The Same Deep Water (8 page)

Feelings? Physical attraction that would lead to an emotional attachment I’m unsure I want. One that’s happening involuntarily. I now struggle to sit close to Guy without remembering his strength and warmth. I don’t hug people; touching anybody is rare and his embrace tapped a hole into the wall against the need for physical contact. Just as he drew me from the edge three months ago, he’s pulling me to a stronger bond with the world – a human one.

Bucket list. Partners. Subject change. “So, your list. Which did you come up with to do next?” I ask.

“I want to skydive.”

“I’ve no idea why you would, but okay.”

He straightens in his chair, eyes brightening. “Plus, I can take you surfing. We can take a weekend out.”

“A weekend where?”

“South. There’s a skydiving company down there, great views of the coast from the plane.”

“That you intend to jump out of even though the plane’s functioning perfectly.”

He makes a soft sound of amusement and watches me expectantly.

“Oh. Um.” A weekend. Us. “I might be busy.”

“You’re worried about going away with me?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. After the other night...”

“I promise not to kiss you, even if it rains.” He smiles. “Invite your housemate, I know somebody who has a holiday place near Dunsborough. Practically beach front.” He pauses. “Lots of bedrooms.”

I rub my hands together under the table. Why do I have so many items on my bucket list that include water? “I’m not sure about the surfing just yet.”

“Come on, Phe. Best time of year. Plus, you’re still several items behind me.”

“Aren’t there a lot of sharks around that part of the coast?”

“Even better, two birds with one stone. You surf, I swim with sharks.” He grins.

I shake my head at him. The challenge to myself to overcome my fear of water could be about to take a step in the right direction.

“This weekend?” I ask.

“The sooner the better, time is of the essence and all that crap.” Guy picks at the edge of a napkin, the darkness flickering in his eyes again, before he looks up. “If you’re free.”

What the hell, why not? “Okay.”

We step back from the brink of the subjects we avoid and spend the next hour together. Over a meal, we chat – mostly about what I’ve been doing in the time apart, our meeting feeling more like a date by the minute. We easily slip back into the comfort of each other’s company until by the end of the evening, I’m aware how relaxed I am around Guy and how much I missed him.

Chapter Eleven

Six months in Perth and I’ve never ventured far from the city and suburbs; friends from work often go “Down South” to the Margaret River region at weekends. Focused on my everyday routine in an attempt to stay grounded, taking impromptu breaks away hasn’t been on my agenda.

Guy picks me up in a Jeep this time and I query how many cars he has. He tells me four, with a teasing grin, but I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. A worn surfboard is strapped to the roof rack, which I avoid looking at – or thinking about throwing myself to the mercy of the waves.

The drive takes less than three hours, the highway heading through the urban sprawl of Perth until the buildings thin to brown bush bordering the straight roads instead.

Guy looks tired again today, not unwell, but shadowed eyes as if he isn’t sleeping. He’s back to the quirky-humoured Guy I usually spend time with; but after our meeting the other day, I’m more aware that his smile hides secrets.

“Are you feeling okay at the moment?” I ask.

“I’m all good, Ophelia.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap back. “Phe.”

“I think Ophelia’s a great name.”

“I don’t. Don’t use it.”

Guy purses his lips and keeps driving. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like her story.”

“Yours or hers?”

I look out of the window, at the world flying past the window, blurred and monotonous. “Both.”

“Were you ever called Ophelia?”

“Drop it.”

“Phe is a strange abbreviation, though.”

“Lia.” I swallow. “I was Lia.”

“And why aren’t you –”

“Shut up!” The idea of opening the car door and jumping out launches into my mind, as my brain’s illogical misfiring suggests I climb out of a moving car to escape a threat that doesn’t exist.

Guy glances from the road to me, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. “I notice you’re working on the assertive thing. Good to see.”

“Like I said before, you don’t know me well. Certain things piss me off. Like this.” I don’t want tension to start our weekend. I intend to relax and have fun instead of the structured routine, which I apply to my life at weekends too.

“Under that carefully constructed exterior you’re a passionate girl then?”

I side glance him and his eyes are on the road, mouth quirked into a smile at one corner.

“I guess we both have stories that are painful.”

Guy taps the steering wheel. “I won’t ask you yours, if you don’t ask me mine.”

