Whale Pot Bay by Des Hunt Page B

‘Very much so.’
    ‘Do you think you still need lessons?’
    Before he could answer, we were interrupted by a knock on the door. I looked out the window and saw that Vicky’s car had arrived.
    Dad rushed to the door, opened it, and pulled Vickyinto his arms. It was clear that their passion for each other hadn’t diminished in any way.
    Only when they separated could Stephanie come in. She did so sheepishly until she saw Milt. Her eyes went huge and her jaw dropped so much that it looked like it might fall off.
    I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Milt, this is Stephanie Frew, the girl I sent your photo to.’
    Milt stood and reached out his hand. Still Stephanie stood there, staring.
    It was Vicky who eventually took the offered hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Milt,’ she said with a big grin. ‘I’m Vicky. You’ll have to give my daughter some time to recover. She’s one of your biggest fans, you know.’
    ‘I am, too,’ agreed Stephanie, finding her voice. ‘The biggest you’ve got. I think you’re great.’
    ‘Thank you!’ said Milt, smiling. ‘It’s nice to know that some people still think I’m all right.’ He glanced at the magazine lying open on the bench.
    ‘Is that the article?’ asked Vicky, picking it up. She scanned down the text. Then she angrily slapped it back onto the bench. ‘That’s ghastly,’ she said, almost spitting at it. ‘How can people write such malicious rubbish?’
    Milt shrugged. ‘They write it because that’s what lots of people want to read.’
    ‘I didn’t tell,’ put in Stephanie in a small voice. ‘I didn’t tell anybody about the surfing or the photograph.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ asked Milt.
    ‘Absolutely! Cross my heart, I didn’t tell.’
    Milt was plainly relieved. ‘Then it must have been the surf shop.’ He thought for a moment before standing.‘Look, I’ll get out of here and start looking into that. But I’d like you all to come to my house for lunch. You can admire my view while we have a chat about how we move into the future. Can we do that?’
    ‘Yes, please!’ cried Stephanie in a rush, before anybody could turn the invitation down. ‘I’ll make sure everybody gets there.’
    Lunch was a pleasant affair. We sat around a low table in the big room where the view through the curved window attracted your eyes like a magnet. The food was great—just the sort of stuff I like. Vicky, who was sitting beside me, nudged me at one stage and whispered into my ear, ‘No weeds for you to worry about this time, are there, Jake?’ I gave an embarrassed smile in return.
    That was the general tone of the meal: a chance for everyone to get to know each other, and put the differences of the past behind us. If that had been Milt’s intention, then it generally worked. The only exception was Stephanie’s attitude towards me—it was still icy, to say the least. She avoided eye contact with me, and showed impatience, almost disgust, every time I contributed to the conversation.
    After the meal, we sank down into the leather lounge chairs for a frank discussion about how we would behave in future. Milt made his views known first: never again would we provide the opportunity for a photograph to show the two of us together. The same would apply with Stephanie. Anything that could imply that he was alone with a child was unacceptable.
    He used the word ‘paparazzi’ to describe the people who would come and take photos. That’s the name given to the herds of photographers who make a living out of taking embarrassing photos of the rich and famous.
    ‘Is “paparazzi” the Italian word for “parasite”?’ I asked with a smile.
    Milt chuckled. ‘No, but it could be, couldn’t it, Jake?’
    That earned me a glare from Stephanie, who either didn’t appreciate Hauruanui humour or was upset because I was getting some of Milt’s attention.
    The discussion continued with Dad and Vicky offering to do anything that would help. Vicky said she would chaperone us