The next day is Friday. In a few more days I’ll be going home to reality. The school year will be upon me and I’ll have tonnes to occupy my time. It’s frightening to think it’s ten months till I’ll never be at school again — I’ll be joining the workforce like a real adult — so I suppose I should make the most of this time. I won’t have holidays like this again.
After breakfast, I get dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. I pull my hair into a ponytail and put on a cap and some sunglasses. Exercise has been sadly lacking in my daily routine of late but after my over-sharing effort with Nicholas yesterday, I feel ready. The man should be a counsellor. He’s done more for my mental health in twenty-four hours than anyone’s been able to in a year.
I leave the house, closing the beach gate firmly behind me. I walk down onto the firmer sand near the shore. I jog for a while and then, when I’m too tired to run anymore I take off my shoes and socks and paddle in the shallow water. It’s not as hot as it was yesterday so I dawdle for what must be a good half hour with my ankles in the surf before I realise how far I’ve come. I’m miles from anywhere, in a part of the bay I’ve never ventured to before, which is sort of nice. I’m loving these new feelings of exploration. I feel free, the way you’re supposed to feel when you’re twenty-one, I guess.
Reaching the edge of the beach where the sand is punctuated by huge bleached boulders, I stop. I look in both directions. I scan the dunes at the top of the beach but for as far as I can see the beach is deserted. There’s a flock of seagulls fighting over a dead fish but other than that, nothing. I look left and right again. I bite my lip with indecision. Then — and I don’t know how this happens or why — I strip to nothing, leaving my clothes on the beach. I pelt into the ocean. The coolness of the water hits my skin. The adrenalin rush is instant. That feeling I’ve longed for, from doing something impulsive, is exhilarating. So exhilarating that I literally whoop with joy… until I realise I look like a complete nut job and stop myself from doing it again.
After a second or two my body adjusts to the temperature, so I swim further out past the break before turning over to float on my back. As a rule, I don’t like to be where I can’t feel the bottom. But today I just feel like doing it, stretching myself a little more. It must have been that swim with Nicholas. He’s made me see what I was missing. I still don’t like the bits where I can’t see below me though.
The sun is blinding, so I close my eyes and let its warmth seep through my lids. I listen to the gurgling of the waves under the water.
This is fabulous, I think. I could stay here all day.
It’s peaceful and liberating somehow, being naked in the water. I can understand why people say skinny-dipping is fun. Having the water on your body without the barrier of clothing feels different, not like being in the bath at all. Although, at this moment, I’m starting to wish I was in my bath.
Alone.
There’s a splashing noise to my left and a sort of coughing sound, like someone choking on a jellyfish. I open my eyes and there — sitting on a surfboard — staring at me like I’m an apparition, is a man.
The scream that comes from my mouth as it fills with water is more of a terrified gurgling yelp. I pull my body under the surface and try pointlessly to cover myself but there’s only so much skin two hands can shield.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
Suddenly, the idea of being naked isn’t so appealing. And treading water while attempting to keep my privates from being on show isn’t that easy. I could drown if he doesn’t avert his eyes.
“Hello,” he says, as calm and composed as if he comes across naked girls in the waves every day. “Do you need a hand?”
I don’t know how to respond to this. I am undressed and he is not. He clearly has the advantage.
I spit out the water and give him a strained smile. Below the surface my feet are pounding the water for dear life. The water that felt refreshing thirty seconds ago is now giving me goosebumps. I think I’m going into shock. “No. Thank you.”
He points to the left. “You’re getting pretty close to the reef—”
There’s a reef? Could this get any worse?
“And there’s a rip over that way—”
I guess it could.
“—Are you sure you can get back to the beach?”
Even if I couldn’t, I cannot suffer the mortification of being naked on this man’s surfboard, if that’s what he’s offering. I’m never skinny-dipping again. Never.
“I think I’ll be fine. I’m a strong swimmer.”
In my head, I am.
“Sure?”
“Positive.” And to demonstrate I commence a freestyle back to shore, attempting to look as if I narrowly missed selection for the Olympic swim team. His seeing my bottom is preferable to seeing my other bits.
The man paddles along beside me. His mouth is bent in thinly disguised amusement. I see it every time I swing my face in his direction. He’s so annoying.
“Watch out for that coral there,” he says. “You’ll cut yourself to ribbons.”
I look into the depths I was ignoring to find I am, indeed, only millimetres from a huge mound of the stuff. Dammit. I swim back the way I came but a wave comes and I go forward instead. I feel the coral rip into my leg and it hurts like crazy but I’m not going to cry. I’m not. I’m just going to keep on swimming.
In the other direction.
The man follows at a safe distance. I think he senses I’m not in the mood for conversation, possibly because I am mortally embarrassed and naked.
