Rose's Vintage (33 page)

The morning of Christmas Eve dawned warm and eyeball-searingly bright. She'd had a late night at the pub the night before with Philippe, Frostie and their mates, but nevertheless Rose woke early. Philippe's flatmate was away for the holidays, so she was camping out in his room, and the apartment was in a prime location, footsteps away from the beach.

She pulled on her running gear and headed out. It was still early, but the beach was filled with morning joggers, surfers and swimmers, all making the most of the holiday season. Frostie had warned her that on Christmas Day itself the beach was likely to be ‘absolutely heaving, mate. You won't be able to move for pommie backpackers.' Frostie and Philippe had plans for a morning surf and then lunch with friends whose apartment overlooked the ocean. Passing the Icebergs club, Rose sprinted up to the path that wound its way along the cliff, headed for Bronte. It seemed like she wasn't the only one with that idea; the narrow path was congested with runners and walkers enjoying the spectacular views, and she had to duck and weave between them as she set off. Nevertheless, it was a great place for a run: the dramatic cliffs fell away to churning white water below and the coast stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. It was a humbling feeling to stand on the edge of the land and take in the vast blue of the ocean. It somehow made her problems seem very small and inconsequential.

On her way back from the beach, she ran into Frostie, who was wearing a rashie and carrying a board under one arm. ‘Hey, pommie girl,' he called out, waving at her. ‘Fancy a lesson? Surf 's just about right. Later this arvo good for you?'

Rose nodded.

‘Sweet.'

Rose spent the rest of the day shopping. She needed a swim-suit; there hadn't been much call for one in the Shingle Valley. Taking the advice of one of Philippe's friends from the night before, she headed to Bikini Island, apparently Bondi's finest swimwear emporium. Rose bypassed the bikinis; surely her boobs and bum would spill out of the skimpy triangles of fabric like ice-cream out of a cone.

‘Just give us a shoutout if you need any help,' said the shop assistant. ‘One-pieces are over there.' She bowed her head over her phone.

Rose was grateful for the girl's apparent lack of interest, and shimmied into the first suit she found that looked like it had enough fabric not to be indecent. Turning sideways she struck a pose. She was amazed by what she saw. It seemed that the months at Kalkari – the running and lack of chocolate – had had an astonishing upside. Every last bit of the flab that had previously hung in rolls around her middle had vanished; instead, reflected back at her in the mirror was a tall, toned, slim girl. Gone too were the cottage-cheese dimples that had once pockmarked her thighs. Her arse was no longer the size of a large county. ‘Rutland, more like,' she muttered to herself, unable to wipe the smile from her face. She smiled at her reflection. Thank God for silver linings.

‘That looks great! But are you sure you don't want to try a bikini?' The sales girl had roused herself from behind the counter and peered around the curtain. ‘I don't mean to be rude, but you don't want to look like your nanna on the beach, do you?'

After some persuasion, Rose agreed to try on the skimpy item the girl held out.

Wonders would never cease. She couldn't believe her eyes. She actually looked okay. Better than okay, in fact.

Unable to choose between two of the rather miraculous bikinis the salesgirl had picked out – one in burnt orange and the other sapphire blue with a va-va-voom halter top that pushed her boobs up almost to her chin – Rose took both, enjoying the boost that a bit of much-needed retail therapy gave her, even if she nearly fainted when the girl told her the price. How could so little fabric cost so much?

Seeing the reflection of her now taut stomach and lean, muscled legs in the mirror had helped to chase away some of the pain of missing Mark, but she couldn't help remembering the look in his eyes when he'd first seen her at the dinner, going over in her mind their brief kiss, the feel of rightness when she was in his arms … She was missing him, and Leo and Luisa, and Kalkari with an ache that was almost physical. There was, however, a more immediate problem to deal with. The bikini had highlighted her country tan: brown arms, neck and legs and a pale torso.

Best go and do something about that.

She grabbed some sunscreen and headed to the beach to lose herself in a trashy novel. She had a few hours to kill before meeting Frostie for a surf lesson.

‘Okay, darling, you're going to need a wettie. Just a shortie, I reckon. It's pretty warm in the water now – and a board.'

They were standing in a surf shop across the road from the beach. Rose could guess what a wettie was but had no idea what a shortie might be. She allowed Frostie to organise it all for her. She strolled over to a display of flashy white fibreglass boards that came up to her shoulder and idly ran a finger down the sharp, pointed tip of one of them.

