Nobody But Him Page 7

  ‘Why, how neighbourly of you Ry. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?’

  He smiled, meeting her gaze head on. ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lizzie added, glancing from Ry to Julia and quickly back again. Julia knew she’d be working this over in her head to try and figure out what exactly was going on between her boss and her best friend. Julia wasn’t about to put her out of her misery.

  ‘Well,’ Julia announced, wiggling her gloved fingers in the air. ‘I’ve got to get back to the scrubbing.’ As she walked back inside, she couldn’t fight the distinct impression that Ry was watching her every step.

  A minute later, Lizzie bounced back inside, laughing, her short blonde hair wild and her nose red from the cold.

  ‘Oh. My. God.’

  Julia was at the kitchen sink, refilling it with hot water and suds. ‘Oh my God what?’

  Lizzie skipped over to the kitchen bench and leaned right cross it. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘The way he was looking at you just now.’

  Julia harrumphed. ‘I saw him looking at me all right. More like looking down his nose at me. I mean, what am I wearing?’

  Lizzie took in Julia’s outfit with fresh eyes and laughed. ‘I don’t think those gloves go with those shoes.’

  Julia looked down at her green rubber gloves and her mother’s bright pink runners and joined in.

  ‘Oh, why do I give two shits if he looks down his perfect nose at me? It’s not the first time I’ve been cross-examined visually by people like him.’

  ‘I don’t think it was cross-examination. He was figuring out ways to get you out of those rubber gloves and daggy clothes.’

  Julia scooped up a palm full of soapy water and flicked it at Lizzie, who squealed.

  ‘Stop it. We were standing by the rubbish bin, not by a bar, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Just sayin’.’ Lizzie grinned, studied her fingernails with raised eyebrows and a grin.

  By mid afternoon Lizzie had left to go to work at the pub and Julia had scrubbed herself into near hysteria. She had to get out, stretch her legs and breathe the sea air. She strangely needed to get a little bit of Middle Point back inside her, pumping through her veins, grounding her to this juncture in her life. It seemed a safe time to head across the road and over the dunes to the sand, seeing as the Handsome Jerk clearly sprang out of bed at the crack of dawn for his exercise. She could walk the beach unseen and unnoticed, which was exactly what she needed.

  The beach was blustery and bleak, with great grey clouds hovering low, threatening rain in the distance. It was so windy even the seagulls seemed reluctant to fly, huddled instead in clumps on the beach, their feathers fluffing in the force of the wind. The tide was high, leaving only a few metres of sand between the waves and the dunes, and Julia stepped up her stride, stomping over the clumps of seaweed and seagrass, dodging the remains of dead fish and driftwood with a physical resolve as well as an emotional one.

  Although Middle Point had grown and changed so much that it was almost unrecognisable, the beach — her beach — was still the same. And thank God for that, she thought. The dunes, covered with green and grey coastal shrubs, hunkered low and tight against the wind and the waves and, in the distance, a few hundred metres up the beach, the rocks of Middle Point sat scattered in the shallows where the coastline jutted into the ocean. The waves had never stopped crashing onto the outcrop, continued ceaselessly today as they had forever. The wind had never stopped blowing, so fiercely in winter that trees stood tall at odd angles, never growing fully upright, leaning like Towers of Pisa away from the blustery weather. The gulls still flew, the sand still felt like quicksand if you stepped too close to the water’s edge, and the Point, as still and solid as a sentinel, continued to watch over everyone and everything.

  Something shifted in her heart when she took it all in. She would soon be saying her final goodbyes to it all. Would this be the last time she walked the beach of Middle Point, looked up to that sky, stared at the waves which receded and became part of the Great Southern Ocean? If it was, it would mean she’d never see another summer either, never feel those one-in-a-million days when the sand melted your feet and the sun shone so brightly on the shallows that the water looked like liquid mercury, blindingly bright. Days when the waves were filled with people and the beach hummed with life and music and beach cricket and families and summer, surfers and bodyboarders, retirees walking their dogs in the sunshine, holidaymakers and young lovers.