“Did you know you have a mole on your back?” he asks. “Just near the dimple of your bum?”
The absolute cheek of him. He’s perving on my arse.
“Yes. I did.” My voice is clipped but then I am trying to talk while swimming. I wish he’d leave me to get to the shore in peace.
“You should get it checked out. It could be cancerous.”
Is he for real?
“I was born with it. It’s always been there.” Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even bothering to respond, I’m only encouraging him. I pick up my pace a little which is difficult when swimming with one’s face out of water.
“No need to get narky. It was just an observation. Are you sure you don’t want to hop on my board? Your leg is pissing blood.”
I look behind me to see a red streak trailing in my wake. Great. If it’s not bad enough I’m being trailed by a man who looks like Patrick Swayze in Point Break — which I’ve seen at least thirteen times because it was Mum’s favourite movie — now I’ll have sharks coming to eat me for dinner.
“I’m fine,” I reiterate and keep swimming.
There’s silence for a while. I can see the shore, but it isn’t as close as I thought so I decide to slow down to catch my breath. It’s then that I hear singing. God-awful, tuneless singing. I think it’s a song from The Little Mermaid movie. Surfboard guy is making fun of me because I’m bare-bummed in the water and he’s on a board having the time of his life looking at my bottom. Geez, I wish I could splash him or tip him into the water but I have a feeling that’s what he wants me to do.
“Can you be quiet please,” I say. “Your wailing is cutting into the peacefulness of my swim.”
“It’s a long way. I was bored. Sure you don’t want to hop on? I don’t mind sharing my ride.”
“I bet you don’t.”
Dirty perv.
I glance to the shore. It’s not getting any closer. In fact, I think the waves might be pushing me farther out, instead of in. And I’m feeling quite tired and more than a little scared. This doing new things is a load of cods. I’m going to stay where I can touch the bottom from now on. Assuming I make it to shore.
“I’m not sitting on the board,” I clarify, just in case he thought he was going to get a proper eyeful. “I’ll hold on and you can tow me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“There’s no need to behave like a diva. You’re the one drowning, not me. And I have seen a naked girl before, in case you’re wondering. It’s not like I’m doing this to cop an eyeful.”
Is he saying I’m nothing special? That’s even more insulting. Deciding there’s no reason for me to converse with him on our journey, I grab hold of his board, my eyes trained firmly on the shore. I tilt my chin in the air to reinforce the fact that I will not be conversing. Damn cheek.
The man begins to paddle, pulling me along. I kick my legs lazily to help him. The trail of blood grows longer. I feel faint thinking about it.
“Out of curiosity, what exactly were you doing out here without clothing?” he asks.
I can feel myself redden, even though I’m in the cold water. “Why? Do I need a permit?”
He holds up his hands in submission. “I was only asking.”
I relent. “I don’t know. I was jogging along and I saw the beach was empty and I had an overwhelming desire to throw myself naked into the waves.”
“Are you always so spontaneous?”
“Never. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been skinny-dipping in my life. And the last.”
He chuckles. “First time for everything. But, next time, you might want to check the water before you hurtle yourself into it unclothed. I’m pretty sure that bunch of blokes snorkelling out the back of the reef saw the lot.”
He’s joking. He has to be joking. I’m not sure — because I’m not, not, not looking at him — but I think he winked. And those snorkels sticking up on the reef are imaginary too. Not.
We reach the beach and the man hops from his board. He pauses and turns back, his face a mixture of curiosity and amusement as he sees me trying to hide myself behind his board. I look like a seal with one fin flapping about in the shallows.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Waiting for you to turn away. Face that way.” I point up the beach. He does so and I leap from the water, making a mad dash across the sand toward my clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten dressed so fast. My tank top is clinging to the wet of my skin which in hindsight makes dressing so quickly a rather bad idea. My nipples are clearly visible through my top and the crotch of my shorts is clinging where it shouldn’t. Blood is running down my shin. The cut is stinging like mad.
“You can turn now,” I say, knowing I might as well still be naked for all the soggy clothing is covering.
He faces me.
And that’s when I’m hit with the full force of him. I’ve never seen anything like this man before. He’s not handsome in the traditional sense but there’s something about him that’s charismatic. And it has nothing to do with his smart mouth. The man has deep brown eyes and tanned skin. His strong, square jaw is manly and his smile is crooked but adorable, the kind that tells you he knows exactly how adorable he is. His hair is dark with flecks of amber and gold, probably from time spent in the sun. He’s not the type of man who stands out in the crowd yet there’s something about him nobody could ignore. He’s like, literally, hotter than a furnace full of molten glass. So hot, in fact, my anger at him seems to be diffusing. Which is incredibly confusing, given he’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met.
