Page 12 of Ride the Wave

‘No. I was being sarcastic.’ She grins, holding the door open for me.

‘Oh.’ I laugh, following her in. ‘I’m Iris.’

‘Nice to meet you. Take a seat out the front on the decking. You’ve got a great view there; you can keep an eye on him,’ she suggests, heading behind the bar to fire up the coffee machine.

‘Okay, will do,’ I say, hovering by the bar a little longer. ‘So, you seem like you know Leo pretty well. Have you been friends a long time?’

She glances suspiciously over her shoulder at me. ‘Is that a question for the article?’

‘I would tell you if I was asking you an official question,’ I assure her. ‘But it’s helpful to get some background and a feel of his life here: who he hangs out with, where he goes, that sort of thing.’

‘Aha. You want a particular type of coffee?’ she asks, distracted.

‘Meia de leite, por favor,’ I attempt. ‘Coffee with milk, right? Did I say it right?’

‘Very good,’ she smiles, selecting a mug and placing it at the machine.

‘It’s important to know how to order coffee in every language,’ I declare, while she nods in agreement. ‘So, you and Leo are close friends? Have you known him a long time?’

‘Since he moved here, yes,’ she tells me to the background hum of the coffee machine. ‘He’s very much a part of this community now.’ She smiles at me. ‘I’ll bring your coffee out to you.’

It’s polite and friendly, but it’s a direction rather than a suggestion. I get it. It’s rare that anyone is forthcoming to a journalist and even rarer for someone to willingly give up information on a friend. Appreciating that Marina has already done a lot for me to open up early in the first place, I take the hint without any push back. Thanking her, I stroll outside to sit at a table right in the centre of the decking that overlooks the beach.

Sliding my sunglasses on, I notice an older gentleman on the beach with a shirt on and his hands in his short pockets, also watching Leo. At first, I think he’s observing all the surfers out there, but it soon becomes clear that he’s only interested in what Leo is doing.

Sipping on the delicious coffee Marina brings over, I watch the surfers doing their thing. They’re making it look very easy. They casually straddle their boards, hanging out in the water, chatting to each other as they float, their legs dangling in the water. Then one of them will decide that this wave is the one to surf, paddling with the swell of the water before popping up on their board and riding it towards the shore, gliding swiftly up into powerful turns, pumping their board if the wave slows. I can’t take my eyes off them.

The waves aren’t that big here today, definitely not as big as the ones I’ve seen Leo surf in old videos online, but no one seems to be out here determined to catch the biggest wave coming. It’s more of a relaxed vibe, I think.

Eventually, Leo looks to be finishing up and as he strides out of the water in his wetsuit carrying his board, I take the last gulp of my coffee and ask Marina if I can pay up.

‘It’s on the house,’ she insists, refusing to take my card.

‘I will be sure to mention Marina’s Bar in the feature as the coffee in Burgau with the best view,’ I promise her, standing up.

‘Ifthere is a feature,’ she says, joining me in watching Leo as he stops to talk to the older man waiting on the sand. ‘I hope you haven’t come all this way for nothing.’

‘This is a minor hiccup,’ I say, trying to convince myself as much as her. ‘He approached us about writing the feature in the first place.’

She looks at me, baffled. ‘Really? He did?’

‘Sort of. His mum did.’ I grab my bag from under the table. ‘I’ll see you soon. Thanks so much for the coffee.’

Without risking any more delay, I rush out of the bar and totter back down the pathway that meets the road, waiting at the car park and making sure that he cannot miss me. I watch him like a hawk, observing the older man pat him on the shoulder and leave him, going towards Marina’s. Leo, on the other hand, heads straight for the car park, his head bowed, his eyes on the sand ahead of each of his steps. When he finally looks up long enough to see me waiting for him, his frown deepens but he doesn’t stop to acknowledge me.

In person, he’s even more gorgeous than the photos. Tall, tanned, sharp jaw, tousled, dark hair that’s still wet from the salty water, he walks across the beach as though he should be in slow motion and have his own theme tune. But his expression is not inviting.

If anything, I would call it hostile.

Still, I’m unperturbed. It’s not like I haven’t cracked through hostility before.

‘Hi, Leo,’ I say with a winning smile, waiting until he’s close enough to hear me. ‘I’m Iris Gray, the journalist fromStudiomagazine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I hope you…’ I hesitate as I consider the correct expression ‘…had a good surf?’

He doesn’t respond, instead marching right by me. I’m stunned at being blanked, but not put off. He’s on concrete now and, although the threat of cobbles looms, it’s better than sand. Here, I can chase him down, hurrying to fall into step with him as he approaches his pickup truck.

‘As I said, I’m here fromStudiomagazine; we were due to meet this morning for our first interview? It would be great to talk to you about how this is all going to work,’ I say brightly as he puts his board in the back. ‘I’m really looking forward to the next couple of weeks and learning as much as possible about your world.’

‘I have to say,’ he says in an Australian accent, turning round to look down at me, tall enough to tower over me despite the extra height of my heels, ‘I’m surprised you hung about as long as you did, Iris Gray. I thought you’d leave as soon as you saw me out there surfing. Takes dedication to hang around this long.’

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