Summer Loving (20 page)

‘What did you just call me? Do you know who I am?’

Still gripping Franklin’s wrist, he walks him into the sea, lets him go and simultaneously pushes him hard in the chest so he falls backwards into a large-ish wave that’s just breaking behind him. He disappears for a second,
and then reappears, sitting down, soaked to the skin, coughing and spluttering, speechless, red-faced and incandescent with rage. Kirstan turns to look at me.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. Thanks.’

He glances at Franklin as another wave batters him and stops him from getting up.

‘You don’t think that was too cruel, do you? Considering his advanced years and money, I mean.’

‘Borderline cruel, but I think I can live with it.’

The boy looks at Kirstan, his eyes wide with amazement. ‘Hey, man!’ he says, in a strong South American accent, observing yet another wave knock Franklin onto his knees just as he was attempting to stand, ‘You kicked that bastard’s ass!’

It’s awful, I know, but this makes all of us laugh. We can’t stop. A Japanese woman and her daughter walk by and they point and laugh at Franklin, their hands over their mouths like a pair of naughty schoolgirls. The Brazilian kid is laughing so much that I’m afraid he’s going to pee inside his wetsuit. But that’s OK. Peeing inside wetsuits is allowed. It’s a rite of
passage for surfers all over the world. Not that I’ve ever done it, of course, but I’ve heard of people who have.

Fourteen

Kirstan looks impatient as he straps one of the surfboards to the roof of his van. Knots were never his strong point. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the van. It’s the same one he had all those years ago, a restored 1974 Ford E-Series that he bought from some American surfer he once met. It has different wheels and tyres, though, and the interior looks different. Unfortunately, it’s still the same ghastly pale turquoise colour. For a moment, I think it’s a newer one that just looks the same as the old one, but he soon puts me right.

‘Nope. Same one. Just get it tarted up a bit every now and then when I can afford it. I kept it the same colour, because it’s a cool colour. There’s a small fridge in the back now. It works off the battery.’

I’m holding my bag in one hand (luckily, my passport was in it) and a carrier bag containing my white blouse and my red skirt that I left in the changing room. It seems a hundred years ago that that I was wearing them, but it was only yesterday. Kirstan looks at my only possessions and smiles.

‘And that’s it, is it? That’s all you’ve got?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cool.’

I have to point out that Kirstan says ‘cool’ ironically.

The van is parked in some sort of staff parking area around the back of the chalets. As Kirstan is stuffing more of his things into the back, Janica appears, looking as striking and lovely as ever, in a sawn-off yellow print top (she just
has
to show that flat midriff off) and a pair of olive ¾ length cargo shorts.

I’m so pleased to see her again (even though I only saw her this morning) that I can feel the tears welling up. Did I say that I didn’t have friends anymore?

‘So, it’s really bloody happened. You’re both driving off into the sunset. I’ve got to say, guys, this is
the
most fantastic thing. I’ll be telling people about this for years!’ She beams that smile at me. ‘So! Nice stressful day, Sask?’

‘Yes, thanks. It was up there with the best of them.’ I haven’t told Kirstan about Tybalt. Maybe I never will, unless we get to the stage where we’ve got nothing to talk about. Besides, Kirstan would only go and find him and hit him, wherever he was at the time. Just
thinking about that little Tybalt interlude makes me want to puke like that actor puppet in Team America.

‘Good. I told you – one little chunk at a time. Now you’re here at the last chunk of the day. Now all the subsequent chunks will be good chunks.’

‘What’s that?’ says Kirstan, opening the bonnet.

‘Nothing, mate.’ she says, ‘Come here.’

Janica grabs Kirstan so hard that I can hear the air being forced out of his lungs. It looks like they’re trying to squeeze each other to death. I can see tears seeping from Janica’s tightly closed eyes.

‘I’m going to miss you, my friend. I’ll miss our surfing trips, despite the fact that I never really felt you’d be able to save me if I got into serious trouble.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I wouldn’t have even tried to save you,’ gasps Kirstan, hardly able to breathe.

