Pieces of Me Read online

  ‘Thanks. And if he arrives before I get back, just let him know he can leave it all on the grass here.’

  She nodded.

  I took a swig of my coffee. It was perfect—strong, milky and burning hot.

  ‘Hey, do you know a girl named Natalie Richardson?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘I used to play with her when I came to visit on holidays. I ran into her at the café,’ she said.

  ‘I went to school with her. She’s just opened the little takeaway fish and chip shop a couple of doors up from the café.’

  ‘She was saying that. I told her you were renovating my house.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘She said you were looking at heading overseas soon?’

  My heart rate sped up. Why? Why should this conversation bother me? I nodded in answer. No words. Because for some reason I couldn’t confirm it with words. Why not? Why couldn’t I say that yes I was heading overseas and nothing was going to stop me or hold me back? Not even Hannah with her perfect pout and curves that made me lose my mind.

  ‘Lucky I got you before you left,’ she said, eyes bright as she looked at me, into me.

  I nodded. ‘Lucky.’

  ‘So, where are you headed?’ she asked.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. ‘Europe, South Africa. Nothing set in stone yet. Going to take six months and see where the wind is blowing.’

  She smiled. ‘Sounds fantastic.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve waited a long time to do this. I’m looking forward to it. Um … anyway, I better take off … pick up this order.’

  She stood to the side of the stairs against the rail and let me by. I jumped in my ute and backed down the driveway. She was still watching me, Penny sitting at her side on the step, as I charged off down the street.

  Some part of me didn’t want Hannah knowing about me going away. Some part of me didn’t want to tell her that there was no way in hell I was not going away. Because that same part of me wanted to leave things open, to see what may become of us.

  And that would be a huge mistake.

  Chapter 7

  Hannah

  I gave Penny a quick wash under the hose in the backyard to get rid of the sand, but also the yucky wet-dog smell from the three days of unrelenting rain. I let her loose from her leash and she bolted away like a maniac, back and forth across the still-damp grass, rolling and diving, trying to dry herself. I laughed hard as I watched her darting about at super speed, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as she panted from the exertion.

  ‘Nutty dog,’ I said as she did another circuit past me.

  I left Penny to her own crazy devices and headed back inside. I washed my smelly dog hands in the bathroom, all the way up to my elbows, and checked in on the work Bear had done while I was out.

  Wow. The entire ceiling space had been cut out, exposing the inside of the roof. And the roof itself had been ripped away in rectangles, allowing a full view of the blue sky threaded with scruffy white clouds. Bits of timber were cut from the ceiling space, awaiting fresh, dry replacements.

  I sighed as relief settled in my heart at the ease with which Bear was repairing this problem. A problem I had assumed was way bigger than it was turning out to be. Really, it could have been much worse. And how could I complain about watching a sexy tradesman all day getting hot and sweaty in my bedroom.

  I laughed again and it sounded loud in the silence of the room, but I didn’t quieten myself. Maybe this was what Grandma was talking about with that list. Seeing the positive in daily life and using those moments to laugh. God, it had been such a long time since I could laugh without fear of being too loud, or wondering if I was going to be screamed at because I was laughing at something Allister deemed unworthy of laughing about.

  Well you know what, Allister—you can go and get f …

  I cleared my throat. There was no need for thoughts of him to intrude. I went to Gran’s chest and grabbed out the bucket list again. I loved this list. I did. What a brilliant idea, and the fact that Grandma had crossed everything off—except, of course, the final item—made me smile. It put me at ease, because I knew that before she died, she had lived and experienced everything she had wanted.

  Would I be so lucky? My stomach tensed and my pulse sped up. If I died tomorrow, I knew with all my heart that it would be with a wheelbarrow full of regrets. It wasn’t right for a twenty-two-year-old to feel this way. It wasn’t right for anyone of any age to feel this way.

  Regret was a bitch. I hated her.