“I’m Joel,” he says.
I put my hand in his and something odd happens to my tongue. It appears to have lost the memo telling it to speak. It’s as if lightning has struck and rendered me mute.
“And you are?” he enquires. His voice is deep, yet quiet. I can tell he’s feeling it too.
Silence. I’m in stunned silence. All I’m capable of is profuse blinking and goggle-eyed staring.
“Lorelei? Nixie? No wait, Ariel?” He smirks again.
The cheek of him. I straighten, slightly angered at the comparison. I am not the Little Mermaid. Though I am impressed that he can rattle off that many mythical women in one breath.
“Sadie. I’m Sadie.” I stumble over the words like I’ve developed a severe case of dementia.
“Not a cleaning lady, I’m guessing?”
There’s always one who wants to poke fun of my name and that old song from the sixties. I give him a look. “Not a single one in my family.”
“Can I give you a lift back to the bay, Sadie-the-not-cleaning-lady? I gather that’s where you came from. Seeing you’re not a mermaid. You’re not are you?”
“Nope. Just a girl.” I point my toe in his direction as if to prove the point. Silly really, considering he can see my feet for himself. And mermaids don’t exist.
“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to wonder.” He flashes a cocky, very white-toothed smile at me and I feel that tingle of chemistry. I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I mean, he’s so irritating.
“You should do something about that reef cut,” he adds. “They get infected easily.”
We both stare at the blood running down my shin but it’s like we’re incapable of doing anything to fix it, like we’re stuck to the sand or something.
“I…I…” Suddenly, I feel woozy. Blood and I are not friends. We have an understanding where blood knows if I am to stay upright, it must stay inside my body. I flop onto the sand lying prone; knowing that what might be about to happen can’t happen if I’m lying down. After a minute, the dizziness passes.
Joel peers down at me, curious. “Is everything okay?”
“Just tired,” I say, attempting to look weary. “Phew. That swim was longer than I thought.”
I don’t think he believes me and I have no intention of telling him I have a legit, genetic, medical condition that causes me to faint when I get cut. People have been known to burst into fits of laughter when I try to explain.
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my car… if you want me to cover that cut.” He hoists his board under his arm and sets off up the beach.
I lift my leg, examining it. The bleeding appears to have slowed and I’m not so dizzy. Well, not while I’m lying here. That could change if I sit in a car next to Joel.
“Coming?” Joel calls.
“I’m fine. I think I’ll walk. The exercise will do me good.”
“You sure? That cut looks nasty.”
I look again, biting my lip with indecision, wishing I could just damn well say ‘yes’ for once in my life. “It’s stopped. Positive.”
Well, I’m trying to be.
He shrugs and turns back toward the dunes.
I feel my mouth open to call him back as he walks away. My hand lifts to get his attention and then hangs aimlessly in the air like a hat without a head to perch on. Why can’t I say yes? Why does this happen to me every time there’s an opportunity to do something new? Of course, I know the reason why. Mum’s voice is quite clear in my head. She’s reiterating the dangers of getting in cars with strangers. She’s telling me over and over that you should never go with anyone you don’t know, that strange people hang out on beaches waiting for girls like me.
“Thanks, anyway,” I call.
“Sure. It was nice meeting you, Sadie. See you round.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
As I watch him jog off over the sand, his board under his arm, an odd feeling comes over me. And I don’t think it’s from the blood.
I stomp back along the beach kicking myself. Well, not literally, as that would make me look even more insane, but in my head I’m definitely giving myself what for. I should have said yes to Joel’s offer of a lift. I mean, if he’d been going to attack me he had plenty of chance while we were alone on the beach. There was something in the way his eyes held mine, that look, something that makes me think I may have made a very big mistake by turning him down. Not only that, but my shorts are rubbing the insides of my thighs something shocking, my leg is hurting and I know I’m going to be sunburnt by the time I get back to the cottage.
I’m such an idiot.
I don’t know what’s come over me. In the space of hours, I’ve transformed into the sort of girl who imagines every guy she meets is in love with her. Or worse, that she is in love with them. How can it be that I am suddenly so flighty and fickle, so strongly attracted to the type of guys I normally avoid like the plague? It’s not me. The sun must be affecting my judgement or my sadness over Mum is making me more sensitive to a few kind words. I feel so conflicted. All it took was one look and I was putty.
Silly putty.
At last, I reach the house and I stop for a second, my hands resting on the beach gate. It could be that I’m more susceptible than I’ve been in the past but I felt that chemistry. It was there with both of them and it was like nothing I’ve ever felt in any relationship I’ve had. I know they felt it, too.
The question is… assuming I ever meet them again, what on earth am I meant to do?