Seven Days: The Complete Story (4 page)

“Then I did.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he grins at me.

“Liar.”

“You got me. I
know the guy who owns the bakery next to The Beach Hut. I sent him
a text last night and asked him to make me something suitably
impressive. I made the coffee though,” he qualifies.

“I’m glad.” I
pick up a croissant and take a bite. It’s good.

“Why?”

“I’d have felt
bad thinking you did this for me. Especially when I’ve contributed
nothing.”

“Two minute
noodles aren’t that good for breakfast.”

“Sure they
are. I’ve lived on them for the last three years. But seriously,
you should have told me to bring something.”

“I didn’t want
you to. You’re my guest.”

“Yeah.
But—”

He puts a
finger to my lips. His face moves close to mine and for a second I
think he’s going to kiss me. “Eat your breakfast.”

Later, we
strip to our bathers and stand appraising each other before
preparing to leap into the fishbowl ocean. I don’t feel
self-conscious with Nicholas’ eyes on me and I’m not embarrassed to
be doing the same to him. It’s like we’re silently agreeing that we
like each other physically and it’s okay to look. It’s an odd
feeling. Every other boy I’ve been with has made me feel as if I
need to cover myself when we weren’t making love. But then,
Nicholas is no ordinary man. I’m beginning to see that. There’s
something about him that tugs at my heartstrings.

“Ready?”

I nod. The
water is calm like a millpond and so clear I can see the bottom.
I’m scared. I don’t do water unless it’s in a swimming pool and I
can touch the bottom without losing breath.

“On the count
of three?” he says.

“Will you hold
my hand?” I ask him, hoping he doesn’t get the wrong impression
from my request.

His hand
clasps mine. He smiles like he understands.

“You’re very
pretty, Sadie,” he says.

“Smooth
talker.”

“I mean
it.”

“But how can
you say it when we barely know each other?”

“I don’t know.
All I know is you’re all I’ve been able to think about for the last
twelve hours. I almost walked in front of a taxi on the way home
last night; I was so obsessed with thoughts of you. I can’t explain
it.”

I look into
his eyes and I know he’s telling the truth. “I feel it too,” I say.
“My obsession had been, shall we say … worrying?”

And constant.
And orgasmic. Definitely that.

*****

In the
afternoon, after Nicholas has dropped me at the cottage and gone to
his meeting, I lay on the hammock in the shade, a glass of iced tea
and a book beside me. I planned to do some pre-reading for my
courses this semester but all I do is fiddle around on Facebook and
complete a silly quiz to find out what my princess name would be.
I’m exhausted. Swimming and sun always do that to me.

I close my
eyes and a smile tugs at my lips. My mind is swimming in Nicholas.
The gentle way he touched me, his fingers on mine as we steered the
Constance
along, the way he made talking so easy. I see his
face; feel his arms around my body. I hear his voice, soft in my
ear. I relive the feelings as his eyes raked over my body. I begin
to fantasise about his body underneath his clothes. I see us in the
bedroom. He’s stripped me of my shirt and, with his hands about my
waist, is pulling me close to him, so close I can feel the drumming
of his heart. His teeth are nipping at the skin of my neck as he
undoes my bra. Then his hands reach to cup my breasts and he kisses
me fully—

On the ground
next to my drink, my phone rings and I fall from the goddamn
hammock in surprise.

Shit. That
hurt.

I pick myself
up. “Um, hi... hello?”

“Hey,
honeybubble, how’s it going at the beach? I’m
soooo
envious.
I’ve been sitting here with the fan and a bottle of water the
entire morning. It’s like a freaking sauna in this flat. We,
seriously, have to get something done about the air con, it’s
making a noise similar to the one Gary used to make when he was
about to come. You know, sort of grunting and whining? Hashtag
scary.”

It’s my best
friend Emily, or as I call her ‘Machine Gun’. Emily can talk faster
than the speed of light and change subjects at such a rapid pace
that if you’re not paying full attention you end up thinking we’ve
invited the cast of
Supernatural
for dinner (I did once.
Sooo
embarrassing). If Emily were able to run at the speed
she talks, she’d be declared a superhero, though she’s already one
to me. She’s saved my life on more than one occasion.