  I reached into the chest and grabbed out some old photos of Gran. Gran in a red polka-dot bikini walking along the water’s edge. Gran wearing bright pink lipstick and a brilliant smile. I picked up a book and read inside the cover. ‘Trip to Spain 2009’.

  I realised what this chest was then—a record of all the items on her bucket list. I looked at the next photo in my hand. Me and Gran on that final visit I made. Gran in her rocking chair and me sitting on the arm rest at her side, our arms draped over each other, holding tight to one another. Holding on with everything we had, so damn scared to let go. The care nurse had taken it for us and sent me a copy after the funeral. I couldn’t look at it back then. I couldn’t look at Gran’s eyes, so alive and vibrant despite the waning fragile body surrounding them. And I couldn’t look at myself, face bruised and battered.

  I placed the photos and book back into the box, but kept the list, pressing it to my chest. I noticed the brown leather cover of the diary and reached for it without thinking, overcome with the desire to read it, to hear my Gran’s voice, if only in my head. And to feel her life.

  I raced out to the kitchen and hoisted myself onto the bench top. I looked at the closed cover, running my finger down the smooth leather. With a deep breath to steady myself, I opened it up. But there was a roar of an engine from outside and the crackle of loose stone under tyres. I closed the book, jumped off the bench and peered out through the open door. The delivery of roofing. Bear pulled in right behind him.

  By the time I came back inside, I didn’t have the nerve to open the cover again. Instead, I placed the diary on top of the fridge for when a more private moment arrived.

  The following morning Bear knocked on the front door at seven o’clock, dressed in knee-length shorts with a tool belt, dusty boots, and a black collared polo. His eyes were soft and shining, his hair messy and wet, and when I let him inside, I smelled the ocean on his skin.

  What was it about him, his ruggedness and effortless good looks, which appealed to me so much? Was it because he was the exact opposite of everything Allister was in his business suits, office hours and middle-class condescension? Perhaps.

  I left Bear to put the new plasterboard up while I went for a walk with Penny. When I arrived home, he was plastering the seams, the ceiling already looking smooth and safe.

  He was standing on the step ladder, stretching up to the ceiling, lost in his work. His shirt had ridden up showing his tanned abs and, as he trowelled plaster, his biceps bulged. I could watch him work all day. There was something so honest and authentic about his labour. His product was real, of value, necessary.

  ‘So what do you do for a crust, Hannah?’ he asked, giving no prior acknowledgement of my presence.

  I blinked, and gained some composure. ‘I’m an editor.’

  ‘Books, mags?’

  ‘Books,’ I said.

  ‘Did you find a job on Mercy Island?’

  I shook my head, though he wasn’t looking at me. ‘Um, no, I’m still working for my same employer. I’ll be working online at home from now on. With everything moving to digital and internet, it was no big deal.’

  ‘That’s nice of them. They must think you’re worth keeping on the books.’

  I smiled. ‘It is a nice compliment when you put it that way.’

  ‘An editor? I think that would drive me insane.’

  I laughed and it surprised me how easily it happened. ‘It has its moments.’

  �
�Have you always wanted to be an editor?’

  ‘God no. I actually have a Masters in Creative Writing, but editing just seemed the more sensible choice.’

  He stopped and looked at me, trowel in hand. ‘You want to be a writer?’

  I nodded. ‘For as long as I can remember.’

  ‘Why don’t you do it then?’

  I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. I recalled Allister’s angry brow as I stared at the stock rejection email.

  Thanks for your submission, but it doesn’t suit us at this time. Best of luck finding a home for your work elsewhere.

  ‘This is embarrassing, Hannah,’ Allister said stabbing the screen with his finger. ‘Just because you finished top in your graduating class doesn’t make you a writer. It takes years to learn the craft. And my lot in life isn’t to support you while you take that time to learn how to do it properly. You need to find a more sensible job or you can move back home with your mother.’

  I looked at Bear and shrugged. ‘I used to spend a couple of hours a week practicing. Nothing serious.’

  He laughed. ‘Practicing? Writing is writing, isn’t it?

