hers?”
I look out of the window, at the world flying past the window, blurred and monotonous. “Both.”
“Were you ever called Ophelia?”
“Drop it.”
“Phe is a strange abbreviation, though.”
“Lia.” I swallow. “I was Lia.”
“And why aren’t you –”
“Shut up!” The idea of opening the car door and jumping out launches into my mind, as my brain’s illogical misfiring suggests I climb out of a moving car to escape a threat that doesn’t exist.
Guy glances from the road to me, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. “I notice you’re working on the assertive thing. Good to see.”
“Like I said before, you don’t know me well. Certain things piss me off. Like this.” I don’t want tension to start our weekend. I intend to relax and have fun instead of the structured routine, which I apply to my life at weekends too.
“Under that carefully constructed exterior you’re a passionate girl then?”
I side glance him and his eyes are on the road, mouth quirked into a smile at one corner.
“I guess we both have stories that are painful.”
Guy taps the steering wheel. “I won’t ask you yours, if you don’t ask me mine.”
“Okay.” But it’s not. Each time I move closer to Guy, I hit a barrier. Originally, I thought the barriers between us were all mine, but his become more visible each time. I run through what he’s told me about himself and I know little: he’s sick, he’s wealthy, likes the outdoors, and sometimes he paints. What about his family? He mentioned a half-sister but that’s all. Where are they? Why is he living alone?
A weekend with Guy and I’m going to find some answers.
The sound of his eclectic mix of tracks on the car stereo travels with us for the next hour, conversation ceasing. I’m not the only one holding someone at arm’s length. Is Guy’s confusion over what we are or could become as great as mine?
Guy’s friends’ house is set back from the beach, on a gentle hill, overlooking the Indian Ocean. The modern building is at odds with the nature around, the angular lines giving the building the feel of an office block. The property has been designed to maximise the views with a large balcony wrapped around the upper floor. Several similar houses surround, with older shack-like properties nestling between. The price of beachfront land around here doesn’t tempt everybody to sell.
The beach across the narrow road fills the house too – via colourful blue and yellow furnishings and coastal pictures on the white walls. Art made from shells and driftwood and signs painted “to the beach” adorn the wicker furniture creating a classic holiday-by-the sea ambience. I walk to the floor to ceiling window at the front of the house and look down at the clear, flat ocean. The early afternoon sun enhances the the picture postcard blue of the water.
“This place is amazing,” I say. “So quiet and beautiful.”
“This is a great place to come for an escape.”
The tension from the journey ebbs; holding onto stress would be impossible in an environment like this.
“What time are your friends arriving?” Guy asks as he joins me.
“Late afternoon. Jen’s working.”
“Time for a surf lesson then,” he says.
I clench my jaw and fix my eyes on the water. “Not yet. I’m tired.”
“A walk on the beach then?”
My bag rests next to Guy’s feet where he’s dropped it, and I pick up the full rucksack. “I’ll unpack first.”
“Master suite upstairs and three back there.” He points to a door at the opposite end of the open plan room and takes my bag. “You can have upstairs.”
I follow him up the narrow stairs. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we let Jen and Cam have the room? They’re the couple.”
“Nope. You’re the important guest and this one has the en suite and views.”
The upstairs bedroom floods with light through double-glass doors leading to the balcony. I sit on the edge of the huge bed. The luxury of the