Page 34 of Summer, in Between
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THE clifftop path cutsthrough the bush that follows the meandering coastline, the trees twisting overhead in sections.A northerly wind bounces off the cliffs, howling through tunnels and rock pockets like a submerged whistle.It’s warmer in the tree’s shelter and I’m borderline sweaty in my puffer.Paul walks to my right, allowing me the full width of the narrow path, keeping space between us.His work boots struggle to gain a grip in the path’s soft, sandy banks.Earlier, when we were walking along the street, he suddenly took my arm and shuffled me to his other side, mumbling something about it being rude to walk on my left.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I’d said.
‘A gentleman always walks on a lady’s right.’
‘You’re a gentleman?Who knew?But what’s the point of being on my right?’
‘In the olden days of horse and carts, it would stop you being splashed by a muddy puddle.Now, if a car comes sideways around the corner, they’ll hit me first.’He shrugged.‘I mean, we’ll both probably be dead, but I’ll die first.I’ll make the bigger mess of their car.’
‘That’s gratifying, and don’t think I’m not appreciative, but I’m a feminist,’ I said.‘I can’t let you get cleaned up for me.I’m also competitive, so I think I’d like to trash the car more than you.’I’d tried to move back to his left, but he was having none of that and promptly pulled me back.The muscled tone of his bicep bulged from beneath his shirt.
‘Hey, Paulie, it’s beer o’clock!’
We’d walked past the pub, Paul’s friends at an outside table strewn with beer glasses, empty and full.One of the Neanderthals was on his feet, waving his glass with the carelessness of the drunk as he spoke, sloshing beer everywhere.Music was thumping and as the songs turned over a girl leapt to her feet and started dancing.
‘Go in if you want,’ I’d said, ‘not that you need my permission, of course, but if you want to, go for it.It’s up to you.’My voice strains a little in my attempt at casual.
‘I couldn’t think of anything worse,’ he’d said.We paused to let a car pass, puttering along at the speed limit.Paul’s friends were calling his name.He pointed to his ears.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he mouthed and followed me into the walking track, the coastal scrub swallowing the pub’s noise.
At the Gap lookout, the ocean stretches to the horizon.A sign warns of the unstable cliff face.We’re out from the tree’s protection, hammered by the wind; I brace myself against its onslaught.Far below is the Gap’s narrow beach, the black remains of a bonfire smearing the white sand.Paul leans his elbows on the timber barrier, looking out beyond the surf.
‘You don’t think the strong, silent type is a little overrated?’
‘If I’m silent, I can’t stuff up, can I?’
‘Why?What would you stuff up?’
‘Stuff up anything.Everything.You’re very intimidating.’
‘I’m intimidating?What about you?’I cross my arms.
‘I’m not the one with the house, the family, the full-on school, the rich friends.’
Here we go.I’m a Stuck-Up Bitch because of where I go to school, and there’s a perception that we’re rich because of our house.Obviously, we don’t live in poverty but it’s not like we spend our evenings rolling around in cash, and we don’t wipe our bums with $100 notes instead of toilet paper.
‘That’s not me at all,’ I say.He raises one eyebrow.‘Anyway, you’re the intimidating one.You’re Paul Lightwood.’
‘Well, yes, that’s my name, Caterina Kelty, if we’re going with full names.I’m happy you know it.’
‘Oh, don’t give me that false modesty.You know exactly who you are, the impact you have on people.Girls.That makesyouintimidating.’
‘Okay, so we’re both intimidating,’ he says.‘You’re also patronising, you know that?’
‘I’m patronising?You called me a kid.Can’t get more patronising than that, can you?’
‘You’re right.’He runs a hand over his head.‘I shouldn’t have said that.I remember how much it used to piss me off when people called me a kid.’
‘You’re patronising me right now,’ I say.‘Are you going to ruffle my hair and pinch my cheek?’
