Someone Like You Read online

  Dan shifted, narrowed his eyes. ‘You said before you were expecting someone else. Who was that?’

  Lizzie heard something prickly in his question. She decided she liked it.

  ‘Harri. I sometimes get a late night call.’

  ‘Harry?’ His brow furrowed beneath his dark hair and he seemed to grow taller.

  ‘I’ve always called her that but she’s officially Harriet. She lives next door. Now and again she pops in for a cuppa this time of night if she’s feeling low. It’s been a hard twelve months for her since her hubby died and sometimes she wants some company.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ A wry smile appeared on his face. ‘I hope I didn’t scare her off.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Harri doesn’t scare that easily.’

  ‘Good to know.’ Dan took a step towards the door but stopped and turned back. ‘One question. Am I still getting the free meal deal from the pub?’

  Lizzie nodded, crossed her arms. ‘Of course. I’m under direct orders from Ry, remember?’

  ‘How about tomorrow night we mix it up. What if I come to the pub instead?’

  Lizzie tried not to show any surprise at his suggestion. She made sure her voice was casual and calm. ‘Sure. Eight o’clock?’

  Dan nodded his agreement.

  ‘I’ll hold a table,’ she said.

  ‘Make it for two.’

  And there it was again. Even though he was halfway out the door, Lizzie saw that flash of something in his eyes. Images of him scrolled through her head. The night in the bar when they’d flirted, him in his black leather jacket. Dan standing at his front door, half-naked and buff. Tonight, the look in his eyes as he’d held her in his arms, the look that said, so clearly it may as well have been written in the summer sky, I want you.

  Oh, it was absolutely, definitely the worst idea ever, but at that very second she didn’t give a damn. She almost skipped to the front door and caught up with him.

  ‘Look. Dan. Since my verdelho ended up on the floor, I have to open another bottle. I know, first world problems, right? Feel like sharing it with me?’

  Dan realised how close she was when her perfume invaded his senses again. Fresh flowers. Wine. He felt a tightening in his chest.

  ‘Thanks but no. I should go.’ He could see the flicker of disappointment in her face and he felt like an arsehole when she summoned a quick smile.

  ‘You sure I can’t tempt you?’

  If only you knew how much. Dan summoned all the strength he had. ‘I’ve gotta go. See you later.’

  Dan walked aimlessly home, letting the dark of the night hide him, envelop him, until every thought in his head was as black as the sky. He’d just been invited to stay for a drink. He knew what that meant, could see it in her eyes. She wanted him. Or, at least, she wanted the old him. The old Dan wouldn’t be out here in the street. The old Dan would be back in her bedroom, teasing her out of those little shorts and ripping off that barely there singlet, and he would have had her naked on top of him right now, showing her in great detail what happened in his world between staying for a drink and bacon and eggs for breakfast.

  He wasn’t that bloke anymore. Dinner tomorrow would be a start. At the pub. The place he hadn’t been to since the night he’d driven away and been broken. He could do it. He’d been feeling different, better, not in his head so much.

  And he owed Elizabeth.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Lizzie kicked off her thongs and planted her feet on the sizzling sand of Middle Point beach. It was a bright morning, already hot at eight and she knew, without having even heard a weather forecast that morning, that it was going to be one of those days, when the wind blew fiercely from the north and the only relief from the heat was out there in the blue. She had a couple of hours before duty called at the pub, so she was determined to make the most of it.

  She breathed deeply, flicking out her fingers and loosening her arms with a fidgety shake. She really needed this. She needed to get out there, to launch herself on her bodyboard and a wave, give herself over to the power of the swell and the speed of it. She needed to get out of her head, to stop thinking so much about what had kept her up all night. Or rather, who.

  Lizzie fastened the velcro strap of her board to her right wrist and walked towards the water. The beach was empty, save for a few dog walkers and a solitary runner in the distance whose form grew less distinct as he pounded the sand in rhythmic steps towards Goolwa. And that was a relief, Lizzie decided. She didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone at this time of the morning, wanting to savour this peaceful quiet, this just-woken-up-and-haven’t-had-a-coffee-yet solitude. She talked all day every day at the pub anyway, and wanted the sound of the waves and the wind to be the only things in her head.

  The cool of the water against her knees was a relief and as she walked deeper into the waves, the slow trickle of water inside her wetsuit tickled every nerve ending, still on high alert from her physical encounter with Dan the night before. She’d blamed the sticky overnight heat for her restlessness, her shimmy with the sheets and her distracted dreams. It seemed that every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d felt Dan’s arms around her, heard his heart pounding against hers as he’d carried her away from the broken glass the night before.