“Okay.” But it’s not. Each time I move closer to Guy, I hit a barrier. Originally, I thought the barriers between us were all mine, but his become more visible each time. I run through what he’s told me about himself and I know little: he’s sick, he’s wealthy, likes the outdoors, and sometimes he paints. What about his family? He mentioned a half-sister but that’s all. Where are they? Why is he living alone?

A weekend with Guy and I’m going to find some answers.

The sound of his eclectic mix of tracks on the car stereo travels with us for the next hour, conversation ceasing. I’m not the only one holding someone at arm’s length. Is Guy’s confusion over what we are or could become as great as mine?

Guy’s friends’ house is set back from the beach, on a gentle hill, overlooking the Indian Ocean. The modern building is at odds with the nature around, the angular lines giving the building the feel of an office block. The property has been designed to maximise the views with a large balcony wrapped around the upper floor. Several similar houses surround, with older shack-like properties nestling between. The price of beachfront land around here doesn’t tempt everybody to sell.

The beach across the narrow road fills the house too – via colourful blue and yellow furnishings and coastal pictures on the white walls. Art made from shells and driftwood and signs painted “to the beach” adorn the wicker furniture creating a classic holiday-by-the sea ambience. I walk to the floor to ceiling window at the front of the house and look down at the clear, flat ocean. The early afternoon sun enhances the the picture postcard blue of the water.

“This place is amazing,” I say. “So quiet and beautiful.”

“This is a great place to come for an escape.”

The tension from the journey ebbs; holding onto stress would be impossible in an environment like this.

“What time are your friends arriving?” Guy asks as he joins me.

“Late afternoon. Jen’s working.”

“Time for a surf lesson then,” he says.

I clench my jaw and fix my eyes on the water. “Not yet. I’m tired.”

“A walk on the beach then?”

My bag rests next to Guy’s feet where he’s dropped it, and I pick up the full rucksack. “I’ll unpack first.”

“Master suite upstairs and three back there.” He points to a door at the opposite end of the open plan room and takes my bag. “You can have upstairs.”

I follow him up the narrow stairs. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we let Jen and Cam have the room? They’re the couple.”

“Nope. You’re the important guest and this one has the en suite and views.”

The upstairs bedroom floods with light through double-glass doors leading to the balcony. I sit on the edge of the huge bed. The luxury of the bedding and the modern, sleek bathroom I can see through a half-open door put me in mind of a hotel.

“Wow.”

Guy crosses the room and slides open the balcony’s doors. At home, this would let in traffic sounds, but here there’s nothing but the call of the magpies in the trees below. “Pretty special, hey?”

“Absolutely.” Eager for a clear view, I stand with him. The gum trees border the opposite road and directly behind them a pathway leads through brown scrub toward the white sandy beach. The balcony’s position offers panoramic views of Geographe Bay, the pristine blue waters calm. A dream location for any beach lover.

“You like?”

I nod, soaking in the peace of the environment. The sky is cloudless, the view perfect.

“Are you sure?” He taps his teeth. “You don’t look sure and you’ve been quiet on the journey. Would you rather be here with Prince Charming?”

I look at him in surprise. “No, and don’t call him that. I hardly know Ross, so no.”

I cancelled our re-arranged date and I know why.

I’m fighting my attraction to Guy hard, and failing.

The undercurrents are there, a tide pulling us back and forth. Close together in an empty house, next to a large bed and the unsaid between us grows louder. The hair on my arms prickles at his proximity, close enough to catch his subtle scent reminding me of our dance. At the masquerade ball, I screwed things up by denying I wanted him to kiss me, because logic stepped in and put a hand out to stop me.

I look past him. “Great view from here too.”

“Amazing views at sunset,” he replies in a low voice. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Wish you were here with somebody else?”

“I couldn’t possibly be. Nobody else I know would be stupid enough to jump out of a functional aeroplane.”

He breaks his serious face with one of his dimpled smiles. “I can’t wait! Here, unpack. We can have a beach walk.”

Guy thrusts my bag at me, edges past, and disappears downstairs. Dazed, I stare out at the ocean again. Why do I feel as if he’s testing me?

****

Jen stacks the plates from the large jarrah dining table, and I gather the serving bowls and cutlery. As we head into the kitchen, she nudges me hard in the ribs and I stumble.

“Phe! You kept quiet about him!” she hisses. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Arching a brow, Jen sets the plates on the marble counter next to the sink. “When you said we were spending the weekend at a friend’s house, I thought you meant a girl from work! How long have you been with him? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He
is
a friend.” I pull open the dishwasher drawer and drop cutlery into the basket. For now. By the end of the weekend, I’m not so sure.

