but if you haven’t, just give me a call. My number’ll be on your phone. So anyway mate, I’ll uh ... I’ll see you later.”
Running very late, I finger a quick text to let him know I’ll call later. But feeling compelled, I replay the message to hear his voice one more time.
CHAPTER TEN
Apprehension sits like a low-lying cloud, drifting with me when I walk. The thought of Café Blue and Riley sends my stomach contents tunnelling south. If I could be optimistic I would, but with Friday night flashing through my mind like a beacon it’s unlikely I’ll rise to the occasion. I shudder when I think of him, wincing sharply at the memory.
It’s uphill all the way to Café Blue, and even slower because I dawdle. My legs are heavy, filled with the weighty dread of foreboding.
I peer like a nervy meerkat from the doors of the café. Riley’s nowhere in sight so it seems safe enough. Gemma spots me when I arrive, giving me a perplexed look from behind the counter.
“What on earth are you doing, Sam?”
I glance around the interior. “Um, nothing,” I say nonchalantly.
“Well, what’s the matter?” she asks. “Come inside. Nothing’s different in here since Friday.”
Maybe not for you , I amend silently. “So is Riley in yet?” I ask, hoping to sound offhand.
“No, he called in sick. Said he wasn’t up to a day in the kitchen. Maybe he had a big night.” She looks at me as if she knows, as if she sees right through my casual façade. “So what happened with you guys on Friday, eh?” she asks, her eyebrow cocked skyward.
I rake over the events, deciding what to omit. Scraping the protective haze from my memory, I gather myself for the encounter.
“Sam!” Emily cries when she sees me. “How was your weekend? What’s the goss? You have to tell us everything!”
I flinch, physically recoiling at the sourness of the memory. The beach, the sand, the moon. Riley... “Um ... sure. Though there’s really not much to tell.”
“You and Riley left the party pretty early,” she persists, obviously hungry for information.
“We just went to the pub on the Corso,” I say, sounding flippant.
“ Come on , Sam. Give us all the juicy details,” pleads Gemma from the next room. Luckily the place is empty.
I sigh, realising there’s no escape. “Look, nothing happened. And I didn’t have a great weekend at all, actually. I backed into this guy’s car down at the beach on Saturday. I just didn’t look where I was going. It was really bad. I damaged his car … and mine,” I say, waiting for some support.
“Oh, that does sound bad,” Gemma concedes briefly. “Well anyway, I met someone at the party after you guys left. And he called me over the weekend. Didn’t text. Actually called. ”
“Yeah, he seemed nice, Gem,” Emily says. “He was hot, too.”
Gemma smirks, obviously pretty pleased with herself. “He wants to go out this weekend. So, any ideas where we should go?”
“Well, you’re the local,” Emily replies, giggling. “Surely you must know somewhere?”
In the banter I realise Gemma’s self-interest, and that Emily’s along for the ride. Front seat passenger, sunglasses on, hair blowing wildly in the wind. “So anyway, I’ve got to get my car fixed. This guy has a panel beater mate who can do it cheaply for me.”
They turn to me, nodding slowly in unison. Gemma’s eyes hold indifference in the verdant green. An irritation set deep beneath her polished skeletal exterior. She turns back to Emily, “Well, maybe we should head into Newcastle. There’s not much to do in Nelson Bay, is there?”
At their patent lack of interest I remove myself, pulling open the oven to salvage a bubbling lasagne singed with spots of brown. Blast-heat from the oven hits me full in the face, torrid and stifling, kind of like the atmosphere right here in the kitchen.
Surfacing from his crab-hole, George scuttles into the kitchen with a look of displeasure plastered across
Running very late, I finger a quick text to let him know I’ll call later. But feeling compelled, I replay the message to hear his voice one more time.
CHAPTER TEN
Apprehension sits like a low-lying cloud, drifting with me when I walk. The thought of Café Blue and Riley sends my stomach contents tunnelling south. If I could be optimistic I would, but with Friday night flashing through my mind like a beacon it’s unlikely I’ll rise to the occasion. I shudder when I think of him, wincing sharply at the memory.
It’s uphill all the way to Café Blue, and even slower because I dawdle. My legs are heavy, filled with the weighty dread of foreboding.
I peer like a nervy meerkat from the doors of the café. Riley’s nowhere in sight so it seems safe enough. Gemma spots me when I arrive, giving me a perplexed look from behind the counter.
“What on earth are you doing, Sam?”
I glance around the interior. “Um, nothing,” I say nonchalantly.
“Well, what’s the matter?” she asks. “Come inside. Nothing’s different in here since Friday.”
Maybe not for you , I amend silently. “So is Riley in yet?” I ask, hoping to sound offhand.
“No, he called in sick. Said he wasn’t up to a day in the kitchen. Maybe he had a big night.” She looks at me as if she knows, as if she sees right through my casual façade. “So what happened with you guys on Friday, eh?” she asks, her eyebrow cocked skyward.
I rake over the events, deciding what to omit. Scraping the protective haze from my memory, I gather myself for the encounter.
“Sam!” Emily cries when she sees me. “How was your weekend? What’s the goss? You have to tell us everything!”
I flinch, physically recoiling at the sourness of the memory. The beach, the sand, the moon. Riley... “Um ... sure. Though there’s really not much to tell.”
“You and Riley left the party pretty early,” she persists, obviously hungry for information.
“We just went to the pub on the Corso,” I say, sounding flippant.
“ Come on , Sam. Give us all the juicy details,” pleads Gemma from the next room. Luckily the place is empty.
I sigh, realising there’s no escape. “Look, nothing happened. And I didn’t have a great weekend at all, actually. I backed into this guy’s car down at the beach on Saturday. I just didn’t look where I was going. It was really bad. I damaged his car … and mine,” I say, waiting for some support.
“Oh, that does sound bad,” Gemma concedes briefly. “Well anyway, I met someone at the party after you guys left. And he called me over the weekend. Didn’t text. Actually called. ”
“Yeah, he seemed nice, Gem,” Emily says. “He was hot, too.”
Gemma smirks, obviously pretty pleased with herself. “He wants to go out this weekend. So, any ideas where we should go?”
“Well, you’re the local,” Emily replies, giggling. “Surely you must know somewhere?”
In the banter I realise Gemma’s self-interest, and that Emily’s along for the ride. Front seat passenger, sunglasses on, hair blowing wildly in the wind. “So anyway, I’ve got to get my car fixed. This guy has a panel beater mate who can do it cheaply for me.”
They turn to me, nodding slowly in unison. Gemma’s eyes hold indifference in the verdant green. An irritation set deep beneath her polished skeletal exterior. She turns back to Emily, “Well, maybe we should head into Newcastle. There’s not much to do in Nelson Bay, is there?”
At their patent lack of interest I remove myself, pulling open the oven to salvage a bubbling lasagne singed with spots of brown. Blast-heat from the oven hits me full in the face, torrid and stifling, kind of like the atmosphere right here in the kitchen.
Surfacing from his crab-hole, George scuttles into the kitchen with a look of displeasure plastered across
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