Tall, Dark & Distant

by Julie Fison

  Ella paused for a response. Georgia’s eyes met her friend’s. Her hypotheticals had been uncovered for what they really were that day – an excuse to daydream about Hot Running Guy.

  ‘I was just thinking about someone I saw running this morning,’ Georgia said as nonchalantly as possible.

  ‘I knew it!’ said Ella triumphantly. ‘Georgia, your face is like a book. You’re so easy to read.’

  ‘Who did you see?’ Mei whispered, edging a little closer to avoid the boys overhearing.

  ‘I ran past this guy. I gave him a smile and he said hello.’

  ‘Was he hot?’ Ella asked, eyes shining at the promise of gossip.

  Georgia nodded and smiled. ‘Gorgeous. But there was something else as well. In his eyes. There was this … intensity. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.’

  Georgia trailed off. She had already said too much. Ella and Mei both had boyfriends now – boyfriends with names and identities. Ella’s boyfriend spent so much time with the Simm family that he was practically one of them. And Mei had some guy in a pink polo shirt. Georgia was rambling about a guy who had picked up a hair-tie. She didn’t know who he was and would probably never see him again. She sounded like a complete nutcase.

  ‘And he said hi to you?’ Mei said.

  ‘Actually, he said good morning,’ Georgia said. ‘And then I said hello. But it came out more like, oh, because I was running. Then I dropped my hair-tie somewhere on the path. He found it, followed me down the path and gave it back. Then he ran off.’

  Ella tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘So, he followed you down the track to return some manky old hair-tie that was lying in the dirt? The guy is clearly mad about you.’

  Georgia wasn’t sure how Ella knew this, but her friend was the expert. In biology and physics, Georgia was top of her class.

  But when it came to boys, she was a D student at best. She and her schoolfriends didn’t have a single boyfriend among them and, even though they discussed guys endlessly, she had to admit they were all pretty clueless. But Ella was a family friend. They only saw each other once or twice a year – in the holidays, when their families visited Noosa. Georgia and Ella didn’t really have that much in common, but Ella’s friendship was particularly useful at times like these.

  ‘Why would he like me?’ Georgia asked. She wasn’t looking for a compliment; she was genuinely interested.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he? You’re so cute,’ Ella said.

  ‘Yeah, I like your hair long,’ Mei added. ‘I used to think you were a supergeek. But you’re looking pretty hot these days. In fact, go and sit at the other end of the beach. You’re making me look ugly.’

  It was the sort of backhanded compliment that Mei was good at. Her soft Eurasian features and petite stature completely mis-represented her brusque, direct nature. With two straight-talking lawyers for parents, Mei had no chance of being anything else.

  ‘Remember the time your sister cut that big chunk out of your hair and you had to cut it all really short?’ Mei reminisced. ‘You looked like such a potato head. Skinny arms and legs and a big head.’

  ‘I was seven when I had that Mr Potato Head haircut,’ Georgia reminded them. ‘Everyone had a bad haircut when they were seven.’

  ‘Yours was much worse,’ Mei insisted. ‘My mum would have sued if someone gave me a haircut that bad.’

  Georgia left the haircut and moved on. She wanted to get back to the guy with green eyes. She needed to know if she had a chance. Short of consulting a clairvoyant, Ella was the next best thing.

  ‘What do you think I should do? Do you think I’ll ever see him again?’

  It was meant as a question for Ella. But Alice, who had obviously been eavesdropping, decided to answer.

  ‘It’s him!’ she shouted, dropping her iPod and jumping to her feet, pointing.

  Georgia’s heart thumped as she followed her sister’s gaze. Hot Running Guy was on the beach!

  Then Alice laughed and Georgia saw she was pointing to an old guy with a saggy butt and a hairy back. ‘It’s your new boyfriend!’ Alice shrieked. ‘What a couple. I think he bought his togs at the same place you did.’

  ‘Very funny,’ Georgia said, slumping with disappointment.

  Alice walked towards the water, imitating the guy with the saggy backside, and then turned around to blow Georgia a kiss.