  Julia squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of her young lover. Two years older than her, so handsome and funny, as crazy about her as she was about him. It was everything first love should be: joyful and thrilling, throbbing with sexual tension and a simmering 24/7 desire. Lots of sex and promises and forevers. But it hadn’t been enough — for her.

  She stopped, glanced around, wondering if they were still there, some part of her hoping they weren’t. Three stately Norfolk Island pines in a clump behind the dunes marked the spot they used to meet. The place where Ry had told her he loved her, where they’d made love the first time. Three Pines, they’d named it. Their secret place. Julia felt hot and cold in waves and a headache began to throb to life in her forehead. She was standing right there, in almost the same spot, give or take fifteen years and a few million grains of sand.

  Julia turned her gaze back to the ocean, away from the memory, and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. The cold wind always made her nose run and chapped her lips. Maybe it was time to turn back and head home. She changed direction and began navigating the narrow beach back to her mother’s house.

  A tall blonde man was striding towards her.

  She’d know that gait anywhere.

  Was there nowhere to hide in this town? She looked around nervously. At high tide, the beach wasn’t wide enough to avoid him and the nearest pathway through the dunes was on the other side of Ry. It would have to be chin up, eyes front, nothing more to see here and move on. She simply had nothing more to say to Ry Blackburn. Well, perhaps one thing. Goodbye.

  As he came closer, clad in jeans and a navy coat; the thick collar popped high for protection, his hands deep in its pockets, she assumed the position. She lifted her shoulders and her chin. Strong. Confident. Take no prisoners …

  Until his face came into clear focus and her resolve blew away out to sea. Although he was heading towards her, his eyes weren’t trained on her. He looked distracted and downcast, his concentration on the sand and the driftwood and other pieces of flotsam and jetsam, not on the beach ahead of him. A few paces away, he must have noticed her because his gaze lifted to meet hers.

  And he stopped.

  Please don’t remember Three Pines. Please don’t think I came here especially to remember you and what we had. What I threw away.

  Julia’s head pounded. Since she’d returned to Middle Point she’d only seen anger in his eyes but there was something different in them now. Anger she could cope with, could stare that down at twenty paces. This other thing? Oh no. It hit her right in the solar plexus and the back of the eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ he said so quietly that his words were almost carried away on the wind before they crossed the distance to her.

  ‘Hi,’ Julia replied and all her best intentions to be gutsy vapourised. A gust of wind flicked Julia’s hair across her face and she reached a hand up to shove it back behind her ear. Her cheeks burned at the awareness that Ry was watching her every move.

  ‘Nice day for a walk, huh?’ He lifted his eyebrows, trying to smile for emphasis. It barely lifted his lips.

  Julia looked out to sea at the dark, stormy greys of the ocean and the sky. ‘I don’t mind it. I’ve always loved winter at the beach.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ And then Ry didn’t know why he had to tell her, but it suddenly felt too important not to say. ‘Amanda’s gone back to Adelaide with her parents.’

  He watched Julia’s face intently for a reaction. Maybe he
saw an extra blink, that was all, a reddening of her cheeks. The cold could do that too, he guessed.

  ‘You staying down here then?’

  He hoped like hell his face was a blank. He didn’t want to have any of his emotions on show, didn’t want her to have a clue about what he’d been thinking as he’d trudged up the beach. ‘Yeah, for a few more days. You?’

  ‘A few weeks,’ she murmured and studied her shoes, then his shoes, his denim-clad legs, his whole body before looking at his face again.

  ‘What then? Back to Melbourne?’

  Julia nodded.

  ‘Well,’ he hesitated. ‘I’ll see you round.’

  ‘Yeah, you too, Ry.’ Julia tucked her hands back into her pockets and walked right past him.

  He turned to watch her walk up the beach, step after determined step, her arms swinging by her sides. Then he realised where they were. Right in front of Three Pines. A movie played in his head, one he’d watched a million times.

