Downpour

"That was nice. Inviting you out was the easy bit. This -- this took more courage. I wasn't sure you wanted it."

I'm so surprised by his honesty I don't know what to say. His face splits into another grin. I don't think I've been kissed by someone smiling so broadly as he is. He pecks and sucks at my mouth. Playful. How did I not know until now what a turn-on playful can be? His thigh pushes in-between my legs, his hand on my back pressing me into him as he bends down to my mouth. Still soft but more insistent. And then he lets go. An abrupt abandonment that leaves me bereft.

"Goodnight Marie. I'll see you around."

"How?" Almost a wail. God, how embarrassing.

"You walk the beach between four and five most days, right?"

I nod dumbly. And watch as he raises his hand, then turns away.

"Night, Noah."

He acknowledges me with another wave before turning the corner out of sight. I slump against the front door until a surge of adrenalin bolts through me and I'm giggling like a madwoman as I climb the stairs.

+++

"What are these?" I ask, picking up an unfeasibly bright green pod eddying in the water around us.

He scoops it up out of my palm.

"It's a mangrove seed pod. They wash up all along this coast. Good colour, aren't they?"

"And so many of them."

"Yeah. They're all over this area."

"It's so exotic. To me, anyway."

"No mangroves in Hackney then?"

"What do you think?"

"Ow! So sharp."

I tut at him and then regret it. I'm about to apologise but he's already talking again.

"Have you been over the other side of the headland yet?" gesturing at the view in front of us.

"No. Not yet."

"How about Saturday morning? I don't have to be at the club until midday. We could go early?"

I nod. "I'd like that."

"Great. I'll pick you up around eight. We could have breakfast? There's a good place out that way we can stop at."

"Ok."

He reaches out to tug at my hand.

"We can walk a long way out here. It's really shallow, see?"

I look in the direction of his other outstretched hand, at the people jumping waves in the distance. I follow his lead as we weave our way across narrow streams of seawater and wide banks of sand, further and further away from the shore, my stride slightly constricted by the office dress I'm wearing.

"I'm not really dressed for the beach," I mutter.

"And yet you walk it every day dressed like it."

"It's all I have!" I protest even though what he says is fair comment.

I packed mostly work clothes and only a few concessions to beach life when I came here, and have found my style to be sorely out of step. It seems like shorts and t-shirts are acceptable in almost any work situation. The programmers turn up to work in their wetsuits some mornings, boards tucked underarm, tracking sand all over the floor. It makes me feel a total square in my sensible grey and navy skirts and dresses.

"I'm not complaining. It makes it easy to find you."

I pull a face which he shrugs off, unembarrassed at his admission that he watches for me.

"It's warm today. The water, I mean. It feels warmer."

He tips his head, his fingers twitching in my hand when he suddenly yanks me to him and we fall waist deep in the water. My shriek sounds horribly loud.

"Warm enough for ya?" he's pulling us deeper, arms and legs wrapped around me, holding us afloat.

"I can't believe you just did that." I try to glare at him, but he's having none of it and his amusement is infectious.

And now I'm in it, the water isn't that warm. I mean, warmer than the North Sea, no question. Yet not exactly warm.

"And what's in here anyway?"

"Nothing life-threatening. It's too shallow here for sharks or dolphins."

"Dolphins? Aren't they just cute, cuddly things?"

"They're bastards. They bump and knock into you if you're surfing someplace they don't want you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Serious bruises if they get ya."

"I had no idea."

He draws me into his chest, sharing his body heat, his hands warm around my waist.

"I think the wet and wild look suits ya," he says.

"The what now?"

"You're pretty when you're all neat and tidy, but I think I like you messy."

I open my mouth to retort something biting, but he beats me to it with a kiss. Purposeful. More exploratory than the other night. Harder. Splashes of sunlight float and dance over my eyelids. I try to relax but my blood is thumping around my body too fast. The tip of his tongue brushes along my lower lip. I open my eyes, running out of oxygen. His gaze, full of intent, does nothing for my blood pressure. No-one's kissed me like this. As if it's the main event. It scares me. And I want more.

We kiss until the breeze rises and brings me out in a rash of goosebumps, his tongue stroking and curling around mine, gently pulling at me, searching for me. The press of our bodies feeling more urgent, our breathing more shallow.

"Probably time to get out before it gets too chilly," he smiles, rubbing my back.