  Georgia blew one back sarcastically, but inside she was aching. ‘I’m never going to see him again, am I?’ she sighed.

  ‘Just ignore Alice,’ Mei said.

  ‘Of course you’ll see him again,’ Ella added.

  ‘How?’ Georgia asked desperately.

  ‘Think about it,’ Ella said. ‘If he’s a runner, then he’ll be out at the same time every morning, won’t he? Just go out running at the same time and you’re bound to bump into him. And next time, say something more than just oh.’

  Georgia rolled her eyes. ‘Something like, Oh, you’re so hot?’

  ‘That’s worked for me,’ Mei said.

  Ella laughed and winked. ‘I think you’ll make a great couple.’ ‘Why do you say that?’ Georgia asked.

  ‘You’re eighteen, Georgia. Normal people sleep in until midday on holiday. They don’t run around the national park at daybreak. If this guy was doing that too, I’d say he’s just as obsessed as you. You’re clearly made for each other.’

  Ella had a point. Georgia’s obsession had driven her across thousands of kilometres of cross-country terrain, through mud and cowpats, gravel and sand, through the pain of sprained ankles, hamstring injuries and grazed shins, all the way to state championships. But while she was flogging herself outside or locked away with her textbooks, Georgia had missed out on the crucial social and romantic skills that other girls had obviously been honing. It wasn’t that she was opposed to boyfriends – she just didn’t know where to start. Luckily, Ella was always ready to share her skills in that area and loved nothing more than a romantic project.

  ‘Do you really think I’ll see him again?’ Georgia asked again, probably a bit pathetically. ‘What if he’s only here for a few days? He looked like a tourist. He wasn’t wearing any sunglasses and I think he had an accent.’

  ‘Then you’ve got no time to waste,’ Ella said. ‘If you see him tomorrow, arrange a time to meet him.’

  That was easy for Ella to say. She was the product of a perfect socio-economic alliance, the daughter of a property developer and a charity fundraiser. She always wore the right clothes, went to the right parties and was about to start the right university course that would no doubt lead to the right career in the media. Saying the right thing to guys just came naturally to her.

  ‘I can’t just ask him out. I don’t even know him,’ Georgia said, shuddering at the thought.

  ‘You don’t have to ask him out. Just say you’re going to the beach, maybe you’ll see him there. It’s just letting him know you’re interested.’

  ‘Do you think that’ll work?’ Georgia asked.

  Ella gave her a big smile. ‘You won’t know till you try. Come on, I’m baking. Let’s swim.’ She got to her feet. Mei and Georgia followed, and the three girls walked across the hot sand to the water.

  ‘This is going to be something really special,’ Ella said to Georgia as she waded into the surf. ‘I’m getting all tingly just thinking about it.’

  Special. That was one way to describe Georgia’s obsession with a guy she didn’t even know.

  Georgia set off for the national park the next morning with a head full of advice and a permutation for every possible running-track scenario. If she saw Hot Running Guy ahead of her, she would sprint to catch up, and casually say hi as she ran past. Maybe she could suggest a good beach to visit. If he ran towards her, she would confidently greet him and hope he stopped to talk.

  None of this was foolproof. And for every successful conversation Georgia could visualise, she had another vision of his green eyes staring straight through her.

  The risk of failure
was too humiliating to even think about.

  The sea was clear and calm as Georgia ran along the coastal track. Two surf skiers paddled across the bay, and a dolphin bobbed out of the water just ahead of them. On any other day Georgia would have given this some of the attention it deserved, but today she struggled to appreciate it. She was too busy looking for him.

  Georgia stared at every runner on the track. Her heart raced every time she spotted a head of short dark hair, and then sank with every disappointment. As she slogged around Granite Bay she began to wonder if she’d even recognise him if he passed her. She had seen him for a total of maybe a minute. What if he was wearing sunglasses today? Would she still know those eyes behind dark shades?

  By the time she reached the end of the track at Hell’s Gates, she was completely drained. She’d probably done a personal best on the five-kilometre run to the lookout. She was breathing hard and covered in sweat. She glanced down at the rocks below. The surf crashed through the crevices and the dark shapes of turtles washed in and out with the waves. She turned and plodded back along the track, disappointment eating away at her.

