Page 57 of Summer, in Between
Paul’s feet are a shock of white against the tan of his legs.A large vein stands on each, blue against his pale skin.Hair stands at attention on each toe.
‘Oh, thank God, you’re not perfect!Your feet are truly hideous,’ I say.‘Can you put your boots back on?’
‘And hello to you too, Cat.’He leans down and kisses me on the cheek.‘Where’s your mum and brothers?’
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’
‘Coffee?’He takes the seat opposite me.
‘That would be fantastic.No sugar for me, thanks.’
‘As if I didn’t know you’re sweet enough.’
‘Yeah, I can tell by that peck on the cheek.’
‘I’m a gentleman, remember?’
‘Yes, and now you’re sitting as far away from me as possible.’
‘Just enjoying the view,’ he grins and dances his toes across mine under the table.
‘How are you going to cope with no swell?’
‘We’re going off Sueys.’
‘That’s because you’re a bunch of bright sparks,’ I say.‘Have fun smashing your tiny, unformed brains.’
Sueys is the nickname of a local point of interest, shortened, delightfully, from Suicide Rocks.It is a deep channel in the rock face high above sea level, carved by high tides, pocketed with underwater caves.Rock fishers love it, ignoring the safety sign that stands sentinel on the beach.At least once each summer, sometimes twice, a fisher is swept off the rocks by an unexpected wave, sucked into an underwater cave where he remains until it’s safe enough for some poor search and rescue person to retrieve him, or what’s left of him.It’s always a him, by the way.In all the years of annual bombardment by news helicopters it’s never a ‘she’ that’s been caught unawares.
‘You’re coming too,’ says Paul.
‘Thank you, but no thank you.I have work to do, as you can see.And Suey’s and I are not even remotelysimpatico.’I emphasise the last word with staccato syllables.
‘Quick coffee, and then let’s go?’
‘Coffee, yes, Sueys, no.’
Paul follows me into the kitchen.He leans against the bench, his hands on either side of his hips.I bend to open the cupboard beside his leg, gently nudging him out of my way with my hip.
‘Excuse me.’I retrieve two cups.As I stand, his arms wrap around me and he pulls me against him, his legs stretched so we are the same height, chest to chest, face to face.I put the cups down on the bench and slide my hands under his t-shirt, up his back, spreading my fingers across his shoulders.
‘Well, hello, Paul, what are you up to on this beautiful day?’Mum’s voice cuts across the kitchen.Paul’s arms drop and I leap back in one super-human move.
‘I’m just making coffee,’ I say.‘You want one?’
‘So that’s what you’re calling it, “coffee”,’ says Matty.‘Right.Good to know.’
‘Hey, Matty, you want to come jump off Sueys with us?’
‘Yes!’he says.
‘Can I go too, Paul?’Tommy says.
‘No way are either of you jumping off Suicide Rocks,’ I say.‘Tell them, Mum.’
‘No way in hell are either of you jumping off Suicide Rocks,’ Mum deadpans.‘You’re both too small.’
‘Come on, Dad was doing it when he was five,’ says Matty.