  But that was all yesterday.

  And now there was going to be a tonight. Dinner. Together.

  Lizzie buckled her knees and ducked under the surface, submerging and floating there for as long as she could hold her breath. She fought the 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 sort
ed 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 out the door at closing time. The woman was absolutely adamant that she’d only had three drinks and couldn’t understand why she’d been hung-over all weekend, leading her to the inevitable conclusion that someone had snuck something suspicious into her vodka. That one made Lizzie smile. She’d seen it before. The only thing that young woman’s drinks had been spiked with was alcohol. Lizzie assured the officer she’d seen no suspicious activity and, if she ever did, she’d be sure to let him know.

  That busy work only filled the hours until five p.m. when the first of the locals began arriving for dinner. The pensioners came first, on the dot of 5.15 p.m. They sat at the same tables and ordered the same thing every week: Roast of the Day. Lizzie took a booking for a fiftieth wedding anniversary party and answered a phone call about the gluten-free options on the menu.

  And then it was six p.m. She couldn’t contain herself any longer, so she grabbed her phone, locked her office, and walked out to the pub’s rear car park. As the screen door clattered behind her, she looked around the open and barren space. It had always been an afterthought, unused, forlorn, as if it was sad about missing out on all the action happening on the beach side. Dark bitumen, divided into parking spaces by bright white painted lines, shimmered in the heat. A row of rubbish bins had gathered in a huddle and a few cars were parked there. The glare from the bright afternoon sun on the corrugated iron fence almost blinded her. For the first time, Lizzie realised there wasn’t even a tree to sit under. She paced on the bitumen, shielded her face from the glare with an outstretched hand and waited for Julia to pick up.

  ‘Hey Lizzie.’

  ‘Jools. I need to debrief. Or maybe that’s pre-brief. God, I need to talk to someone.’

  ‘This sounds interesting. What’s up?’

  ‘Dan’s coming here for dinner. To the pub, I mean. Tonight. In,’ Lizzie checked her watch, ‘two hours.’

  There was silence. Lizzie wiped the beads of sweat from her top lip. This place really was like an oven.

  ‘Jools? Are you there?’ If only Lizzie could see her best friend doing a silent happy dance in the middle of her kitchen.

  ‘What did you do to lure him out of his house?’ Lizzie could hear Jools’ sigh down the line. ‘His house. That sounds weird. I still think of it as my house.’

  ‘Enough about you, Jools, this is about me,’ Lizzie snapped.

  ‘Sorry. You’re right. Prepare for twenty questions: why are you freaking out? How did this all happen? Where? When? And what are you going to wear?’

  Lizzie relayed a highly edited version of all the events so far. She told Julia about Dan’s surprise visit the night before, the wine glass incident and Dan’s parting words to keep a table for two. She conveniently failed to include specific details about his eyes, his shoulders, her raging hormonal response to being lifted off the ground like she was a feather or the beard fondle. And she most definitely forgot to tell her about the rejected offer of a drink. All of that was way too humiliating.

  ‘That all sounds extremely promising, Lizzie,’ Julia said.

  ‘It’s dinner. That’s it.’ No strings, no expectations, Lizzie told herself. The booking was at eight o’clock. It would probably be all over by 8.45, including dessert. And then she could go home and watch a weepy movie and get drunk. How ridiculous to be thinking this was anything more.

  ‘Lizzie. You’ve gone quiet. What aren’t you telling me?’

  Lizzie could hear the suspicion in her friend’s voice and tried to snap out of her ridiculous, uneasy mood. She’d been totally distracted by Dan’s eyes and body and that thing he did when he looked at her. That thing that scrambled her brain and her resolve. Wasn’t he complicated enough without throwing sex into the mix? Staying away from him and his problems was definitely the best thing she could do. So why wasn’t she doing it?

  ‘I don’t know why I said yes. I can’t do this, Jools. Every time I see him my resistance chips away just a little bit. You know me and my pathological addiction to helping people.’

  ‘Stop being such a drama queen, Lizzie. Would it be that bad to spend some time with Dan? I could think of worse ways to pass the time. He clearly wants to hang out with you and the only risk I see is that you could get a crick in your neck from looking up at his chiselled jaw and fine eyes for too long.’

