Love...Under Different Skies by Nick Spalding Page B

accent with her peers and trying not to feel bad about not having much of a suntan.
    Similarly, my wife is no doubt extremely busy right now with her new job. Worongabba Chocolate didn’t hang around, that’s for sure, and put her to work as soon as was humanely possible. We were only back at the Brisbane Metro for a few days before Alan Brookes decided to send us down here to the Gold Coast early, because as he so eloquently put it: “You’re a bloody miracle worker, Laura. I want you down there and up to your elbows in it as soon as possible!”
    This came after only a few days of Laura getting up to speed with the company’s operation. Within forty-eight hours she’d already identified several key areas that would increase turnover and lower expenditure. Brookes knew a valuable asset when he saw one and didn’t want to waste any time getting her up and running.
    So I barely had time to work out the electronic programme guide on the hotel room TV before we’re moving again and driving the Magna (which for some reason Laura has started to call the Randy Lion) to the apartment Worongabba has rented for us in the strangely named but delightful town of Coolangatta. This beautiful place sits at the very edge of the state of Queensland and is bordered by equally picturesque places such as Tugun, Tweed Heads, and Currumbin.
    I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to the names in this place. Every time I try to use the GPS it has a mild panic attack and refuses to cooperate until I agree to use abbreviations. I was highly amused to discover a place less than an hour’s drive away called Wonglepong. I’m going to suggest a day trip there to Laura just to take pictures of me standing beside the road sign with an idiotic grin on my face.
    Coolangatta is half an hour’s drive south from Laura’s place of work—but according to Brett, “ It’s a lovely place. My gran lives there. Much prettier than Surfer’s if you ask me. That place is all shiny skyscrapers and Jap tourists.” Jap tourists who enjoy luxury Australian chocolate I trust, given the decision to locate the company’s shop there.
    Laura hit the ground running, and I barely saw her for the rest of the week. Her job is partly to oversee the three chocolate stores across the southern Queensland area, and partly to deal with the production and distribution of the chocolates themselves. It’s like running her own shop again, only times four and with a shitload more suntan lotion.
    “It’s a fantastic company,” she told me one evening as I was giving her a foot rub. I still wasn’t entirely out of the doghouse after using her bowel movements as an excuse to leave Grant and Ellie’s. “Everyone seems delighted to be working for it, and they’re actually happy to come in to the store every day. It’s quite disorientating.”
    “That’ll be the sun,” I reply sagely. “Well, that and the fact the economy here isn’t flatter than a deep-sea pancake.”
    “A what?”
    “A deep-sea pancake. You know, because the sea pressure is high, which would make the pancake even flatter than it would be if—”
    “Right, I understand. I think all this sun is boiling your head, Newman.”
    “Possibly so.”
    “Anything come up for you?”
    “Nope,” I reply downcast.
    We’d come out here thinking I would have absolutely no problem finding work of some description. In a country with a strong economy and low population you’d think employment opportunities were being handed out on every street corner. I had every intention of landing myself a nice part-time job doing a bit of copywriting or marketing to supplement the already healthy wage Laura was bringing in, thus leaving myself enough time to write a couple of dreadful novels.
    This had been the plan we’d agreed on when we flew out last month, but within a few weeks it had become apparent that finding some gainful employment wouldn’t be the breeze I thought it would be.
    First of all, there are no