  The thwack of a wet bikini hitting him square in the chest. Icy-cold droplets of saltwater dripping down his belly. Broken shells and stones digging into his back. Julia naked, straddling him, blocking out the sun with her body. Full breasts pressing into his chest. His hands in her wet curls. Lips crashing. The first time.

  Up the beach, Julia had disappeared into an anonymous speck in the distance. This was becoming weird fucking déjà vu, he realised. That movie in his head? The one with her in it? The ending was always the same.

  He was always watching her leave.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Strictly against doctor’s orders, Ry sipped his third espresso of the morning. He needed the caffeine buzz to keep him upright, given he’d had another night with so little sleep. That movie in his head had played on a loop all night, except there were new scenes now: Julia on her doorstop, Julia in Port Elliot, Julia on the beach.

  It was quiet in the pub and his meeting with a couple of local councillors had finished sooner than he expected, so he had some time to kill. He liked the idea that this was becoming his Middle Point office. He got a kick out of knowing that this place was his, that he could show off his hospitality and his business acumen at the same time. He wanted a stake in the town and there was no better way to prove it to sceptical locals than showing them he talked the talk and walked the walk.

  Across the room, Lizzie was talking on the phone, her animated face and smile seemed to indicate she was talking to a customer. She knew exactly how to handle people, he’d noticed. Knew this town, this community, like the back of her hand. When she hung up, he called her over and indicated she should sit down.

  ‘Hey Ry. How’re you doin’?’

  ‘All good,’ he nodded. ‘How’s everything going here?’

  Lizzie raised her eyebrows and nodded back. ‘Fine. It’s business as usual, just like most winters. Quiet during the week, a little busier on weekends. The open fire is a big hit on Sunday afternoons. I just took a booking for the October long weekend.’

  ‘That far ahead?’

  ‘It’s a big birthday party. A guy I went to school with is organising his grandmother’s eightieth. It’s supposed to be a big surprise, so I’m sworn to secrecy. Betty Higgins is an amazing lady. She’s lived here in Middle Point her whole life. I don’t think she’s ever even gone up to Adelaide. Can you believe that?’

  Could he believe that someone could be born here and never want to leave? No, he couldn’t.

  ‘How’s Julia?’ Ry stopped as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Where the hell had that come from?

  Lizzie registered the change in the direction of the conversation with narrowed eyes and a suspicious smile.

  ‘She’s good.’

  ‘Have you caught up much since she’s been back?’

  ‘Of course. Almost every night. It’s been kind of hard for her, you know, dealing with what she’s going through. But she’s tough.’

  A cold shiver goosed up Ry’s spine and he felt a tightening in his gut. He gripped his phone to stop himself from grabbing Lizzie to shake more information out of her.

  He paused in an effort to keep from growling at her. ‘What’s wrong with Julia?’

  Lizzie rested a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Nothing’s wrong with her. It’s just hard for her, you know, having to sort out her mum’s place and all her things. She’s been putting it off for a year, but it’s crunch-time, I guess.’

  Nothing about this was making sense, no matter how hard Ry tried to process what Lizzie had just said.

  He shook his head. ‘Wait a minute. That little house next to mine. It’s Julia’s?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘It is now.’

  ‘The Joneses still own the house? Since I bought the pub, everyone’s talked about it as the Kinsella place. I thought she was renting it for a holiday, for old times’ sake.’ Ry sank down into his chair, his head pounding, his chest tight.

  ‘It is the Kinsella place,’ Lizzie told him. ‘That was Julia’s mother’s name. She didn’t ever become a Jones when she married Jools’ dad. It was the seventies, remember?’

  Ry felt pole-axed. ‘And Mary died?’

  ‘A year ago this week.’

  Something slammed in his chest. After a moment he said, ‘I met her. A long time ago.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard.’

  Ry stood abruptly, gathered his iPad, his phone and leather satchel, papers and plans still spilling out over the top.

  ‘Lizzie, there’s something I have to do. Can we catch up soon? There’s some business I need to talk to you about.’

