supportive? Has she finally found a guy?
Like the one that’s waiting for me outside?

Shit
. I need to get sorted. How long has he been waiting in the car?

My phone reminds me of the pending message.

Quade: Gettin’ lonely out here

Gah!

I snatch up my Taylor Swift perfume, spray a cloud in front of me and walk through it. I lock up, say goodnight to Charlie and squeeze through the gate so he can’t escape. Thankfully I fed him earlier when I seemed to have all the time in the world to get ready.

I open the door and settle in to the passenger seat. “Ready?” Quade says, politely not saying anything about my tardiness.

“Yup.”

“You look nice,” he compliments me, tapping his hand on my knee, his fingers lingering for longer than I anticipate.

“Thanks. I seriously didn’t have anything to wear though.”

“What you have on is perfect. It’s very you,” he says with a wink.

What does that mean? Classic? Stylish? Gypsy? Grab anything that’s clean?

Gulp.

              A weird tension grows between us as we take the next few turns. Or maybe it’s just me that’s weird. Yup. Probably just me.

“I don’t think you’ve got any more nail to chew there, Lace,” he taunts.

I pull my finger from my mouth, surprised that it was there at all. “Ah, yeah. Bad habit, I know.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, ’kay? Just you, me and some of the best humans you’ll ever meet.”

---

Quade holds my hand as we walk inside the pub towards the beaten timber bar.

“That’s quite a hold you have on me,” I tell him, bumping my shoulder against his.

“Just making sure you don’t flee,” he says in a lowered voice, which causes an ache in my lower belly.

A nervous laugh bursts from my mouth. “I have a feeling you’d run me down anyway.”

“You bet your arse I would. You’d have no chance.”

Don’t think about his arse. Don’t do it.

He really has buns of steel.
Gah!

I compose myself and try and think totally unsexy thoughts.
Dirty clothes, spiders in showers, slobbery dogs
.

“So sure of yourself, Mr Kelly.”

“Just stating a fact,” he says, smug as anything.

“Ah, it is you, Lacey,” a croaky voice rattles behind me.

I turn to find Cameron, the publican, with a pile of empty schooner glasses stacked high and resting against one shoulder, a grey dishcloth tossed over the other.

“Hi, Cam. How are you?” I offer the old man a smile.

“Me old ticker’s still kickin’, so can’t complain,” he says with an exaggerated wink.

“No one would listen anyway,” I say and match his wink, repeating back to him one of the lines he regularly regurgitates when he’s chatting to people around town.

“Ah, you’re too smart for me, young lassie. Anyhow, good to see ya pretty face. If you’ve got some more posters handy, drop ’em in and I’ll stick some ’round the place.”

“I will. Thank you.”

He nods and shuffles down to the end of the bar, offloading the glassware.

Quade nudges my elbow. “Posters?”

“Important posters,” I tell him.
Don’t-let-a-drunk-mate-walk-home kind of important
.

His blue eyes search mine while I stare back, wondering what he’s thinking about. “Similar to the flyers, I’m guessing,” he finally says.

“Pretty much,” I say with a nod.

He lets out a sigh and makes a “huh” noise, then signals to a middle-aged man behind the bar.

“Midori and Lemonade?” Quade asks, raising his eyebrows in question.

My whole body shudders at the thought of that sweet syrupy poison.
Never again
. “Just a Coke, thanks.”

Quade orders my drink and a light beer for himself. He hands me my glass and slips his free hand into mine, leading me over to a table with eight chairs, four of which are occupied, and a pram at the end with a pink and white-spotted blanket draped over it. Two faces I recognise from school. Tim and Jack look much scruffier than they did when I saw them last, Tim sporting a full-grown dark beard and Jack with his long wavy brown hair, tipped with blond from the sun. It looks like he rarely spends a day away from the surf. Tim and Jack light up with wide grins when we reach the table. The two girls beside them, who I don’t know, each offer a polite smile. All four of them, as if somehow choreographed by the universe, zero in on our hands clasped together.

I must pull away instinctively because Quade’s grip tightens. His blue eyes soften with a lazy smile. “Hey everyone. This is Lacey,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. “Don’t bite her.”

“Very funny,” I whisper.

Jack rises and shakes Quade’s hand, says “G’day” and then shakes my hand too. “Good to see ya, Lacey,” he says with a wink. “This is my girl, Susie.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, and shake the hand of the curvy brunette who has boobs I would kill for.

“You too,” she says and sits back down, placing her hand on the pram handle. “Our little girl, Lila, just crashed. I’m sure you’ll get to hear her before your meal is done.”

