The Same Deep Water (3 page)

Chapter Three

The tables outside the small cafe line the pavements, crammed together on a small strip; surrounded by metal chairs that stick to your legs in the height of the Perth summer. There’re no menus here, just a chalkboard listing food and drink inside the dark wood panelled building. The places near my workplace are trendy, this one is on the edge of the suburb and popular with locals. After arranging to meet Guy, I composed myself and returned upstairs to work. Several hours later, I wait for him. This is short notice; will he come?

As I sit with my glass of sparkling water, I realise I don’t know whereabouts in Perth Guy lives, or how far I’ve asked him to travel. After half an hour waiting, I shift my chair so I’m beneath the black canvas umbrella and out of the strong sun.

Guy appears and I squint against the bright sunlight as he approaches with a laid-back gait to his walk. A young girl at a nearby table double takes as he passes. Guy stands out amongst the other pedestrians, taller than most with his dark blond hair now touching the edge of his jawline, the muscles on his tanned arms moulded by his blue t-shirt sleeves. I didn’t pay full attention the day in the shadows, but this guy – this man – is hot. My mouth dries as he reaches me and as soon as the dark blue eyes meet mine, my heart rate picks up.

I didn’t expect this reaction to him.

Guy drags a chair from under my table and sits opposite. “Hey, beautiful girl.”

I wrinkle my nose, but his tone suggests this is his a usual greeting for women. “Hello, Guy. How are you?”

Guy pulls a canvas wallet from his shorts pocket. “Such a polite lady. I’m very well, yourself?”

Is he mocking me? “Good, thanks.”

His blue eyes capture mine again, crinkling at the edges as he smiles at me. “Liar. What do you want to drink?”

“I’m okay.” I indicate the glass of water and he nods.

Weeks of communicating by text have led to a friendship of sorts, but I never expected him to behave as if we’re old friends meeting for a quick coffee. Will he mention what happened the last time we met, because this meeting is as if nothing happened?

The condensation runs down the glass and I watch the drops fall as I wait for him to return. Our second face-to-face meeting and his nonchalance matches my nerves. Does he meet a lot of girls? Is that why he’s relaxed about the situation?

Guy returns and settles back in his seat with an old-style bottle of Coca-Cola, then pulls a piece of paper from his board shorts. I smile at the image, my work follows me everywhere because in front of me is a man straight from an advert for summer happiness. Bronzed guys on the beach laughing with bikini-clad girls, eating fast food, and drinking sugar-filled soda. Models with bodies that don’t belong to people who eat much at all, and definitely not burgers. All Guy needs to do is lose his t-shirt and he’s ticked all the boxes.

“Am I funny?” he asks, unfolding the paper.

“No, you remind me of someone.”

“Oh?”

“Just some guy,” I say with a half-smile.

He shakes his head. “I knew there was a sense of humour in there somewhere.”

I relax back in my chair, my fear this would be awkward dissipating. Guy’s behaviour matches his texts, light-hearted and friendly with no hint of the weirdness that underpins our relationship.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I say.

“At last!” He pushes a strand of his fringe away, fixing me with his deep-water eyes. “I was beginning to think you’d bottled on me and I’d never see you again.”

“Bottled on you?”

“The bucket list. We’re doing some together, remember?” He shakes the paper at me. “I’m looking forward to having some fun with you, Phe.”

I look up sharply. A man like him could no doubt persuade any girl with a pulse to have fun with him, but the innuendo isn’t matched by any expression that could suggest he’s serious.

“You look unhappy. Are you okay?”

“Better than last time we met.”

“That’s not difficult, is it?” He drinks. “You can’t hide behind text messages when we’re face to face.”

“I’m fine, Guy. Normal everyday stress. Work stuff.” I lower my voice. “You know I got help. Things are different. I’m getting better and the dark thoughts have gone.”

Guy scrutinises me, and the outside world fades, returning me to the last time he looked inside my soul and yanked me back to reality. Empty of the thoughts controlling my mind that night, others flood in instead.

Who is he?

What’s killing him?

Why can’t I stop picturing what he looks like under his t-shirt?

Why does he want to know me?

Guy chews on his bottom lip, his own thoughts guarded. “Get it out.”

“Pardon?”

“Your list. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, right.” I pick up my small, black handbag and delve to the bottom. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, I’m quite the distraction.”