I curse the setting sun for killing the heat and follow him back onto the sandbanks, my legs a little shaky. My dress clings to me, heavy with saltwater. We collect my shoes. Noah's persuaded me it's fine to leave them on the beach while I walk in the water, after teasing me for assuming everyone's a thieving git and reminding me this place isn't anything like London.

"I'll take ya home on my bike so ya don't get too cold," he's saying as we walk up the beach towards the road.

I didn't know he had a bike, but it's there, parked outside the Surf Club. I know bugger all about motorbikes. This one's nice looking; glossy blue and shiny chrome. I'm dubious about getting on it, but he flicks his hand at me and I hike up my dress to get on behind him.

"Hold onto me like this. I won't go too fast. You'll be fine."

His skin is hot underneath his wet shirt. Air rushes by all around us. For my first bike ride, it's pretty good and I'm laughing by the time he pulls up outside my building.

He steadies me as I get off.

"Ok?"

"That was fun."

"Yeah?" He looks pleased.

I nod. Lean in to give him a kiss and he catches me, hands on both sides of my head, holding me to him.

"Gotta go," he says regretfully. "Until Saturday."

And drives off. Faster than when I was on the back.

+++

I regard my overpriced smashed avocado on toast, wondering what my nan would say about it. She thinks avocado is a colour choice for bathrooms, not a food. A little twist in my gut brings a flush to my throat. I'm so very far away from home. It's liberating.

We are surrounded by blue. Blue sky. Blue ocean. Brilliant, expansive, big blue in every direction. On the edge of the world. Not even the frequency of the aircraft taking off and landing nearby mars the beauty of this place. I try to visualise what's out there, over the blue horizon. I've spent hours staring at Google Earth trying to orientate myself. To the left is Papua New Guinea. To the right, New Zealand. Thousands of islands and atolls sprinkled throughout the South Pacific, but no major landfall from this coastline until Chile and Argentina.

I drag my eyes back to our table, and sneak looks at him when I think he's too absorbed in eating to notice. He's wearing a light green t-shirt that looks like it's been worn and loved for many years, his shoulders straight and square inside it. Light brown hairs on his golden arms reach up into the puffs of air swirling around us.

"Did you grow up around here?"

He nods, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Takes a drink from his sweating glass. "But I've only been back here about a year."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was working down in Sydney for a few years but I hated it."

"Sydney or the work?"

His green eyes focus on me then dip.

"The job. I worked for a big accountancy firm and couldn't have hated it more if I tried."

"As an accountant?" I can't hold back my surprise.

"Don't sound so amazed," his response is mild but I worry he's offended.

"Sorry."

"I know I don't look much like an accountant but maybe that's why it wasn't my best career choice."

"I can't imagine you in a suit."

"No?" His eyes trap mine.

I shake my head and swallow. He takes another drink. I watch his throat. He hasn't shaved recently. I sit on my hands, fighting an unfamiliar urge to run my fingertips across his stubble.

"What made you stop?"

He picks at his plate.

"One morning I woke up but couldn't get out of bed. So I quit. Didn't even go back into the office."

"Blimey."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do next?" I nearly bite my tongue off, thinking I might be offending him even more with my assumption that working in a bar isn't what or where he wants to be.

"A bit of this and a bit of that. Running the club for Nick is ok for now. It gives me time to do a couple other things."

"Like?"

"I do the accounts for some mates of mine that run their own businesses or are self-employed. I guess that'll always be a fallback for me, to pay the bills." He pauses; shrugs. But for once I think he's having to try for laid-back and I sit up, to listen more carefully to whatever's coming next. "And I take pictures. I've even sold a few."

"Photos?"

He nods, looking a bit less sure of himself. An idea of him as a young boy flits into my head; softer, maybe even shy.

"I'd like to see them."

"Sure." He smiles a small smile.

The big blue skies spin overhead.

+++

"Wanna beer or a glass of wine?"

"Um, a beer, thanks."

We slide the bags onto the kitchen counter. The food smells great, but I'm more interested in looking at the flat. It's above the club. We passed a small bathroom on the way into the main room -- a kitchen, dining and living room all together. A couple of doors, both closed, off to one side. An entire wall made up of sliding glass doors looking directly out onto the ocean.

"The view must be incredible in the daylight."

He glances up, bottle opener in his hand.

"It's spectacular. The rest of the apartment isn't anything special, but the view is what makes it."

