‘It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I let her off her lead.’There’s a crack in his voice. ‘Sorry about the vet’s and journey home. Ishould have thanked you. I was so worried about having to tell Mum what happened.’
‘I bet she understood.’ I can say that because I feel like I understand Sophie as well, if not better, than my own mum. ‘How’s Tippi?’
There’s a glimpse of relief on his face. ‘Going to be fine. She’ll have three legs when we get her back, but the vet says she’ll cope.’
‘No.’ My hand rushes to cover my mouth.
‘Don’t worry. She’ll be swimming again in no time apparently.’ He reaches out and his hand brushes my arm. ‘I was out to clear my head. Fancy walking along the beach?’
I don’t answer, but pivot to walk alongside him. The whoosh of the sea breaking on the shore and the odd seagull call filling the space around us makes it feel strangely normal, if a little tense.
We speak at the same time.‘Do you enjoy living in Australia?’ … ‘So, what’s it like being a café owner?’
‘I asked first,’ I say quickly, as the last thing I want to think about now is the café. ‘How did you end up there?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘With Dad being from Oz, I’ve got a passport and I needed to do something exciting, spontaneous after … everything.’ His steps falter a little, almost as if a memory has hit him sideways, but he recovers himself quickly.
‘I know that feeling,’ I say, so quietly I think the wind has whipped the words away before he heard them, but he leans into me for a split second, so I know they didn’t. ‘Except I got a boring job I hated. I bet Oz is fab.’
‘The weather and surf are great. And outdoor living is a blast. I started off washing up and surfing in my spare time. That morphed into giving lessons which eventually led to renting a little yellow hut that came up for rent and the Jaffle Hut was born. It’s a far cry from the swanky restaurants around ByronBay, but it has its own niche and is successful with the surfing crowd. We normally have a queue down the beach at the weekend for a table. I don’t really cook anymore, just give the surf lessons. Milly runs the hut, and we help each other out when we need to. It works a treat.’ His phone rings, interrupting us. He pulls it out of his pocket, and it has the same picture of the blonde surfer girl I saw the other day.
I kick at a rogue strand of seaweed. ‘Take it. It’s fine.’
We continue walking while he answers the phone.
‘Everything OK? … Walking on the beach with …’ he glances towards me, ‘… an old friend … It might be … I’m not getting into this now, over the phone …’ He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. ‘… I’ll speak to you later. Bye.’
I wait for him to explain who was on the phone, but he simply pushes it back into his shorts pocket. I could ask him, but I don’t think I want to know. A wave washes in, its foamy head racing towards us. It comes too close for comfort and I step back, almost stumbling in my haste.
‘Still scared of the sea?’ His brow creases as he studies me.
I nod.
‘I thought you’d be over that by now?’ He’s now wearing the tiniest of grins and his gold eyebrow ring glints in the sun.
‘No.’
For a split second I’m angry at him. There are some things you simply don’t get over. Does he really think I’m that shallow?
‘It won’t eat you.’ He nods towards the vibrant, deep blue water.
With a rush I realise he’s in the here and now, not reliving the past. I take a breath and the knots consuming my insides begin to loosen. I need to do the same and leave the past where it belongs.
He tilts his head at me and it’s incredibly sexy. ‘Take your trainers and socks off.’ He’s already bending to do exactly that.
‘No way. I have to go,’ I say glancing at my watch.
‘We’ll be quick.’
The glint in his eye is mischievous, magnetic and very persuasive. I reach to pull my right trainer off.
‘Hurry up.’ He swings around to step into the sea and kicks out at the water lapping around his ankles.
Footwear off, I walk forwards and stand near enough to him that I can smell his clean spicy scent when I breathe in, but far enough away that I’m safe from the waves. He pats his foot on the soggy sand the last wave has left behind and I flinch as droplets splatter my calf.
‘Do your feet not get cold?’ I say, trying to focus my mind somewhere else.
‘No. I love the feel of the water on my skin.’ He grins and kicks the water towards me from a tiny puddle to his right. He’s in sky-blue shorts and the water clings to the tanned skin of his leg in between the blond hairs, the droplets glistening in the lowering sun. ‘It’s relaxing. You should try it.’
