The Stranding (12 page)
‘Can I buy you a coffee after this?’ she asked.
‘You mean after I finish eating your hot dog? Or after the rabble departs?’
‘Either. Or.’
‘Do you want me to hang around and entertain you?’
Was it cheek or arrogance? Callista wasn’t sure. This was a risk, but she was committed to taking it.
‘I’ll pack up now,’ she said and started to collect the paintings off the stand. ‘I’m finished with being polite to the public today.’
‘You weren’t very polite about the hot dog.’ He was already assisting with shifting paintings into boxes. ‘It was a very good hot dog.’
‘It looked like something dead,’ she returned, as she hoicked a box into the back of the Kombi.
Lex was already there with another box. He dismantled the trestle table while she was folding the tablecloths. It was as if they had done this together before. When they were finished, she dragged the side doors of the Kombi shut. Lex had already let himself into the passenger seat uninvited. It was an intrusion, but she let it go. She climbed into the driver’s seat beside him, her heart somersaulting.
‘You’d better tell me who you are before we drive off into the sunset,’ he said. ‘Then I can be sure I’m not being kidnapped.’
‘I’m Callista,’ she said. ‘Callista Bennett.’
Something changed when they drove down the main street, and Callista wasn’t quite sure what it was. But the easiness in him dissolved into quiet tension.
‘I’m not sure I want to go to the café,’ he said.
His eyes were flat and Callista knew he was closing her out and running scared. She’d have to make sure she didn’t pressure him.
‘I still have some coffee in my thermos,’ she said. ‘We could go and sit down by the river.’
‘All right then.’
He wound down the window and sat with his elbow hooked outside, about as far away from her as he could get. Callista swung the Kombi down a side street and stopped in a small car park overlooking the river. Today the water was running wide and blue, reflecting the clear spring sky. They sat on a bench chair with the thermos between them, and Callista poured coffee into plastic mugs.
‘It’s black, I’m afraid. I don’t have any milk.’
‘Black’s fine.’
She watched him lift the mug to his lips and sip his coffee.
‘Are you staying around here?’ she asked.
He held the mug in both hands and stared at the moving water. ‘For a while.’
‘It’s a nice area. I hope you like it. Lots to see. Not too many tourists. It’s peaceful.’
‘Yes. I like things quiet.’
Callista laughed and was surprised at the sound of it—light like a bell. ‘You look like a man who’s had a bit of fun in his time.’
He smiled briefly, but his face clouded over. ‘Not recently. But I’ll get over it.’
He looked so forlorn. She watched him sip his coffee. He didn’t speak.
After a while he shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have dragged you away from the markets. You’ll be losing money doing this.’
‘I’m fine. It was my choice to close up shop.’
They sat awkwardly for a moment while the water flowed impassively by.
‘It’s a strange place to settle into.’ Callista tried again. ‘Small-town mentality. But you’ll get to know people.’
‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.’
‘Are you renting a house down here?’ she asked.
‘I’ve bought an investment property. Just thought I’d stay in it for a while. Get a feel for the place.’
‘Well, I’m a local through and through,’ Callista said. ‘If you like I can show you around sometime. There are some great spots along the coast that are hard to find without a bit of local knowledge.’
He looked at her for the first time since they’d sat down. ‘What do you do around here?’ he asked.
‘You’ve seen it. I paint. The beach art keeps me alive. I make enough money over summer to pay rent for the year.’
‘What about the rest of the year?’
‘I paint other stuff. If the mood takes me. Or I do nothing—just waiting for inspiration to strike.’
‘Nothing?’
She shrugged. It was hard to explain. Nobody except Jordi ever understood it. ‘I walk the beaches. Feel the air. Watch the light. If there’s something special, I paint it.’
Lex was listening with interest. ‘I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.’
Callista laughed. ‘Art doesn’t always come from your bones. It comes from your heart. And your mind. You feel it.’