The beer is ice cold. I fold my arms around myself. He dishes out the food into bowls, his movements fluid. Economical.

We sit either side of the kitchen countertop. He eats steadily and with concentration. We've been out all afternoon, riding along the coastal road and then inland, into the pines. I can feel the sun and wind on my face. The skin on my arms and legs is stiff with it too. His hair is wild from the ride, unruly waves of it framing his face and straggling down his neck, trapped around the black cord he wears there.

"Don't ya like it?"

He's gesturing with his chopsticks at my bowl. Largely untouched.

"No. I mean yes. It's delicious."

I blush hard and shovel rice into my mouth.

We don't say much after that. The clicks and slurps of eating and drinking against the regular rhythm of the ocean are the only sounds all around us. It's comfortable. He sits back as he finishes off, balancing the chopsticks across the top of his bowl. He asks me what it's like working for Lisa; whether it's what I'd expected it to be. I tell him about our college days together. Our daydreams of emigrating into the sunshine. But where she'd gone and done it, I'd got myself a sensible and very boring job in London instead. Until she'd messaged a few months back, asking if I'd be interested in a year's contract working for her company, to fill in for her project manager while she took off around Europe. I could even live in her flat while she was gone.

He pushes another beer over to me while I talk, letting his fingers rest on mine for a few seconds.

I ramble on, about persuading Lisa to change some of their management software, and how I still can't get used to the idea of sitting in an office in shorts and flip flops...

"Flip flops?"

"Thongs. You lot call them thongs."

... and how welcome everyone has made me feel there. How much I've grown to love walking along the beach every day after work, kicking through the surf. And how I feel more relaxed here than I had thought possible.

I halt.

"Sorry. I talk too much."

"Who says?"

I turn to look out of the window.

"I don't think so."

"Really?"

"I'm the one sitting here listening to ya."

Sounds from downstairs, distant until now, gather in volume, like a battle cry. Noah inclines his head.

"Queensland must've scored."

"Did you want to watch it?"

"Nah. I'm not much of a football fan. And I don't reckon Queensland will win it this year anyway."

"No?"

He shakes his head and stands up.

"I need to sit somewhere a bit more comfortable than these bloody awful chairs." He lifts his eyebrows at me; an expression both funny and suggestive.

The sofa is more comfortable than it looks. I sink into it, glad of its softness.

"Mindless TV or music?"

"Music. I hear enough of Australian tele from my neighbour's flat. I think he's a bit deaf."

Noah laughs, then coughs as he settles next to me.

"You good?"

"Yes. Yes, thanks. I really enjoyed the afternoon."

"Being on the bike was ok for ya?"

"Yes. I had fun, although I think I'll feel it tomorrow."

"Me too probably. It's a while since I've ridden that far."

He crooks his arm along the back of the sofa, a hint of his sweat that makes me want to breathe deeply. A twitch plays out across my shoulders.

"Cold? Here," and he pulls at a blanket lying across the top of the sofa. "Take this."

I tuck it around myself, inching a little bit closer.

"It doesn't sound like Queensland are winning the game," I offer. "Judging by the lack of cheering downstairs."

"Did you want to watch it?"

"No. I wouldn't have a clue what's going on. I'm not much of a one for watching sports."

"Mmm." He pauses. "Can I ask you something Marie?"

I turn to look at him. "Yes. What?"

Uncertainty in his eyes.

"You don't have a boyfriend waiting for you back in London, do ya?"

"No. No I don't."

"No-one you're still hung up on?"

"No."

The back of my neck crawls as his fingers curl upwards into my hairline.

"And another thing."

"What?"

"When do ya ever take this down?"

He tweaks my knot of hair.

"Not messy enough for you?" I tease him, but I'm already reaching up to pull out the elastic.

"No, let me."

I stop, surprised at how rough his voice sounds. And let him unwind my hair with his gentle fingers, appreciating the care he's taking not to pull at the tangles. He moves me, twisting me until my back is turned to him as he teases my hair down over my shoulders, fingertips catching, sometimes lingering, against my skin.

"You've done this before."

"Three sisters."

"Hair like yours?"

"Yep."

"I imagine they brush it more than you do, then, to try to tame it?"

"Probably."

My skin cools where he's lifting up my hair, his kiss hot on my neck. I jolt forwards, a giggle escaping my lips, and stretch, offering him more of me.

"I've been thinking about this all afternoon," he whispers, his breath the lightest tickle.

