buoyancy of the wetsuit with upward strokes of her hands, flailing at her sides like some kind of bizarre dance move. It was the beach equivalent of a cold shower and, in the watery quiet with her eyes squeezed shut, she wanted nothing in her head but the sound of the echoing waves in her ears.
Finally, when she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she found her feet and emerged from the sea with a gasp and a deep breath, the sting of the saltwater in her eyes and the sun on her cheeks. She glanced up to the big southern sky that stretched on forever and took it in, trying to find a cloud on this stunning early summer’s day. A glance to her right and there was the pub high on the Point, to her left miles and miles of beach and water and more sky.
It hadn’t worked. The beach, the sky, the sun. She was still as jittery as she’d been when Dan had left her place the night before. She needed a good wave, just one good one, to carry her away. And she waited in the calm Middle Point water for what seemed like half an hour. Finally, a glance either side of her revealed she’d been fooling herself. No one else was in the water. When the waves were on, the word went around via phone and text message and the beach was packed. Not today and for very good reason. There was nothing but blue to the horizon and beyond. Not a white cap in sight. It was the north wind that did it, flattened the waves, swept them back out to sea, transforming the waters of the south coast into something that looked remotely tropical instead of a surf beach.
Which was all very well if you were dressed in a floaty multicoloured kaftan and strappy high-heels while holding, in your perfectly manicured hand, a cocktail with an umbrella sticking out of it.
But not so okay if you wanted to be swept away. Lizzie pulled herself onto her bodyboard and rested her chin on her linked fingers. She floated over the rhythmic rise and fall of the swell, feeling the pulse of it in her wrists and in her chest, and closed her eyes.
She would simply have to find another way to undo the knot in her stomach.
Lizzie snuck a glance at her wrist. The sensible part of her knew that watching the time didn’t actually make it go any faster. But the other part of her, the one that remembered Dan’s heavy eyes and he-man arms, was having kittens.
Every half hour between midday and seven-thirty, she’d glanced up, looking past the kaleidoscope of liqueur bottles sitting in haphazard rows on the glass shelves behind the bar, to the old railway clock, its roman numerals having confused young children for generations. There were still hours to go. She sorted out a shift swap with two young waitresses, one of whom was keen to drive up to Adelaide to see her uni student boyfriend. Lizzie knew what that meant. It wouldn’t be long before she’d pack her bags and follow her heart and Lizzie would be on the hunt for another staff member. The timing couldn’t be worse. The school holidays were about to start and then the real holiday season would hit. It was their busiest time of year and she didn’t need the headache.
Lizzie shouldn’t have been so distracted about seeing Dan again. Her afternoon had been filled with enough to divert her attention. A delivery from the local butcher had been delayed because his wife was in hospital having their baby, three weeks earlier than expected, so the rib eye steak had to be pulled from that day’s menu. One of the local police officers called to let her know that a young woman had made a complaint against the pub, claiming Lizzie and her staff had been harbouring drink spikers the previous Friday night. He was apologetic but thorough and Lizzie listened patiently, answering all his questions. She checked the bookings to find out who’d been in the pub that night. There it was. A local netball team had booked a table of twenty for dinner, celebrating someone’s twenty-first birthday. She clearly remembered them collectively staggering
Finally, when she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she found her feet and emerged from the sea with a gasp and a deep breath, the sting of the saltwater in her eyes and the sun on her cheeks. She glanced up to the big southern sky that stretched on forever and took it in, trying to find a cloud on this stunning early summer’s day. A glance to her right and there was the pub high on the Point, to her left miles and miles of beach and water and more sky.
It hadn’t worked. The beach, the sky, the sun. She was still as jittery as she’d been when Dan had left her place the night before. She needed a good wave, just one good one, to carry her away. And she waited in the calm Middle Point water for what seemed like half an hour. Finally, a glance either side of her revealed she’d been fooling herself. No one else was in the water. When the waves were on, the word went around via phone and text message and the beach was packed. Not today and for very good reason. There was nothing but blue to the horizon and beyond. Not a white cap in sight. It was the north wind that did it, flattened the waves, swept them back out to sea, transforming the waters of the south coast into something that looked remotely tropical instead of a surf beach.
Which was all very well if you were dressed in a floaty multicoloured kaftan and strappy high-heels while holding, in your perfectly manicured hand, a cocktail with an umbrella sticking out of it.
But not so okay if you wanted to be swept away. Lizzie pulled herself onto her bodyboard and rested her chin on her linked fingers. She floated over the rhythmic rise and fall of the swell, feeling the pulse of it in her wrists and in her chest, and closed her eyes.
She would simply have to find another way to undo the knot in her stomach.
Lizzie snuck a glance at her wrist. The sensible part of her knew that watching the time didn’t actually make it go any faster. But the other part of her, the one that remembered Dan’s heavy eyes and he-man arms, was having kittens.
Every half hour between midday and seven-thirty, she’d glanced up, looking past the kaleidoscope of liqueur bottles sitting in haphazard rows on the glass shelves behind the bar, to the old railway clock, its roman numerals having confused young children for generations. There were still hours to go. She sorted out a shift swap with two young waitresses, one of whom was keen to drive up to Adelaide to see her uni student boyfriend. Lizzie knew what that meant. It wouldn’t be long before she’d pack her bags and follow her heart and Lizzie would be on the hunt for another staff member. The timing couldn’t be worse. The school holidays were about to start and then the real holiday season would hit. It was their busiest time of year and she didn’t need the headache.
Lizzie shouldn’t have been so distracted about seeing Dan again. Her afternoon had been filled with enough to divert her attention. A delivery from the local butcher had been delayed because his wife was in hospital having their baby, three weeks earlier than expected, so the rib eye steak had to be pulled from that day’s menu. One of the local police officers called to let her know that a young woman had made a complaint against the pub, claiming Lizzie and her staff had been harbouring drink spikers the previous Friday night. He was apologetic but thorough and Lizzie listened patiently, answering all his questions. She checked the bookings to find out who’d been in the pub that night. There it was. A local netball team had booked a table of twenty for dinner, celebrating someone’s twenty-first birthday. She clearly remembered them collectively staggering
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