The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) by Henriette Gyland Page A

He had thick brown hair, which curled at the nape of his neck, and a small strip of beard shaped in a thin line from the middle to the curve of his chin. Clear, blue eyes. Helen supposed a guy like that would be considered attractive, if you liked that sort of thing. Sexy even.
    He winked at her and smiled, but she ignored him in case he waylaid her and pressed her to buy something, another thing she’d learned while abroad. You were trapped if you met the eyes of a market trader.
    A smell of fried onions and doughy bread drew her towards a refreshment stall. Next to it, two smartly dressed young mums were chatting, their plump babies slumbering contentedly in designer pushchairs. Suddenly conscious of her own dishevelled state, Helen ran her fingers through her unkempt hair as a spurt of angry jealousy surged through her. Life was so easy for people like that. How did they know what true survival meant? They’d never woken up in the dark, afraid and lonely, with no one to comfort them, never felt ostracised because they were different. And nor would their cute little babies when they woke up.
    She clenched her fists to get her feelings under control. These women weren’t to blame for her bad luck.
    One of them had left her keys and wallet on the counter behind her back and wasn’t paying attention to her belongings. It would be as easy as pie for a pickpocket to run a hand over the wallet and scoop it up unnoticed. Helen had seen this trick often enough and wondered if she ought to warn her, when again she felt as if she was being watched and turned around.
    The stall-holder shook his head imperceptibly. At first she didn’t know what he meant, then her cheeks flamed. He thought she was a thief.
    Trembling with anger and embarrassment, Helen tried to regain her focus on Fay. The stall-holder didn’t give up. He changed the dub reggae to ‘Pretty Woman’. His taste was nothing if not eclectic, but Helen saw it for the ploy it was and stalked off.Screw that guy and his Roy Orbison album. His stupid little goatee looked like a gravy stain anyway.
    Jason saw the girl long before she became aware of him. She was moving from stall to stall aimlessly, as if drifting was second nature to her.
    She was pretty, in a slightly unusual way. Slim and athletic with a deep tan and hair the colour of honey. Her eyes he couldn’t see, but he imagined they were either green or hazel. She had a nice shape too, with just the right amount of curves.
    He thought about calling out to attract her attention, but something about the way she moved held him back. Like a puma waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting prey.
    Then he saw where she was looking – an unattended wallet on a table.
    Don’t do it, Jason wanted to say to her. It’s not worth it.
    Suddenly she stiffened as if she’d heard him. When she turned, slowly, and met his gaze, a virtual truck slammed into him. Her eyes were hazel, and they were blazing with fury.
    Bad call, Jase, he thought, and shook his head at himself.
    Actually, no, it wasn’t. He’d prevented a theft by letting the girl know he was keeping an eye on her, and had saved the young mum from the pain of losing her wallet.
    More importantly, he’d stopped this pretty girl from getting herself into trouble.
    ‘Antipodean, I reckon,’ said Neil, the stall-holder selling net curtains next to him.
    ‘Who?’ Jason heard his own voice coming from far away.
    ‘The girl you can’t take your eyes off. Not that I blame you.’
    Another Australian. Bitter-sweet memories welled up in Jason, taking him by surprise, although it had happened a lot lately.
    ‘Yeah, maybe she is. Although it’s hard to tell these days.’
    ‘All I’m saying,’ the man went on, ‘is you don’t get that kind of tan in this country.’
    ‘True.’ Jason looked towards the girl again, but she’d turned away. For some reason he felt he owed her an apology, but was stumped for ideas on how to communicate with her. Then it came to him,