‘You’ve lost me then. I don’t have a heart either.’
He stopped as if he had run out of puff. Callista watched him drain his coffee.
‘I have to get going,’ he said, standing up. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
She waved up at him without standing. ‘I’ll see you ’round then.’
He walked back towards the markets with his hands dug in his pockets. It hadn’t exactly been a dream conversation, but it was a start. He was interested in her. And Jordi was right. She’d have to have the patience of a death adder.
Callista couldn’t stop thinking about Lex. It was as if he had invaded her mind. She drove home from the markets wildly happy, singing loudly and tunelessly, enjoying the blast of air riding in through the open window. At night, she woke thinking of him, trying to recall the blue of his eyes, and shivering each time she remembered the way his smile made her toes tingle. She’d have to be careful or he could become an obsession. And obsession was not a healthy thing for her, unless she was focusing on a challenging piece of work, something that required constant determination and inspiration.
The fact was, she had developed a crush on him. Very girlish and pathetic, but madly exciting. And she figured that a little bit of obsession couldn’t be too harmful. Not if she kept a check on it, and reminded herself frequently that reality rarely delivered what dreams promised. What was there in life if she couldn’t indulge in a little bit of fantasy and excitement? She wafted around her house in the gully humming, singing and painting, and started planning how she might possibly meet up with him again.
The problem was trying to find a way to cross tracks with him without seeming too obvious. For instance, she couldn’t just drive out to the Point and drop in on him, because she wasn’t even supposed to know where he lived. Sue had said he didn’t come into town very often, so there wasn’t much chance of running into him down the street, and she couldn’t waste a lifetime hanging out in town anyway. In the end, the only pathetic strategy she could come up with was to organise for Jordi to ring her from the servo if he saw the Volvo heading into town.
He didn’t ring for days. Then the call came. She was midway through painting a boatshed when the phone rang. She knew, even before she lifted the receiver, that it would be Jordi.
Callista tossed her paints into the sink and ran for the Kombi. She was halfway into town before she realised she’d forgotten her sandals. Oh well, he’d have to see her as she was—paint-spattered and barefoot.
Slowing down in the main street, Callista knew this was a good day. On Saturdays when the markets weren’t on, there was always a sausage sizzle in town. It was a fundraiser for the church, subsidised by Henry Beck. He and Helen would be outside the butchery turning sausages on a portable barbeque, and Mrs Jensen would be collecting the money. Of course, Lex may try to dodge all that. But if he wanted to stop by Sue’s for a coffee, he’d have no choice but to get caught up in it.
Callista parked the Kombi in a side street and wandered past the newsagency. John Watson always had a stand of cheap books set up in the street, and she used this as an excuse to stop outside the shop. There were quite a few people on the footpath by the sausage sizzle. Mrs Dowling was buttering bread. Mrs Jensen was collecting the money. Helen Beck was working at the barbeque. Henry was grandly handing out sausages like he was the Lord Jesus dividing the loaves. Inside the butchery Callista could see Henry’s assistant, Jake Melling, serving a customer.
While she pretended to peruse the books, Callista heard Henry carping on at Helen not to turn the sausages too frequently. It was a woman thing, he was saying, to meddle with meat too often. Why couldn’t women just leave things alone? Mrs Jensen was keeping stiffly quiet—not an easy task for someone usually so outspoken—and Helen was looking teary and fragile with Henry glaring over her shoulder. Poor woman. Didn’t he ever get off her back?
Callista had just picked up another book and was flicking absently through the pages when Rick Molloy, Jordi’s mate, came around the corner and spotted her at the bookstand.
‘Hey, Callista. What are you doing in town?’
‘I do come in sometimes,’ she said.
‘Watcha doing here?’
‘Browsing.’
Rick smirked. ‘C’m on, Callie. You don’t browse.’
‘Well, I am today.’
She saw Lex step out of Sue’s café.