  I smiled and my cheeks heated. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. I haven’t written anything for a while now.’

  ‘You should get back into it, before it leaves your bloodstream all together. That’s what I worry about when I leave…’ His brow knitted together and he looked away.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘With surfing. I’ve planned so much time away from the ocean, I’d hate for the passion to leave me.’

  I giggled. ‘I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening.’

  His gorgeous smile carved deep dents in his cheeks and he laughed, the husky timbre melting my legs beneath me. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

  ‘I’ve never been surfing,’ I said.

  He gasped and looked at me with feigned horror, his mouth open and eyes wide.

  Again I giggled.

  ‘That’s not good enough. I expected better from you. When I’m finished here, you and I are going to the beach.’

  I shook my head. ‘Oh no. I don’t know how—’

  ‘I’ll show you. You obviously haven’t heard that I’m a surfing teacher extraordinaire.’

  ‘No, I’ve not heard that, nor do I somehow think I ever will.’

  He climbed down the ladder and placed the trowel on some plastic wrap. ‘You, me and my surfboard, five o’clock this arvo, on the beach.’

  My stomach twisted with nervous tension. I couldn’t …

  ‘I won’t take no for an answer,’ he said, one eyebrow arched.

  My heart beat harder as adrenaline sparked. My mind began assessing the danger—had I said the wrong thing, laughed too loud, spoken to the wrong guy? I tried to quieten my breaths as they came harder in my chest. My gaze flickered around the room, then back to Bear. Only then did I remember Allister wasn’t here. He was never going to be here. This was my life now. I could choose to go surfing with Bear if I wanted. My answer came, almost as a defiance to the shadow of Allister that loomed above me, dark and suffocating.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Fine. But be warned, I’ve never done this in my life.’

  ‘Good. No bad habits to tease out of you.’

  ‘What do I wear?’

  ‘A rashy if you have one, or a one-piece, or singlet over a bikini. Just make sure your tummy is covered so you don’t get a rash from the board wax.’

  I nodded. ‘Okay. I’m in.’

  His smile was broad. ‘Good.’

  I grinned back before striding out of the room, a strange mixture of buoyancy and anxiety flooding my body. My goodness, what have I just signed up for?

  Chapter 8

  Bear

  The beach was quiet. A few stragglers were swimming or walking along the sand. Keen surfers were further down, past the rocks. The waves were a decent size, but not too overwhelming for a beginner.

  I carried my board down the hot sand, Hannah beside me.

  She looked up at me and grinned, but there was fear hiding in her expression. Completely normal.

  I bumped her shoulder gently, smiling wide. ‘You ready for this?’

  She nodded, quick jerking movements, her attention pinned on the ocean the closer we got.

  I laughed loudly. ‘It’s okay to be a little scared.’

  Hannah looked at me again with those wide blue eyes. ‘It is?’

  ‘Yes. I teach surfing classes most Sunday mornings to tourists.’

  She blinked once. Twice. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yeah. And believe me, most people are scared shitless until they ride that first wave and then they’re hooked.’

  ‘Even if I fall off, swallow a tonne of salt water and get it up my nose?’

  I smiled. ‘I presume that’s happened to you?’

  She nodded. ‘Yep. Not nice. At all.’

  ‘Meh. It happens to us all.’

  She stopped and spun to look up at me, hands on her hips. ‘Did you just say, “meh”?’

  ‘Yeah I did. What of it?’

  ‘I didn’t think people said that beyond social media.’ She was smirking cheekily.

  I grinned and set the board down in the sand. ‘Well, Miss Editor, I guess you thought wrong. Now hop stomach down on the board.’ This was as good a place as any.

  With narrowed eyes, she glanced left and right, down at the board and back at me. ‘Here? On the sand?’

  ‘Yep. I’m going to show you how to stand.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said warily, climbing down onto the board.

  I laid stomach down on the sand beside her. I gripped an imaginary board with two hands, eased onto my knees then up onto my feet, arms out, imitating how she should do it in the ocean. ‘Now you try it.’