God, I would have no clue how to be a mum at twenty-three or twenty-four. “I can’t wait to say hello when she wakes up.”

“Missed you, bro,” Tim says as he pulls Quade into a bear hug. Quade finally lets go of my hand to slap his friend hard on the back. Tim pats him in return and they enter into a gruff conversation that is clearly intended for only their ears. I catch the mention of “father” and “awesome” coming from Quade, which makes my heart melt. It’s lovely to see him with close friends like this.

The girl with freckles and tight honey ringlets stands and extends her hand over the table. “Hi, I’m Emma, and Tim here is shit at introductions. And I promise I don’t bite.”

A girl with a sense of humour. I like it.
“Ha. Hi, Emma.”

“Let’s order,” Jack says, tapping the end of his worn laminated menu on the tabletop loudly.

After a quick look at the menu, we all decide we have to have the steak.
Well, it is the best in town.

“Your brother back from overseas?” Tim asks me, and then takes a long pull of his beer.

“No, Ricky’s still working on the slopes in Canada.”

“Man, he’s been gone for ages. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. When’s he coming back? I’d love to catch up for a beer.”

“He met a girl, so it doesn’t look like it’ll be anytime soon.”

“Oh boy. She’s got him good, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s turned into a lovesick puppy and hasn’t been able to pull himself away. I can give you his Skype info and you can have a chat with him? Maybe you could convince him to come home for a visit.”

“Ha. I’ll do my best.”

“So are we expecting anyone else tonight?” I ask, focusing on the two empty seats and then on the faces around the table.

“Mr Unreliable,” Jack pipes in. “And whatever bird he happens to be fu—” Susie elbows him in the side. Jack coughs. “Dating,” he says through a chuckle.

I nod, not knowing whether I should dig for any more details, even though the name has me intrigued.

A short time later our meals arrive, halting conversation for a good few minutes.

“God I missed this scotchy,” Quade says around a mouthful of succulent steak.

“Best mushroom sauce ever,” I mumble, and then dive in for another bite.

When the plates are almost empty, a tall guy with a familiar face grips Quade’s shoulders.
Mr Unreliable?

“You bastards didn’t wait for me?” he says and scowls.

“Pedro! You made it, brother,” Quade says and puts down his cutlery, pushing his chair back and shaking his friend’s hand.

Pedro?

“Well, if it isn’t the princess herself,” Mr Unreliable says with a shake of his head. He’s not as tall as Quade, but he’s solid and sports an army-style crew-cut, with splinters of his dark hair sticking up all over his scalp. His beady eyes bore into me. It’s intimidating as anything.

“Yeah,” I say through a nervous giggle, trying to place him. “Pedro, is it?”

“You remember Pete Fairfield, don’t you?” Quade says, his brows bunched.

Oh shit
. Jamie’s brother.
Shit. Shit. Shit
.

“Wasn’t his little brother, Jamie, in your grade?” Quade asks.

As if I could forget Jamie—the boy who took my virginity. I swallow the growing lump in my throat.

“Yeah, he was,” Pete barks before I get a chance to speak.

“Yeah, um, it’s good to see you again, Pete.” Not. “Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve run into you.”
And you look like you’ve lost at least forty kilos since finishing school
.

I hope to hell that there’ll be no more talk of his sibling tonight. Of all people, I don’t want Quade to know what went down the night of the wake. He’d be so disappointed in me. Hell, if it’s possible for him to be any more disappointed than I am at myself for my stupid actions way back then.

“I’ll go order some nachos or something. Be right back.” Pete wanders off towards the end of the bar. The tension in my shoulders eases as soon as he’s out of sight. I hadn’t seen Pete since graduation, so bumping into him here, when I’m out with Quade … he’s the last person I expected to see. Things could be worse, I guess. Could’ve been Jamie.

The chatter is nice as we finish our meals, but I find my leg bouncing up and down. I hope it hasn’t come across that I’m nervous about being here. A warm strong hand curls over my knee, making me freeze. My head swings towards Quade, who’s grinning like an idiot.

He leans in close enough that I get a whiff of his clean-smelling aftershave. “No one’s bit,” he whispers.

“I know,” I say through gritted teeth, but then can’t help matching his smile.
It’s okay that I’m still nervous, I feel like telling him
. The fact that Pete Fairfield is causing my stomach to twinge, I’ll keep to myself.

A cry rings out from across the table, and the blanket which covers the pram jerks in all directions as it’s kicked from the inside, as if the baby is trying to escape.