  ‘Jeez, you’re not going to sack me too, are you?’ Lizzie’s cheeky smile gave her away and he laughed right back.

  ‘Just don’t cross me.’

  A colourful combination of curse words came in handy as Ry strode the distance back to his house. He felt like a prized arsehole. Julia had lost her mother. Mrs Jones. That’s what he’d called her and he remembered she’d simply said, ‘Call me Mary.’ That summer he remembered her carrying endless trays of sliced watermelon out to the front lawn where he and Julia were splayed out in their wetsuits like exhausted seals. There’d been a ­sadness in the family because of the recent death of Julia’s father. Julia and her mother had grown especially close in the aftermath of that terrible time. Paul Jones had been killed driving home from Adelaide, hit by a drunk driver who’d crossed over the white line on the steep Willunga Hill. When he and Julia had spent the summer together, the grief in the house was palpable.

  And now Mrs Jones — Ms Kinsella — was gone too, and Ry knew that meant Julia had no family left. There had only been the three of them, then the two of them. And now she was alone. Except whoever was waiting for her back in Melbourne. That thought had him cursing again. He simply couldn’t think about that.

  He didn’t even bother to go home first, but marched right up her driveway to her door, banging insistently on it. He waited a few moments, but there was no answer. There was silence from inside the house, no sound of footsteps, no music, no TV. He moved to peer through the windows, but could see nothing to indicate Julia was at home.

  He spun on his heel and gritted his teeth. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was relief or disappointment.

  What say we just stay as far away from each other as possible?

  Standing there on her front doorstep brought back the memory of the defiant expression on Julia’s face when she’d looked him straight in the eyes and uttered those words. He’d been trying not to think about it, but he couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that she’d been saying one thing while her body wanted something altogether different. He absent-mindedly touched the scar on his cheek and remembered the warm touch of her fingers. The way she’d looked up at him with those caramel eyes, the throb of her pulse when he’d grabbed her wrist, the way her gaze had lingered hungrily on his mouth.

  Let’s pretend we don’t even know each other.

  Was that what she really wanted?

  Let’s stay as f
ar away from each other as possible.

  Was that what he really wanted?

  He’d spent the past fifteen years and six months trying to forget every single thing about her. Yet, one look at her in the pub had brought memories and sensations flooding back to him.

  A tightness flared up inside his chest and constricted his throat, his hands tensed into fists. Why didn’t he take his own fucking advice? She was the one who’d left him. What the hell was he doing sniffing around her again? Was he a total sucker for punishment?

  He was suddenly glad she wasn’t home. This had been a mistake. He stomped off through her garden and into his yard.

  At about the time Ry was standing on her doorstep, Julia was leaning on the hefty wooden railing of a viewing platform set into the dunes above Basham’s Beach and holding her breath in awe. She felt as though she was about to squeal like a schoolgirl at a rock concert.

  Thirty metres off-shore, in the protected and almost still waters of the cove, a Southern Right Whale and her calf were frolicking in the calm blue water. The weak winter sun was shining, the wind had stilled and small waves were breaking on the empty beach below, giving Julia a perfect view of nature’s spectacle.

  A crowd of people had gathered, each person staring into the water past the lapping waves, waiting for a hint of black. Every time a tail slapped the water or the smaller calf emerged out of the blue, the crowd lapsed into oohing and aahing, as if they were seeing a grandchild for the first time. The stunning sight melted people’s natural reserve and had complete strangers sparking up conversations with each other, locals and visitors, surfers and bikers, retirees and dreadlocked hippies. In turn, people smiled and cooed at the sight of the magnificent creatures rolling and lobbing their flukes.

  Julia fished her phone out of her jeans’ pocket, knowing there was one person she had to share her excitement with.

  ‘Hey, Jools.’ Julia could hear the noisy sounds of the pub down the line.

  ‘Oh Lizzie … I’m at Basham’s with the whales. It’s mind-­blowing. I heard on the radio this morning they were down here and I couldn’t wait to see them for myself.’ Julia wondered when she’d last felt that giddy with excitement and couldn’t remember.