They pull away from each other and examine each other’s faces.

‘I am
so
glad, Kirstan,’ she says, wiping tears from her face. ‘I am
so
glad this has happened for you. You can stop, now, can’t you? You can stop all the running. You’ve got to treasure this and you’ve got to treasure her ladyship there. Most people never,
ever
get a second chance with something like this. I’d still advise that offer with my brother, though. Maybe you could think of it as a new start. A new start for both of you, you lucky bastards. I’m going to start crying in a minute.’

‘Here,’ Says Kirstan. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

He reaches in one of his pockets and pulls out a purple and yellow friendship bracelet. ‘Give me your wrist.’

Janica holds her wrist out and Kirstan ties the bracelet around it, knotting it tightly. For once, his knotting skills bear fruit. ‘Wish for something, Janica. You know how it goes. When this thing disintegrates, that wish’ll come true.’

She grabs the back of his neck, kisses him on the lips and they embrace again. In another universe, I could see they’d make a great couple. Janica recovers, turns and looks at me.

‘Now it’s your turn, kitten. Come here, you gorgeous creature. Kirstan, if you see this starting to get too gay, you must pull us apart.’

‘Are you kidding?’ says Kirstan, grinning, ‘Can you possibly wait until I find my camera?’

This time it’s me that’s on the receiving end of one of her mega-hugs. She strokes my hair and I can feel her breath by my ear.

‘You poor, poor baby. All that shit. I’m so happy for you. And now I’m going to give you some advice.’

I pull away from her and smile. ‘Advice?’

She turns to Kirstan. ‘Get on with sticking the oil in that thing, will you? We’re having private girl-on-girl talk here.’

Kirstan shrugs and continues whatever it was he was doing with the van. Janica continues.

‘Yeah. Advice. Take it from me, sugar. Get rid of them.’

‘What?’

‘Get rid of them. Don’t play the innocent. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t need ‘em, they don’t suit your figure and they’ll cause you all sorts of emotional stress in the long run. They’ll be an embodiment of bad memories for you.’

‘But I thought you said…’

‘Never mind what I said. I’m full of shit. Just do what I say. OK?’

She smiles at me. We’re not actually crying like last night, but we’re getting there.

‘Now I’m going to kiss you as well. It’s only fair. Get ready. I swear you’ll bloody enjoy the crap out of it.’

She’s right. Her lips are soft and it’s nowhere near as weird as I thought it would be. Quite pleasurable, if the truth be known; I even get a little tingle down my spine.

Kirstan clears his throat loudly. ‘Come on, girls. You don’t want me to come and separate you with a crowbar, do you?’

I pull away with mock alarm and pretend to spit on the floor. This gets a laugh from everyone.

‘Anyway,’ says Janica, ‘If you guys end up in Oz with Lachlan, we’ll probably bump into each other again. I’m sure.’

‘Don’t worry, sex
bomb.’ says Kirstan. ‘We’ll keep in touch. We’re not going to lose you. We can always contact you through your brother, and vice versa.’

‘OK. Come on, both of you. Mass surfer cuddle.’

Kirstan joins us for yet another gratuitous rib-crushing session.

‘And if you two ever feel the need for a
ménage
-
a
-
trois
, make sure you contact me first,’ says Janica, laughing.

‘Well! This looks like it’s going to be an interesting place to work!’

It’s a female voice I don’t recognise. A slight French accent, I think. I turn and find myself looking at an unbelievably attractive girl with long, jet black hair, very dark, tanned skin and the most amazing green eyes. Exotic isn’t the word for it. All three of us stare at us like she’s some beautiful alien who’s just stepped out of a spaceship.

She looks dubious for a second, like she’s come to the wrong place or approached the wrong people. ‘I’m Cyana de Rosnay. I’m the new surfing instructor. One of you two girls must be Janica Atherton, hopefully.’