  The next day was another exercise in futility. This time, Georgia set off slightly earlier than usual. She pounded into the national park optimistically, but again returned completely crushed. She was never going to find him.

  The following day, Georgia set off a little later. She dawdled along to Hell’s Gates and watched the turtles in the wash, one eye on the water and the other on the track. Then she stared at the surfers on the beach break, one eye on the sea and the other on the track. And then she just watched the track.

  Georgia watched runner after runner pound up to the lookout, pause for a sip of water and a glance at the view, then turn to go back the way they came. She could have watched them for five minutes, or it could have been half an hour. She didn’t know. She was in a daze. Finally, reluctantly, she turned for home.

  She was almost out of the park when something very obvious occurred to her. Although most people used the coastal track to Hell’s Gates for their morning training ritual, the national park was crisscrossed with trails. For a fit guy, the undulating rain-forest track with plenty of shade was an ideal place to run. Maybe it was a preferred running route for Hot Running Guy.

  Georgia swung off the coastal track, into the rainforest. The track took her through cool, shady undergrowth, past prehistoric cycads and giant monitor lizards ambling through the leaves. She mostly had the place to herself. There was certainly no green-eyed god in sight.

  Georgia began to question Ella’s assessment of the whole situation. If this guy liked her, then surely he would be out running every morning, trying to find her. Wouldn’t he?

  ‘Wouldn’t he?’ Georgia repeated her thoughts out loud.

  She had intended her question to be rhetorical. But a monitor lizard appeared on the path at about the same time, so she directed the question at him.

  The lizard stared at her defiantly, offering no insight at all. Then he turned and skittered into the undergrowth.

  Georgia watched him go and drew in a deep breath. She was acting like a weird stalker. She reminded herself that Hot Running Guy had picked up a hair-tie; he hadn’t saved her life. He wasn’t into her; he was just being polite. It was time to move on.

  ‘You are in so much trouble,’ Alice announced when Georgia reached the door of the apartment. ‘Everyone has been panicking about you. Mum’s going to ground you for the holidays.’

  It was just like her sister to launch a pre-emptive strike before any of the facts were out. Georgia was eighteen. Surely she could slip off for a couple of hours without triggering a search party. She followed Alice into the apartment. Her mother was on the balcony engrossed in the paper.

  She looked up from her story and smiled. ‘Hello, darling. Been running?’

  Georgia nodded. Trust Alice to exaggerate the story.

  ‘Mu-um!’ Alice whined. ‘She disappears for hours and gets away with it and you won’t even take me for one measly shopping trip to Hong Kong. It’s so unfair.’

  It was hard to argue with Alice. Logic wasn’t something she used and she didn’t expect others to use it either. She stormed off to her room and slammed the door.

  Georgia’s mother picked up her paper again. ‘Ella called. She wants to go shopping in Hastings Street.’

  Shopping with Ella seemed like a huge waste of time to Georgia. There wouldn’t be a single shop on Hastings Street that suited both Ella’s taste and Georgia’s budget. Ella operated under a money-is-for-spending policy. Georgia had a money-is-for-Africa policy. She’d booked a trip to Kenya at the end of January. She would be spending a month with a foundation that cared for women injured in childbirth. Every dollar she earned from her part-time job at the bakery was going to her parents, who had lent her the money to pay for the trip. She didn’t like wasting it on clothes. But as Georgia prepared to leave for her shopping trip with Ella, her mum threw her a curveball in the shape of a large wad of twenty-dollar notes.

  Georgia stood holding the cash in her hand, bewildered.

  ‘Why don’t you buy something nice for yourself, darling? You deserve it. You did so well this year. Have fun!’

  Georgia kissed her mum on the cheek and left the apartment flush with cash. She felt even better when she walked past her sister’s knickers hanging in a bush. The surrender flag from the window handle had fallen and got caught in the branches below.

  Georgia felt a touch of guilty pleasure at the thought of Alice discovering her unsightly knickers at some stage in the holidays, crusty with bird droppings and lizard poo.

