The wind was picking up. It licked the tops of the waves sending fleeting breaths of salty spray into the air. Johnny splashed the water absently with his hand, toying with the idea of waiting for another set or calling it a day. The water was starting to get really choppy and everyone else had gone in hours ago, the locals knowing that this was the time of day to clear out and get on with other things.
If Mia was standing on the beach she wouldn’t have recognised the lone surfer, bobbing about on the waves. His skin was walnut brown from weeks in the sun – surfing, reading, walking – and his hair had grown long, past his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved for ages and had a very respectable beard going on; part fisherman, part grommit, part academic. The headache that had been his constant companion for weeks, had gone. Here he was, in one of the most beautiful places in the world, not another person around for miles.
Like a lot of restaurants in Melbourne, Medina had shut down over the Christmas break and most of January giving Franco and Johnny some much needed time off. Initially, Johnny had planned on staying around Melbourne; ticking off that list of cultural must-do’s that seemed to grow longer by the day: before he’d left, there were more books scattered around his apartment in ‘to read’ piles than there were on his bookshelf.
However, on the night that Mia had turned up on his doorstep, his holiday plans changed. He still wanted to do all that stuff, but now he had someone he wanted to do it with. He entertained romantic notions of finally spending lots of time with Mia, taking her to his favourite places, getting to know her a bit better. Most importantly, getting her away from that toffy English git she seemed to be spending so much time with, even though Johnny could tell she wasn’t really into him. He thought about how they would tell their friends they were a couple.
But, best laid plans and all that.
The daydream had come to a screeching halt the very next morning when Cecelia had arrived unexpectedly, giving him the ‘exciting’ news. It had been one night. One stupid mistake, months ago. The only reason he’d even slept with her was to get back – in some sick, masochistic way – at Mia for being with someone else.
What a dumb idea that had been.
He had run over the scenario so many times in his head. He’d had a few drinks – he couldn’t think why else he would have fallen for Cecelia’s subtle-as-a-sledgehammer advances – but they had definitely used a condom. He wasn’t that much of an idiot.
Or so he had thought.
The interstate trip had been impromptu. Soon after Cecelia and Mia had left – fled might be a more accurate description – both wildly (and rightfully, Johnny begrudgingly admitted) upset by the presence of the other, one of his mates in West Australia had phoned. He’d been bugging Johnny for years to come over and visit. There had always been some excuse not to go, but Johnny decided that now was the time to take him up on the offer. He knew running away was the cowardly thing to do, but he just didn’t have the energy to be noble.
“You can borrow the pano and just head down the coast,” his friend had said. “No mobile reception, no internet. Nothing but you and the surf.”
To Johnny, it sounded like paradise.
And it was.
But now reality had to be faced. He couldn’t pretend that his life wasn’t a shambles forever. Johnny shook his head and splashed his hand across the ocean’s surface once more watching the water scatter, carried off by the wind, wishing that his own problems would dissipate as quickly and as easily.
Jesus christ, he thought, smiling wryly, any more time alone and I’ll start writing fucking poetry.
He took a last, wistful look over the water and lay on his surfboard, starting the long paddle back to his borrowed wheels.
***
He made a final stop at the local bakery before he started the drive back to civilisation and, ultimately, the airport for his evening flight. Weeks prior, at this unlikely haven of baked treats, Johnny had stumbled across one of the best meals he’d ever had. Sure, the salt on his skin, sand in his hair and the sense of freedom that came from both of these may have influenced his palate a tiny bit. Whatever it was though, this bakery sure knew how to cook a pie! He’d been back every day, always ordering the same thing. The owner never tried to engage Johnny in a conversation about where he was from or where he was going. She seemed to have an innate sense for when people were trying to escape their own reality. The only thing she ever said to him was “would you like sauce, love?”
He sat out the front on the wooden benches and carefully pulled the pastry lid off, squirting tomato sauce onto the rich, meaty insides, before closing it up again and taking a bite. The gravy ran down his chin and he wiped it off with his hand. Now this was the way to eat a pie. He might have to incorporate something similar onto the Medina menu when he got back. He didn’t know how well the Melbourne foodies would take to a traditional Aussie meat pie, but Franco could fancy it up a bit. Slow cooked lamb with a mint and jalapeno chutney, perhaps?
***
The Melbourne ‘summer’ was a rude awakening after weeks of endless sunshine and blue skies. Johnny waited until he got home to switched on his mobile. As he suspected it would, it immediately sprang to life, beeping incessantly. Fifty messages from Cecelia. Literally. None from Mia.
Might as well get it over and done with, Johnny thought. He took a deep breath and dialled Cecelia’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Where have you been?” She sounded furious.
“It’s nice to speak to you too,” Johnny said lightly, trying to stay calm.
He heard Cecelia exhale sharply. “You just disappeared. I didn’t know if something had happened to you, or if you’d run away or….”
Johnny cut her off. “I needed some time to think.” He scuffed his toe on the floor and rolled his neck. The familiar headache was back. “So… how are you?”
“Still pregnant,” she said sulkily.
Damn. Johnny had been hoping she’d tell him it was a false alarm.
“And you’re sure that it isn’t…well, it couldn’t be anyone else’s?” he said hopefully.
“There is no one else,” she said.
Fuck! Johnny paced the room, taking deep breaths. “But… what about a paternity test?”
“For crying out loud, Johnny,” Cecelia exclaimed. “When are you going to man up and take responsibility for your actions? I’ll take the test if you want me to, but it’s not going to tell you anything different from what you already know. There. Isn’t. Anyone. Else.” She paused. “There never has been.”
“What, you’re a…I mean, you were a…”
“A virgin?” she said calmly. “Yes, that is exactly what I mean.”
Johnny couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. This just went from bad to worse.
“I need to see you,” Cecelia said. “We have to talk about this.”
“We’re talking about it now.”
“We can’t have this conversation over the phone,” she said, her voice rising an octave.
“I’ve already told you what I want to do,” Johnny said. “That hasn’t changed.”
“I’m not having an abortion,” Cecelia said through clenched teeth. “I thought I made that perfectly clear last time. I don’t believe in it.”
Yeah, well, you’ve got no problem with sex before marriage, thought Johnny angrily.
“My family would disown me,” Cecelia continued. “Is that what you want to happen to me?”
Johnny ran a hand through his hair. “No, of course not. I just don’t know what you want from me. Money? Because if that’s it, then of course I’ll pay for, you know, whatever stuff you need. I might need a bit of time to get the cash together, but…” He trailed off.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cecelia sounded indignant. “I want you to do the right thing, Johnny. I want you to marry me.”