“I’m awesome,”
I say. “Mega relaxed.”

“You sound
refreshed. Not too many tears, I hope.”

“No. I’ve hit
the books and I’ve been clearing out the garden. It was so
overgrown. I even went swimming in the ocean this morning.”

“And what’s
brought about this change?”

“Not sure. But
I have been reading this really good book on making your dreams a
reality.” I don’t know if I’m ready to share Nicholas with Emily
yet. She tends to jump the gun when it comes to boys. She’ll have
us married by tomorrow morning. Emily and I are polar opposites in
that regard. I’m wary when it comes to men. I like the trustworthy,
stable, quiet type. Emily will fall in love with anyone who winks
in her direction. And even though she longs for marriage and a
baby, unheard of at our age, she ends up making the most disastrous
choices — serial womanisers, greasy haired bikers. It’s like she’s
so desperate to be loved she’ll settle for anyone.

“
Boooorrrrring
! Haven’t you met anyone? At least had a dance
with someone cute?” I visualise Emily sprawled on the couch in her
short shorts, her legs draped over the back of it, a glass of
something icy in her hand. She probably has some poor boy there
now, massaging her feet in the hope it will lead to something else.
She’s such a hussy.

“Not really.”
I hope I sound convincing.

“Oh. My. God.
You totally have.”

Okay.
Sometimes I wonder whether Emily has psychic abilities.

“What’s his
name? What does he look like? Please tell me he’s not one of those
buttoned-up straight types you always go for. You need some spice
in your life.”

The questions
are firing through the phone so fast my brain can hardly focus.
“Slow down,” I say, attempting to not get caught up in Emily’s
enthusiasm.

“Name,” she
demands.

“Nicholas.”

“Age?”

“Late
twenties. Maybe thirty.”

“
Ooooh
,
the older man. Are you sure you’re up for a man of the world? You
know they have chest hair, right? And they like all sorts of things
you’ve never even fantasised about.”

She makes me
sound like Maria from
The Sound of Music.

“And how do
you know?”

I can hear her
eye roll through the phone. “What does he look like? And don’t say
‘nice’,” she says.

“Hot. Six two.
Broad shoulders. Smooth, rock hard chest. And you should see his
abs—”

I’m
embellishing a little for her benefit but it will make her
happy.

“You’ve seen
his naked chest already? Geez Louise, you don’t waste any
time.”

“Shut up or I
won’t tell you the rest.”

Emily shuts
up.

“So…he’s got
these gorgeous pink lips and he has sort of dirty blond, sort of
shaggy surfer hair and a tattoo on his left bicep. It’s a cross, I
think, or maybe dagger. I know there’s a name written in it.”

“I’m not going
to ask how you got so up close and personal as to notice that.”

“It’s summer
Emily. Most of the men here are topless.”

“Now I’m even
more jealous. Are you sure you don’t need me to come and supervise
your extra curricular activities?”

We both
laugh.

The
conversation descends into the realm of smut I’m not comfortable
talking about even in Emily’s presence, the type of stuff she loves
to tease me with when she’s calling me a prude. But I’m not a prude
and I’m not innocent. I just don’t like to talk about it, that’s
all.

“Are you going
to see him again?” she asks, finally.

“It was
discussed.”

“And you
didn’t take three days to decide this was the right option?”

“No. I knew
straight away. It was like we connected. You know what they say
about when you meet the right person…”

“You’re not
saying you’re in love with him, this older man with the naughty
hair and tattoos?”

“Don’t be
silly. I only met him yesterday.” But I am deeply into Nicholas.
And it’s scaring the crap out of me. I have no idea what to do with
this feeling.

“Good. Well,
don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I snort. “That
leaves me with a very short list.”

“Funny. Not.
I’ll see you next week. Rested and ready for the beginning of our
last year as students.”

“Bye, Em.” I
hang up the phone. That goofy smile is on my face again.

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.