  She nodded, took a deep breath and hoisted herself up onto her feet. A little unsteadily, but she’d get there.

  ‘Good, but put your left foot a little further forward and balance nice and evenly between both feet when you try it again.’

  We went through that step until she was confident, then headed out to the ocean. I paddled the board out for her and parked where the waves were not quite breaking.

  I had her tie the leg rope to her ankle and she climbed on top of the board. She was wearing a black long-sleeved rashy over a one-piece. Every curve of her body was on show. I didn’t want to check her out, but damn if I couldn’t help myself, especially when her one-piece had crept up, exposing a lot of her magnificent arse as she laid on the board. I imagined leaning over and biting that soft flesh, tasting the salt on her skin with my tongue.

  Her body was strong under those soft, rounded lines and I imagined, as I held the board with her on top, was how she would feel underneath me.

  Okay to look, Bear. You just can’t touch.

  But when her gaze met mine, her dark hair wet and hanging down her face, her big blue eyes wide and excited, those full lips … God, I wanted to touch her so bad.

  ‘Here’s what we’ll do,’ I said, my throat tight. ‘When a decent wave comes along, you start paddling when it’s about ten metres away. It’ll chase you and pick you up. When it does, that’s when you stand, like I showed you on the beach. Try and find that balance point, like when riding a bike, so you can stay upright.’

  She nodded and grinned.

  It was good to see the fear had gone and excitement had taken over. The ocean could do that. Within moments, I felt that familiar gushing around my waist as the water retreated back into the ocean, being pulled by a forming wave.

  ‘Get ready,’ I said.

  The wave built as it rolled towards us. A nice sized one. I pushed on the board, sending her towards the shore. ‘Start paddling.’ She was paddling like mad, so focused, as the wave rushed in and caught her.

  ‘On your knees, then stand up,’ I yelled over the whooshing sea.

  She did as we practiced and lifted to her feet. But she fell sideways and crashed into the water. It was rare for anyone to nail
it the first time. I swam to her, waiting for her to surface. After a few seconds, she stood up, water cascading down her body and pulled the board back by the leg rope. I was at her side in no time. She turned to me and laughed so loud and free. I was tangled in the blissful sound and laughed too. I knew that exhilaration. I lived for that feeling every single day. But seeing that same emotion in someone else felt a hundred times better.

  ‘I stood up,’ she said, still laughing.

  I nodded. ‘You sure did. Now let’s try it again.’

  The sun was setting, the ocean fading to grey under the shadows creeping in. So far, Hannah had no luck standing much more than a few seconds, but she was determined.

  ‘Paddle!’ I pushed her off as a wave crept up from behind. She paddled until it found her heels. I didn’t have to tell her when to stand, she’d developed the instinct already. She pushed both hands onto the board, swept her feet in under her, and stretched her arms out wide as she stood on top of the board. The wave carried the board, and she held on, arms swinging around her to maintain balance. But she was surfing. Truly surfing. All the way to the shore to where she could casually fall off into the frothy foam of the wave.

  I caught the next wave and body-surfed to her. I was impressed. When her head bobbed up and she stood, she spun to find me, a smile wide on her face. I pushed to my feet and stamped over the waves towards her.

  Hannah threw her arms in the air. ‘Woohoo!’ She ran at me, giggling and smiling. ‘Did you see me? I was surfing, Bear.’

  Who was this girl? Far removed the quiet, timid woman I‘d seen over the last week. The ocean had unleashed something inside her, and I liked it.

  ‘You were amazing.’

  Her smile was broad and genuine. Her eyes were shining under the fading day as though someone had switched on a light.

  ‘Thank you. That was such an unbelievable feeling.’

  ‘It’s pretty good, ha?’

  She nodded, looking directly at me. Absolutely lovely, her blue eyes and soft creamy skin flushing pink. Gorgeous, the way her dripping wet hair hung around her face. And that body. My gaze fell to her mouth. I wanted to kiss her so bad my veins were buzzing.