  Lizzie sighed in frustration. ‘Would it be bad? Yes. Very bad. Seriously bad. We’re talking about the Dan who slammed the door in my face. He’s just being polite.’ Whatever interest he might have had four months ago, and Lizzie was even suspicious of that now, was dead and gone. Despite the way he’d looked at her.

  ‘Lizzie, it’s just food. The man clearly needs to eat. Just chill.’

  ‘I don’t need to chill!’ Lizzie shouted and her voice echoed around the car park. ‘Oh hell, I need to chill.’

  Lizzie heard the pub door open and there was a heavy thud of boots on the wooden floorboards. The sound triggered a jolt of memory.

  That night, last winter. The pub had been busy but not jam-packed. A few tradies had stopped in for a cold beer on their way home and a party of day-trippers from Adelaide were tucking into a very late lunch. In the far corner, the Middle Point bowling club ladies were finishing up dessert, their celebrations for a member’s eightieth birthday almost coming to a close. It had only taken them a dozen bottles of wine to get there.

  Dan had swaggered in, his hair and leather jacket misted with rain, and his tall frame had almost filled the doorway. He’d worn a shit-eating grin and there was sex in his eyes. They’d roamed over her eyes, her lips and her breasts and unashamedly stayed there.

  He’d asked her why she was known as Lizzie and not Elizabeth.

  ‘Always hated it,’ she’d told him. ‘When people call me Elizabeth I feel like the Queen.’

  ‘Bye, Elizabeth,’ he’d said and winked at her, pushing his wayward fringe off his forehead.

  Everything had changed just a few hours later on a lonely road.

  At 7.30 p.m., Lizzie checked her make-up in the bathroom mirror. Entirely by accident, of course, as she’d just popped in to go to the loo. For the fifth time that afternoon.

  At 7.45 p.m., she counted the bottles of chilled water in the fridge behind the bar.

  At 7.50 p.m., she checked the time. Again. Was the old clock getting slower?

  At 7.55 p.m., she reviewed the covers for the night, looked over the next day’s specials and wondered again if the sushi counted as a gluten-free option if it didn’t come with soy sauce.

  At eight, she waited and watched the door.

  She did the same at 8.10 p.m. and 8.15 p.m.

  Dan stood frozen to the spot, sweat drenching his T-shirt. A wrench of pain arced to life near the scar on his thigh and radiated up and down, sending waves of shock coursing throu
gh his body. He took a few halting steps to the kitchen bench and gripped the counter top, knowing what would come next. A ferocious pounding in his chest and a terror so intense that it took over any rational thought and made him want to run and run and run.

  Was this what a heart attack felt like?

  The panic attacks only lasted a couple of minutes but the sudden onset of dread was bone shaking. It had a violent, uncontrollable and unpredictable power over him and Dan wanted to curse and shout at it, whatever it was, to fuck off and leave him alone but it gripped around his chest and his head like a vice and pounded there too. His heartbeat hammered so hard he thought his heart might burst.

  When it was over, when his chest finally stopped quaking, he stumbled to the sofa and collapsed onto it. The wave was over but the ripples shuddered through him, inside and out. What came next was almost as bad.

  The trying to make sense of it.

  Why had it hit now, seemingly out of nowhere?

  For once in four goddamned months he hadn’t been thinking about that night, about the accident. He’d been feeling okay, and maybe even let himself feel a little…hell, feel something that wasn’t a dulled sense of dread.

  So why now? A few minutes before, he’d stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel to dry himself, and had pulled on a shirt and jeans to go down to the pub for that meal with Lizzie. He was in the kitchen, had just poured himself a glass of water and was drinking it over the sink, when it struck. Ordinary, stupid, mundane shit that he did every day.

  Dinner with Lizzie.

  He buried his face in his hands. He knew he wouldn’t go. Couldn’t. Not tonight. Not this way. Because he knew that after the fear and the confusion, came the exhaustion. And then deeper still, came the guilt, the disappointment, the shame.

  Those things that were easier to hide when he was alone, in the dark.

  At 8.30 p.m., Lizzie picked up her handbag, locked her office and wandered home in the fading twilight. She needed the ten-minute walk to think. Dan couldn’t have made it more obvious. She got the hint. Maybe he’d had a rush of blood to the head yesterday, or even somewhere else, when he’d suggested they have dinner together. Whatever he was planning was now irrelevant. He’d clearly changed his mind.