“You think?” She cranes her neck to look through the kitchen door behind. “How do you keep your hands off him?”

Good question and one with a complicated answer. “This is one of those situations where I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

“How do you know you will? You seem very in tune together. Besides, more than a friendship could lead to some exciting times.” Jen nudges me again and I elbow her back.

“Behave, Jen!”

“Just saying. He’s the whole package – good-looking guy, smoking hot body, and sense of humour. He seems smart too.”

“He is.”

“So what’s the problem? He’s into you; that’s obvious.”

I turn away and focus on the dishwasher again. Is it? “Things might not work out. He’s... leaving soon.”

“So? Have some fun before he goes! Surely, you’re not looking for somebody to settle down with?”

“Not at all.” But a broken-heart could send me spiralling in a direction I don’t want.

She glances at the door. “If I wasn’t with Cam, I’d push you out of the way! Far out, Phe, grab some while you can! Don’t you just want to lick him inch by inch? Those abs...”

I chew the inside of my lip rather than follow this line of conversation. Yes, I do. And more. She and Cam arrived a little after seven and she’d poured her first generous glass of red wine within minutes. I’ve lost count of the number she’s had.

Earlier, Guy took me to a local produce market where we selected fresh fish and farm-fresh vegetables, before heading to a bottle shop where Guy selected his favourite local wine. The Margaret River region is filled with wineries so the selection took some time. The date-like air doesn’t escape me; but instead of causing tension, I relax into the holiday atmosphere.

Later we cooked the meal together while we waited for Cam and Jen’s arrival, Guy expertly preparing the fish while I took the backseat and prepared the vegetables. Admittedly, I was already a couple of glasses of a nice, local sav blanc ahead of Jen when they arrived. Vegetables don’t take long to prepare and I spent time resting against the kitchen bench watching Guy, blindingly aware how happy and relaxed I am around him. What happens next?

Jen points behind me. “Grab the vodka. I’ve had enough of wine.”

“Jen...”

She sticks her bottom lip out. “Hey, I’m on holiday!” She reaches past and grabs the bottle.

I follow Jen back out of the kitchen. Guy sits at the table, leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, happy, and laughing at something with Cam as they drink their bottled beers. Ordinary, everyday blokes in ordinary, everyday lives. Why did Guy suggest this? To pull us from our world of bucket lists and into a reality that we’re on the edge of? Another couple, living in the moment, but planning a future.

What have I done? Inviting Jen and Cam here too was supposed to be a sign to Guy this wasn’t a trip about ‘us’, but ‘Guy and Phe’. Now I’ve created the illusion of two couples holidaying together.

“Sofas! Now! Drinking games,” says Jen, waving the vodka and shot glasses in their direction.

I expect Guy to laugh and join in, but his smile freezes.

“I’m not sure...” I start.

“Live life while you’re still young!” she interrupts, scowling at me.

“Guy’s jumping out of a plane tomorrow, he might not want to be hungover,” I reply, glancing at Guy.

Cam laughs. “All the more reason to. If everything goes wrong, he could have a live fast, die young moment!” He throws a cork from the table at Guy to attract his attention. “How fast do you fall?”

Guy picks at the label on his bottle. “Fast. I fall really fast.”

As he says the words, Guy looks at me. His deep blue eyes are unfathomable; but his words concern me. I fight against reaching out to touch his hand. As each minute passes, I question the wisdom of allowing my two worlds to collide.

Giving in to Jen’s badgering, I settle on the large yellow sofa and Guy sits on the floor near my feet. Jen and Cam cuddle up on the opposite blue sofa, Jen’s legs tucked under her. We chat between shots, or Jen burbles. Guy says little. Half an hour and a bottle of vodka later, the world swims. Jen’s enthusiasm for drinking games borders on peer pressure.

“I don’t drink much usually,” says Guy, resting his head on the sofa. “I should stop.” His cheek touches my legs as he leans back and looks up at me. “So, excuse me if I say weird shit.”

“Ooh! That gives me a good idea!” enthuses Jen. “Truth or dare!”

Cam groans. “Jen, we’re not thirteen!”

“It’ll be fun! I want to find out more about the mysterious Guy.” She giggles and places the empty vodka bottle on the rug between the two sofas. “He doesn’t talk about himself, have you noticed?”

“I’m not that interesting,” he replies stiffly.

“What do you do?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“For a job, I mean.”