‘Think you'll be up for one of those, hey?' Frostie asked. Rose looked up at him enquiringly. ‘Actually, we'll start you off easy on one of these big foamies,' he said, indicating a rack that had several towering foam boards lined up along it.

‘But they look huge,' she said, protesting.

‘You'll need an even longer one, as you're so tall, but don't worry, pommie girl, I'll see you right.'

He handed her a short-sleeved wetsuit and arranged to rent a large board. They headed across the road and down to the beach. Stopping on the sand, Rose wriggled her way into the wetsuit, grabbing the thick material and hauling it over her hips as Frostie ran through the features of the board. ‘The sides of the board are called rails, right, and the front of the board is the nose.'

‘Uh-huh,' Rose grunted as she struggled with the tight neoprene.

Showing her how to squeeze her shoulders together so he could zip up the back of her suit, Frostie explained that they'd be spending the first part of the lesson on the sand. Rose tried not to let her disappointment show. She was keen to get out into the water – the neoprene was making her sweat.

She copied Frostie's moves as he showed her how to lie on the board and then ‘pop' up, pulling her knees underneath her and planting her feet sideways on the board.

‘Ah, a goofy,' he said.

‘Goofy yourself,' Rose replied defensively.

‘No, that just means you're left-footed.'

‘Oh, right then,' said Rose in a small voice, as she went back to practising.

After about half an hour, Frostie seemed satisfied with her progress and suggested it was time to head into the water. As they got to its frothing edge, Rose looked out at the ocean and suddenly felt a twinge of apprehension. The waves, which had looked so innocuous from a safe distance, were suddenly quite terrifying close-up. Determined not to let her concern show, she attached her leg rope to her ankle, hoisted the board under one arm and waded in.

Jesus, it's cold
.

‘I thought you said the water was warm?' she protested.

Frostie shrugged and she laughed. She continued forward, feeling a cool layer of water seep through her wetsuit and slowly warm up with the heat of her body. Once she was about waist-deep, Frostie told her to flop herself on the board as he steadied it. Feeling about as elegant as an elephant seal, she nevertheless did as he asked.

They headed out a bit deeper and he showed her how to dive under the oncoming waves, thrusting the nose of the board under the water.

Then it was time to try and actually ride one. Frostie helped to turn the board, with Rose clinging onto it, towards the shore, and she looked over her shoulder at a huge wall of green water that was heading inexorably towards her. At the last second, as the wave was almost upon her, he thrust the board forward and she was borne along on the crest of the wave. Rose completely forgot about trying to pop up and just held onto the board for dear life, thrilling to the ride as she sped into shore.

Spluttering, she stood up and shook the water out of her long hair. ‘Ohhh wow! That was brilliant,' she called out as she saw Frostie heading towards her.

‘Pretty cool, huh?' he said, ‘Not bad for a first effort. Not bad at all.'

Rose was hooked, and they spent the next hour or so practising. Once, she even managed to get her legs underneath her and, kneeling, rode the wave into the shore until her fingertips touched the sand.

Realising that the light was fading and the sun beginning to set, they called it a day. Not minding the breeze that whipped her wet hair across her face, Rose laughed, exhilarated by the experience. ‘That,' Rose said when they were back on the beach, ‘was truly, really the best.'

‘We aim to please,' Frostie said, laughing at her enthusiasm. He handed her a towel and she noticed as he turned away from her that he'd pulled down his own wettie and that etched across his shoulders was a tattoo of a pair of angel's wings. Rose smiled. Maybe it was a sign?

Seeking some comfort in the arms of the uncomplicated Frostie might be just the salve her heart needed. But as quickly as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. It wasn't the sign she was looking for.

CHAPTER 34

W
aking on Christmas morning felt surreal. Rose gazed out of the window at the cloudless day. It was warm already, with just a gentle breeze blowing off the ocean, bringing with it a pungent, briny smell.

‘Merry Christmas,
cherie
!' called Philippe as she walked into the living room. He was already dressed in boardies and was giving his surfboard a final rubdown of wax. ‘I have an old softboard you can borrow downstairs if you like. Perfect morning, but we'd better get out there before the crowds. You ready?'

‘You'd better believe it,' said Rose, knowing that spending the morning in the surf with her friends was just what she needed. She remembered her mum telling her that salt water was the best cure for anything, from a grazed knee to a sore throat – even a broken heart. She might have been right.