‘Quick.’ She dragged Rick into the newsagency and pulled him down the magazine aisle. ‘Choose a magazine,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll buy it for you.’
‘Callie, you’re losin’ it. You can’t afford to buy me a magazine.’
‘Just do it and shut up. Look normal.’ She shoved five dollars into his hand.
‘What’s this?’
‘Bribery to shut you up.’
Rick took the money and smiled. ‘Who you lookin’ for?’
‘Nobody you know. Now stop talking and pick a magazine. I’ve got to go.’
She swished out of the newsagency just in time. Lex was just leaving the sausage stall with a sausage sandwich in his hand. His head was ducked low and Callista noticed Helen Beck staring at him. Callista wondered what had happened. Behind her, John Watson had come to the door of the newsagency and was watching her. Oh well. What the heck. She could cope with making a spectacle of herself.
‘Lex,’ she said, cutting in front of him. ‘How are you?’
He looked up, surprised. ‘Mmm. You’ve caught me with a sausage sandwich again.’ He paused. ‘Do you want one?’ Then shook his head. ‘No, no. You’re a vego, aren’t you? No meat.’
Callista started walking beside him, away from the church stall and the newsagency. She glanced back. Helen was still watching them.
‘Did Helen invite you to church?’ she said.
‘How did you guess?’
‘I hope you had an answer ready.’
‘I’m running out of excuses,’ he said.
‘Just tell her you’re an atheist. It works every time.’
Lex looked at her, interested, while he bit into his sausage.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You forgot your paintings the other day. The oystercatcher was a gift. You’re not supposed to leave gifts behind.’
His face was blank for a moment then he clicked. ‘Yes, I did forget, didn’t I?’
She laughed. ‘I see I’ve made a big impression on you. Can you even remember my name?’
‘I remember that it’s unusual.’
‘It’s Callista.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So what have you been up to?’
He looked healthier than the last time she had seen him. His face was browner, more relaxed.
‘The whales have been going through,’ he said. ‘It’s been amazing.’
‘They’re great, aren’t they? We see lots of them these days. They’re really making a comeback.’
‘I heard them singing once. Off the Point. Incredible. I didn’t know they sang.’
‘Only the males sing. Mostly in the breeding grounds. Only some of them sing when they’re migrating. It’s not usual.’
She had his attention.
‘You seem to know a bit about whales.’
‘This is the south coast,’ she said. ‘You can’t live here without knowing about whales.’
She stopped and he noticed her bare feet.
‘Lost your shoes?’ he asked.
‘Forgot them. I hardly wear them. It keeps me in touch with the earth.’
He smiled. ‘You certainly look earthy.’
Callista was dismayed. She noticed the dirt between her toes, and he had just about finished his sausage. She didn’t have much time.
‘Where did you say you were staying?’ she asked.
‘Out at Wallaces Point.’
‘Ah. No wonder you’re seeing whales.’
Lex nodded and seemed lost for a moment. He had the forlorn look of a small boy that can’t find his mother.
‘You’ll have to come over to lunch and pick up your paintings,’ Callista said. ‘I live out of town, but it’s a nice place. A bit different from what you’re used to. I live in the bush.’
‘I’m not sure when I could come.’
‘How about tomorrow. Unless you’re going to church, of course.’ She smiled her fullest, most mirthful smile, and it got him.
Twenty minutes south of the Point road, Lex turned west off the highway onto a dirt road that wound down across a gully and then climbed swiftly along a dusty ridgeline, passing trees coated with brown dust. Callista’s gate was half-hidden in scrub, and the driveway was little more than a rough track. He followed it along the ridge among gangly eucalypts before it turned sharply downhill, diving through dense acacia thickets and ti-tree scrub.
Keeping his foot flat on the groaning brakes, Lex eased the Volvo down the hill, jolting over drainage gutters every twenty metres or so. The two bottles of wine on the floor rolled and clinked, and he stopped to lift them onto the passenger seat.