Of course, looking like he does Guy has to be a self-love kind of guy. I give him a small shake of my head and he winks.

My small note pad on the table contrasts with his tattered page ripped at the edges, the large black scrawl much less legible than my neatly printed handwriting.

“We going to read them out?” Guy asks.

My chair is centimetres from touching the one behind and too many people are in earshot of what promises to be a very weird conversation.

“No.”

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.” His mouth twitches with amusement.

“Seriously, Guy?”

“Had to be said.” He holds his hand out, palm upwards. “Show me.”

As Guy takes my note pad, he pushes his list across the table.

We read, silently, and his list intrigues me:

1. Swim with sharks.

2. Spend a night ghost hunting.

3. Visit Hawaii.

4. Learn another language.

5. Go skydiving.

6. See the Van Gogh painting ‘Sunflowers’.

7. Watch a shooting star.

8. Watch the snow fall.

9. Save someone’s life.

10. Fall in love.

Numbers two and nine are crossed out.

“Not doing them in order then?” I ask.

Guy holds his hand up in a gesture to silence me and to indicate he’s still reading, lips pursed. He strokes his chin in an exaggerated pose of a musing professor. “Interesting...”

“What?” This isn’t a diary, but the words on the page feel as if they shouldn’t be shared.

“One of our items matches. Almost two. ‘See a shooting star’ is a night together ‘sleeping under the stars’.” He runs a finger down the list. “These are very girlie: ‘swim with dolphins’, ‘kiss in the rain’.”

“Are you judging me? Look at yours! Ghost hunting? At least plan something achievable!”

“Yeah, tried that one at Fremantle Prison. Never found any. Maybe when we go to England, I’ll try somewhere else.”

“We?”

“The painting I want to see is in England, we’re going to England.”

“I never said I was doing my list with you!”

“Not all of them, just the ones that match.” He rakes his hair from his face as he reads. “Look, I can teach you to surf and help with the tattoo, I know some good artists.” Guy lifts the edge of his t-shirt, revealing solid abs decorated with the words
omnia causa fiunt.
I stare, mostly at his muscles to be honest, before he drops the t-shirt.

“Shouldn’t we do yours first, if you haven’t got... much time,” I say.

Guy’s face darkens, and he taps his fingers on the table. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Guy doesn’t look sick, his appearance more alive than people I come across in the 9-5 drudgery. We hardly know each other; whatever illness he has is none of my business. If he wanted to tell me, he would.

“Yeah. True. But I’m two items ahead of you, and you need to catch up. Some we can finish quickly, locally. What do you want to start with?” He studies my list again. “This is an easy one. ‘Ask a stranger on a date’. I don’t count, by the way.”

“This isn’t a date! Besides, you asked me weeks ago.”

“Yes, but you said no.
You
asked
me
to meet you today.”

“This still isn’t a date; this is just a meeting between...” I pause. Between what? A girl who almost jumped to her death and the man who stopped her. “Friends.”

“Travel buddies.”

“If I travel with you.”

“We can travel through our lists together,” he says and hands back my notebook. “Through your new life and the rest of mine. What do you think?”

I morbidly want to know why and when he’ll die. What if he’s been given a year and his time runs out because the doctors are wrong?

“So you need to travel soon,” I say.

“Soon-ish, but it’s the end of January now, and I don’t want to visit England in the winter.”

“That’s the best time to see snow fall.”

“Nah, I can see that in Australia, at the snow fields over East. An English summer sounds better. Can you do July?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If you can’t afford the trip, I’ll pay.”

The insistence in his demeanour from the night in my darkness returns and I grip onto my assertiveness. “What? No!”

He shrugs. “I’m loaded, may as well spend all my money before I go.” I can’t help but study his faded t-shirt and the black and blue board shorts. “Yeah, not dressed like I have money, I know.” He flicks his black Havaianas against his tanned feet. “I got the designer version of my bogan footwear.”

“Very cool.”

“I am.” Again, the bright grin, but his eyes don’t match.

I drain my glass and wipe the condensation from my hands onto my skirt.

“Another?” he asks.

“No thanks, I have to get back to work.”

“Had enough of me already?” He arches a brow. “Two months apart and this is all I get?”

“Sounds like we’ll be spending a bit of time together,” I say.

“I have all the time in the world for you, Phe.” Alarmed at the intensity, at this stunning man eager to spend his remaining time with me, I fight the unusual blushing that flares on my cheeks.