‘That’s me. Hi,’ says Janica, shaking hands with her. They smile at each other and something – I don’t know what – passes between them. Cyana raises an eyebrow and smiles wickedly.

‘I had a feeling it was you. I’m
so
pleased to meet you, Janica.’ They still haven’t unclasped their hands. ‘I saw you surf at the Roxy Pro in Hawaii two years ago. You were fantastic.’

Janica actually blushes. ‘Not that fantastic. I was knocked out by some bloody sixteen year old.’

‘Just bad luck. You were easily the best surfer competing that day.’

Janica laughs. ‘Thank you! Best looking, too!’

‘I certainly wouldn’t disagree with that,’ says Cyana, smiling sweetly.

Kirstan is still looking at our new arrival. ‘Do they all look like that just outside Guildford, do you think?’ he says, grinning his head off.

Janica introduces me and Kirstan. Cyana has heard of Kirstan, too. For someone who didn’t like the idea of surfing as a competitive sport, he certainly seems to have made a name for himself over the last few years. He and Larry are still not welcome in the south of France.

It’s finally time for us to leave. Janica becomes tearful again, but she knows this won’t be forever. Besides, picking up on the vibes between her and Cyana, I wouldn’t be surprised to find she’d forgotten all about us in a few days from now.

Kirstan starts the engine and we crunch over the car park gravel and out onto the main road. I look back and see Janica and Cyana waving. I still can’t believe I’ve only known Janica for a day and a half. Kirstan, of course, I feel I’ve known all my life.

After about ten minutes, I look in one of the big wing mirrors and can see the hotel and its accompanying golf course fading into the distance. The air conditioning doesn’t work in the van, so we’ve got the windows open to try and dispel the heat. This is blowing our hair everywhere, but it feels good, not annoying, as it might have felt to me a few days ago, when I was a shallow, spoilt bitch.

I start thinking about the constant attention my hair has needed for the last couple of years, since I went blonde. I’ve probably been spending about seven to eight hundred pounds a month on it, which, when you really think about it, is totally insane.

It’s almost as if it was someone else that needed all that pampering, all that expensive maintenance, all that constant distraction from the reality of her life. Some blasé, indulged, rich man’s woman who, in some strange way, is still in that luxury suite in The Rico Paraiso Lerdo, slowly running her hand across the fabric of yet another dreamy designer dress, trying on a new pair of Sophia Webster shoes, sipping from a glass of the finest Champagne, and feeling completely and utterly dead inside.

Fifteen

I got a postcard from Janica the other day. She and Cyana are on holiday in Hawaii, attending, but not competing in, some big surfing competition that they’re having up there. It’s sponsored by Red Bull. Not too surprisingly, they’ve been an item since day one and, from what I can gather, seem very happy together. I’m so glad. I smile whenever I think of her.

The postcard was a work of retro-style art, featuring a glamorous, dark haired Hawaiian girl, a luau around her neck, a grass skirt around her waist, playing a ukulele on a bright yellow beach in front of some palm trees. It said ‘Aloha From Hawaii’ in garish red lettering across the sky, which was a sort of unearthly green colour. Kirstan stuck it on the mantelpiece and immediately sent off for a frame for it.

It’s been eighteen months since we left the Algarve. Almost as soon as we got to Janica’s brother’s place in New South Wales, I followed Janica’s advice and looked into getting rid of my implants. I found this fantastic female plastic surgeon in Sydney, who reassured me about the whole process and said that my breasts would look totally normal after the procedure. This was mainly due to the fact that I hadn’t had them in long enough for them to have seriously affected any tissue or muscle in that area. Whew!

I was soon back to a pert 34C and there were hardly any signs at all that I’d had any type of surgery. (The bruising took two and a half months to clear up, though!). It cost quite a lot of money, money that we didn’t really have, but we both agreed that it was something that needed doing. The average Australian male probably wouldn’t have agreed!