Page 4 of Crashing Into You

There are a few surfers out here already. I’m not worried. The breaks aren’t as crowded here as they are up north, plus the summer rush hasn’t yet started. And I know quite a few of the people down here anyway. I’ve heard horror stories over the years of surfers being beaten up, dropped in on or having their cars vandalised, simply for the crime of being a “tourist”. I think it’s bullshit. The ocean is always moving. She belongs to no one but herself, and there are waves enough for everyone.

I nod to the surfer closest to me. She grins, lifting a hand to wave. I recognise her. It’s a friend of Kylie’s, Matt’s wife. Just a friend. I haven’t kissed her. I don’t think I have, anyway.

I straddle my board and sit up, enjoying the feeling of just floating with the waves and being in communion with the water, with the people around me. We’re all out here for the same reason, and that’s how it should be. No aggro, no bullshit. Just the water and us.

I catch a couple of waves, riding them into the shore, paddling back out. Nothing fancy, no tricks. Just pure surfing and that feeling of physical release which comes with it, the ache in my shoulders as I push my board against the waves, the contraction in my abs.

Then I just sit for a while again, letting my body and my thoughts float. I’m surfing at one of the points, the land curving out then in again, the road rising. There are a couple of houses set into the sloping cliff below the road, nice places made of timber and glass, surrounded by huge trees. It’d be pretty sweet to have a place like that, actually. Somewhere you could wake and be at one with the ocean, perched above the waves. I can almost feel the sun-warmed deck timbers beneath my feet, hear the rustle of leaves, smell the medicinal scent of salt and eucalyptus.

I don’t have a place to call my own. Not really, unless you count a storage unit full of stuff. I tend to just travel around, following the waves and the competitions, crashing on couches or in spare bedrooms or, if I’m going to be somewhere for more than a few weeks, renting an apartment. It’s suited me fine, so far.

But now, as I drift in the cool water, looking up at the houses, I feel something tugging in my chest. Maybe it would be nice to have a home, I think. Someplace where I can lie in bed and listen to the rain on the roof, wake up and wander down for a surf, sit on the deck and watch the sunset. It’s a strange feeling.

I think I see someone moving in one of the houses, and then a figure with long dark hair comes out onto the deck, sitting down. It’s the weirdest fucking thing, but I’d swear it’s the girl from the shop in Lorne. Even from a distance. It just feels like her.

The ocean moves beneath me, the waves cranking up again. I lie down and start paddling, checking I’m not dropping in or stealing a wave. I pull my feet up under me and stand, the movements automatic, my body adjusting as I balance on my board. I crouch as the wave curls over me, whooping as I emerge from the small barrel, tossing my head before I drop off the board, diving back into the blue. This is all I need. Waves and my board. None of this weird shit about a home, or a girl I barely met. My home is here, in the ocean. But when I surface, my gaze goes to the house on the cliff once more.

Later, towelling myself off in the small car park, I hear my phone buzz. I ignore it. Whoever it is can wait. I wrap the towel around my waist, peeling off the rest of my wetsuit, then dropping it to get dressed. Bare arses are a common sight along this stretch of road, and I’m no prude. I pull on board shorts, chucking my towel in the back of the station wagon. It’s actually my car; I leave it at Matt’s for him to use when I’m not here. I suppose it’s the closest thing I have to a space of my own.

“You heading to the Inlet pub later?” I look up to see Kylie’s friend walking past with a couple of other surfers. She’s pretty cute, I think, as I check her out. I need to be careful, though. Kylie is a good mate.

“Yeah, we’ll head down in a bit,” I say.

“See you there.” She grins, flicking her hair back, definitely flirtatious. I jerk my chin at her, returning her smile. I need to speak to Kylie before I dip my toe in that pond, though. I cannot fuck my friends over.

My phone starts buzzing again and I grab it. It’s my agent, calling me.

“Hey, Jeff, what’s up?” I sit on the back of the wagon, drying my feet off, the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder.

“What’s up is that you need to answer your fucking phone.” My agent sounds pissed, but that’s not unusual. “You down the coast? Having a good time there? Wait, I already know the answer to that.”

“What?” I finish putting my shoes on, sitting up and holding the phone to my ear. “What the hell is going on?”

“What’s going on is that the ‘personal issue’ you’re taking time off to work on seems to involve fucking a couple of girls at the same time, at least according to social media.”

“Fuck.” My memories of the night before are reasonably vague, though definitely pleasurable. I don’t remember any photos being taken, though. I tell Jeff that.

“Yeah, probably because you were passed out by the time it happened,” he snaps.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s not great. It only showed up on her stories, but one of your bedmates decided to share a happy snap of the three of you snuggled up together after what looks like a pretty hard night out.”

I rub my hand over my face. I don’t really give a shit, to be honest, as long as it’s not X-rated. But I know Jeff will. “Right. And…”

“And she tagged a couple of surf brands. So now I have sponsors on the phone asking tough questions.”

“All publicity is good publicity, right?” I know it’s lame. I can feel it as the words come out of my mouth.

“No. No, it fucking isn’t,” Jeff snarls. “And if you’ve got time to screw around down there, then you’ve got time to work.”

“I told you, I’m?—”

“Taking time out?” His voice softens a bit. “Look, I know you have family stuff going on, but this shit isn’t making you look good. Sponsors pay you to ride waves and look good doing it, not shag randoms on a night out. And lately it’s been not enough of the former and too much of the latter.”

I suppose I have been partying a lot lately. But while Jeff is right that I have family shit going on, it’s not really his, or anyone’s business.

I sigh. “What do I need to do?”