I lean back into him, relaxing into his touch as he moves his mouth under my ear, down to my shoulders and back again. It's setting me alight, my skin already sensitised by too much sun and wind. I squeeze my toes tight and drop my head forward, overtaken by the feel of his mouth caressing me.

"You ok, Marie?"

I breathe in sharply, aware I might have have been making sounds I thought were only happening inside my head. I begin to nod but instead twist to meet him, wanting his mouth, the rush so intense it makes me lightheaded. Each touch, each kiss, intensifies the feeling of lifting upwards, high into the deep blue sky. His hands, firm on my shoulders, pull me closer until I'm hard up against his chest. The contact is a relief yet not enough.

He pulls back, releasing my mouth, eyes shiny. We yank at the blanket between us, redundant now, until it's in a heap on the floor.

His stubble rasps under my touch.

"Come here, Marie. Closer," as he coaxes me onto his lap, resting his hands around my waist.

He tastes earthy. With a touch of salt. A hint of washing detergent from his clothes.

"You smell good."

His chest moves as he laughs.

"You're the first girl who's ever said that to me."

I kiss his neck again.

"Well, you do."

"Hmm."

He shifts underneath me and I slip forwards, clumsy. He's hard.

"Sorry," I apologise, seeing him wince.

He shifts around some more and I lift my hips, feeling awkward. I sit back down but the wonderful feeling has gone.

"It's ok," he tries to reassure me.

It's no use. I've lost my nerve. He's running his hands over my back but it only makes me stiffen up more.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," I lie.

"Marie?"

"Nothing. Really."

"I'm not stupid. What's wrong? Tell me."

I look at him, wishing it was that easy.

Hurt fills his eyes.

"You're nervous of me."

I can't stand to look at him and know I'm ruining it all. As per. I lurch away, stumbling to find my feet and stand up.

"No, wait. Don't go."

He snags my hand.

"I'm sorry, Noah," I can barely get it out, "but I'm shit at this."

"What?" His brow creases as his fingers grip mine. "Shit at what? I thought you were into it... What do you mean, 'shit'?"

I look down at him, fidgeting my trembling legs.

"This. Shit at this."

"Says who?"

"My ex, for one."

He blinks, sits up straighter.

"He said so when I broke up with him."

"Well he sounds a right cunt."

I grunt, caught out by his vehement tone.

"Right? Marie? I mean, that's a fucking shitty thing to say to anyone."

"But I think he was right." I chew at my mouth, knowing now there's no way back from here.

That it's going to be over. He still looks so hurt. My guts churn with embarrassment. And grief over what could have been. It yawns in front me; another pathetic failure.

"Sit down. Please, Marie?"

His thumb presses the top of my hand.

"Unless ya wanna go. I mean, I want you to stay but it's not a hostage situation going on here. You can leave whenever you want, right. But stay, will ya?"

I drop back down onto the sofa, confused.

"Sorry, Noah. I'm sorry."

"Ok, stop. Stop apologising."

I press my lips together, my mind stinging cold with panic, blood and shame rushing in my ears.

It's a few minutes before either of us says anything.

"Do you wanna tell me, or shall I take you home?" He pauses. "I really like you, Marie, ya know? I was enjoying myself and I thought you were too. I want to see you again so I'd like it if ya stayed and talked."

I try to listen, recognising the effort it must be taking him to say these things.

"It's hard to talk about it, Noah," I eventually manage to say, miserable.

He rubs his hand over mine. Giving me some encouragement, I think. I decide to take courage from it.

"The thing is..." I glare at the crumpled blanket on the floor, "the thing is I enjoy it to a certain point but then it -- but then I just don't seem to be as into it as I should be. I get distracted. Nervous, or something."

I suck at my lip, determined not to be any more pathetic than I already have been by crying as well.

"Did I do something wrong? Something you didn't like? Marie?"

I shake my head miserably. "No."

"No? Then what happened?"

"I just thought maybe -- that, umm, that when I slipped and --"

"Oh, that." His face lightens. "That was nothing."

I realise I'm humming under my breath and stop.

His touch is more tentative, but he coaxes me into sitting back, his arm over my shoulders, hugging me gently to his side. I try to relax. Or at least to stop feeling incurably foolish.

"How would you like to come with me to Byron Bay one day next week? I need to go down there to pick up a few things from a mate. See if Lisa can't give you a day off."

My chest opens up as though he's forced the air into it.