  ‘Georgia! Come and tell me what you think of this dress,’ Ella called excitedly from a shop that had too few clothes and too many staff to make it a viable option for Georgia, even on her increased budget.

  A saleswoman eyed Georgia suspiciously as she followed Ella to the changing room. Georgia wondered why. Did she look like a thief? How did the sales assistant know Georgia wasn’t a mega-rich superbrat about to drop $1000 on a couple of pieces of cotton – supreme arrogance or just practice? Probably a bit of both.

  Georgia waited outside changing room after changing room as Ella worked her way from the massively overpriced end of Hastings Street to the affordable bit, modelling a procession of dresses, shirts and shorts. They all looked great to Georgia; Ella looked good in anything. But as Alice pointed out on a regular basis: what would Georgia know?

  Ella chose a few things for Georgia to try on, and she dutifully gave them a go.

  She squeezed into a tiny black dress covered in sequins with black feathers hanging from the neckline. She looked at herself in the mirror. The dress wasn’t something she’d normally buy. It was probably shorter than anything she’d worn since she was six.

  Georgia emerged from the changing room, feeling self-conscious, but the look on Ella’s face encouraged her.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Georgia asked. ‘It’s not a bit … well … you know … too … you know.’

  Georgia was struggling to find the right words to express her concerns without insulting Ella’s entire wardrobe. ‘I mean, it would be great on you. Maybe you should try it on.’

  ‘It looks good,’ Ella said. ‘You should buy it.’

  ‘Do you think I’ll wear it? It’s not like I’m at parties every night. Maybe a beach dress would be better.’

  ‘Georgia, you’re going to uni after the holidays. You will be at parties every night.’ Ella inspected the price tag. ‘And look at the price. It’s a complete bargain.’ Ella loved spending money, but she was just as happy to see someone else parting with cash.

  Georgia looked at herself in the mirror. She looked at Ella’s expression. She looked at the shop assistant. ‘Do you think it suits me?’

  ‘Yeah, it looks great,’ the girl replied enthusiastically. ‘Really suits you.’

  Georgia reminded herself that it was the girl’s job to sell clothes and went back to the racks, searching for something a l
ittle less fluffy. She suspected that despite Ella’s party promises, she might be studying every night of the week when uni started. And how many parties would demand a sequined dress with feather detail, anyway?

  Georgia was reaching up to a top rack, her dress riding up dangerously high on her thighs, when a guy walked past.

  Hot Running Guy.

  His face was just as Georgia remembered, dark hair framing his features. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew it was him. He was wearing striped shorts, strolling down Hastings Street, apparently unaware of the effect he was having on a girl in a black sequined dress in the shop he was passing.

  Suddenly the disappointment of the past few days dropped from Georgia’s mind. The empty space was filled with a sense of excitement. Everything was possible again.

  Georgia was still frozen to the spot, with her hand on a floral skirt, her dress possibly just covering her knickers and a dumbfounded expression plastered all over her face, when the guy pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. He turned his face in her direction and looked straight at Georgia. He gave her a flicker of a smile and then kept walking.

  ‘Ella! It’s him!’ Georgia called in an urgent whisper.

  Ella was midway through trying on a pair of sandals – one sandal on, one off. Her eyes flicked around the shop. ‘Where? Where?’ Ella knew exactly who Georgia was talking about.

  ‘Outside! He just walked past.’

  ‘We have to follow him!’ Ella squealed.

  Georgia pulled the sequined dress back down her thighs and raced into the fitting room. She fumbled with the zip for a second and then changed her mind. If she wanted to find him, she didn’t have time for a wardrobe change. Georgia grabbed her bundle of things from the floor, rummaged in her wallet and pulled out some cash.

  ‘I’m wearing the dress. Put my clothes in a bag,’ Georgia called, as she threw her clothes and a pile of cash at the sales girl.

  The girl looked startled as Georgia fled from the shop – her feet bare, tags flying from the back of her dress. Ella limped along behind, her sandals flapping around her feet.