“I’m flattered,” I reply.

“So, are you up for this then? Me and you, a step out of life once in a while?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a list, so do you. I need something in my life to distract me from crap, so do you. How about we get to know each other better, too? Could be fun.”

“Really? What kind of fun did you have in mind?”

He grins, revealing the sexy dimples. “Whatever you enjoy doing.”

In the bedroom or out? I’m not pursuing that line of thinking. I just met the guy. The real Guy. Sure, Phe, how long do you think you’ll hold out against the sexual presence humming around this man?

Guy taps my notepad. “Ten things. I challenge you to one this weekend. Today is Monday, call me later in the week, and tell me which item you’ve chosen.”

“Already?”

“Make it a good one.” He drinks deeply from his bottle, the man from the pages of a magazine with his cover story as bright as mine. In my experience, the gregarious people are often paddling furiously under the water, and in Guy’s case, I know this is true.

Chapter Four

1. Get a tattoo.

2. Sleep beneath the stars.

3. Visit London.

4. Swim with dolphins.

5. Kiss in the rain.

6. Attend a masquerade ball.

7. Learn to surf.

8. Write and publish a book.

9. Ask a stranger on a date.

10. Fall in love.

I smooth the page I’ve ripped from my notepad and pin it to the fridge with a round, blue magnet, smiling at the crazy list. Imagine how my prim and proper grandparents would react to some of these. My housemate, Jen, wanders into the kitchen, a wave of floral perfume heralding her arrival.

“Have you seen my phone?” she asks.

Her platinum blonde hair is coiffed into the 1950s style she spends an inordinate amount of time perfecting, face carefully painted to match her image.

“There.” I point to the phone half-buried beneath today’s mail.

“Thank you!”

Jen’s holding a pair of pink heels; her eclectic dress sense reflects her job at a retro boutique nearby. Tonight her outfit consists of tight, black capri pants and a sweetheart neckline, candy pink top.

She drops a matching pink shoe to the ground and slips her foot in. “What do you think of these?” She wiggles her foot.

“Very pretty.”

Jen steps forward and peruses my list. “This is interesting. What is it?”

“A bucket list.”

“That’s so cool! Have you done anything on here yet?” She runs a long fingernail along the paper. “I’ve done three of these.”

“Really?”

She points to her arm where the cartoon-coloured pin-up girl peeks from beneath the cap sleeves of her top. “Several times for some of them! Tattoos, asking guys on dates.”

“Do tattoos hurt much?”

“Depends. Why? Is that the first thing you want to do on the list? Start with a small tattoo if you do.”

“Start?”

She grabs her phone from the counter. “Oh, yeah, once you’ve had one tattoo, you’ll want more.”

Maybe not as many as Jen whose body is covered in a bright inked canvas.

“Almost forgot. You had a call before. I let it ring through to the answer-machine. Why don’t you give people your mobile number?”

I can guess who, only one person ever does. “I do, my gran doesn’t like calling my mobile.”

“Okay. Weird, but fair enough. I’ll catch you later.” She pauses. “Unless you want to come out this evening?”

“Seeing Cam?”

Jen and Cam, her boyfriend, are normally glued at the hip, their relationship intensifying in the short time I’ve known them. Some days I wonder why he doesn’t move in; he’s at the house that often.

“Yeah, but not just him. We’re catching up with a few friends for dinner.”

“Thanks, but I’m tired.”

Jen frowns. “You need to get out more.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“That should get you out and about.” Jen points at the fridge. “But you hardly leave the house apart from work so how the hell are you going to go to London?”

“I’ll work up to that one.” I turn away, irritated by her judgment. I know I need to make more of a life for myself, but I’ve no idea how to start. Focusing on making my mark at work takes up my time, success is important, and if I need to stay late to finish up, I do. A social life can wait.

With a shouted goodbye, Jen leaves, the door slamming behind her.

I look at the light blinking on the answer-phone. Why Gran can’t use my mobile number, I don’t know. Erica does, frequently messaging me and we chat daily. She’s concerned, but happier now the new meds are working for me. The dark blanket of sadness has fallen away but the fear is never far, gnawing at the edges of my life, waiting for the chance to slip through.

Uninspired to cook anything else, I pull out last night’s leftovers from the fridge, and as I heat the lasagne in the microwave, I read through the page again.