Someone Like You

by Victoria Purman

  Lizzie tried to tell herself she was okay with it. She’d had a full life before Dan McSwaine ambled into town, and she would just have to get back to it. During the past four months, Ry and Julia had been distracted by Dan’s situation, as any friends would be. Lizzie’s problem was that she’d let herself get sucked into their lives as well. Of course, she’d been more than happy to step up at the pub while Ry and Julia were up in the city in the weeks after the accident. It was her first few weeks as manager anyway, and she’d kept the place ticking over like a well-oiled machine. Ry had placed his trust in her and Julia had relied on her friendship. She hadn’t let either of them down.

  But now it was time for Lizzie to get back to her own life. She’d done it before, knew the drill. Knew that getting up in the morning, brushing her teeth and slicking on the mascara, creating a brave face for the rest of the world to see, created a routine, a reason to keep getting out of bed. There had been many times in the past when she’d needed to find reasons.

  As she got closer to home, Lizzie looked over the dunes to the darkening, wild sea. There was so much to be thankful for, she knew. She’d always loved her job at the pub and was loving it even more now she’d been promoted. She had a life here. She was a de facto daughter to Harri next door, and Julia was back in the Point. Ry was now part of that circle too. It was a good life.

  What she didn’t have, what she hadn’t had for a long time – two years, six months and he’d been a dud, but who was counting – was a man. While she loved Middle Point with everything she had, there were certain limitations in its man department. Half the boys she’d gone to school with had married their high school girlfriends. Others had married girls from other towns on the peninsula. The only guy she’d had a crush on, who she’d always considered really cute with perfect hair, had moved to Sydney and burst out of the closet the minute he’d stepped out of a taxi on Oxford Street. Men had been pretty thin on the ground in the years since. There were some single guys around Middle Point, either newly divorced or never married, but Lizzie hadn’t been tempted the first time around.

  For all these reasons, the news of Dan’s arrival had been a glimmer of hope in a depressed man market. The first time they’d met, caught in the crossfire between Ry and Julia’s battle about the merits of Ry’s company’s Windswept Development, they’d predictably taken the sides of their best friends and gone at it, tongues and tempers blazing. The next time they met, it was kind of different. They’d managed to overlook their differences when it seemed as if their best friends weren’t going to make it. They’d engineered a rendezvous at the pub and Ry and Julia had been together ever since.

  Whatever potential there was for anything between her and Dan had been snuffed out months ago in a car wreck on a dark road just outside of Middle Point.

  Lizzie turned the corner into her street and saw Harri in the distance. Her neighbour’s bright orange shirt was hard to miss and she threw Lizzie a spirited wave, beckoning her to come over. Harri watered her front garden at sunset every night, totally in line with water restrictions and in solidarity with the life-giving River Murray.

  ‘G’day Lizzie! How are you, doll? Fancy a cuppa?’ Harri leaned down to yank off her garden tap, her loose grey bun drooping to one side as she bent over. ‘You’re a bit late tonight. What’s up at the watering hole?’

  Lizzie sighed. ‘Nothing, I just got a little held up.’ She tried to avoid her friend’s eyes.

  ‘Something tells me you’re bullshitting, Lizzie. But I’m sure you’ll spill the beans in your own good time.’ Harriet Byrne had been a trailblazer in her younger years and for two decades had represented the local area in State Parliament. Now in her seventies, she’d left politics behind but still had a blindingly good nose for intrigue.

  That’s why Lizzie changed the subject so fast. ‘How’s your hip holding up today?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a bugger. You think the warmer weather would help but no, it hurts like a bastard.’ Harri plonked a hand on the hip in question for added emphasis. ‘The doctor keeps telling me I should get a new one.’

  Lizzie laughed out loud. ‘Don’t tell me, you’re not taking any advice from that quack, right?’

  ‘Doctors,’ Harri winked. ‘You know me too well, doll. What do you think about ditching that cuppa and opening a bottle instead?’

  Lizzie looped her arm around Harri’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘You had me at g’day, Harri.’

  CHAPTER

  5

  The early morning sun was already shining so bright that the lapping waves on the sand shimmered like liquid mercury, hot and silver in the distance. With her red bodyboard nestled under the crook of her right arm, Lizzie took slow steps into the waves, cool on her ankles and calves, the cover of her knee-length wetsuit insulating the rest of her from the freshness of the water. Being in the ocean calmed her. The unyielding pull of the waves, the mysterious interaction of the moon and gravity that created the tides, the pounding sound in her ears. It was all heaven to Lizzie. For some people it was classical music. For her, the rhythm of the deep was always enough.

  Lizzie breathed in, let the sea air fill her lungs. Above her, the sky was almost cloudless, a brilliant early summer blue with only a few scattered streaks of white marking the eastern sky. A pair of seagulls flew low over the water and Lizzie watched in amusement as one landed to bob on the water right near her. The gull cocked its head in her direction, flapped its wings and took off, soaring away with the southerlies.

  Just like the gulls, Lizzie felt a part of this place, had grown up looking at this ocean most every day of her life. The Southern Ocean could be unforgiving, as the historic wrecks of ships along parts of the rocky coast could attest, but she loved the wildness of it, the knowledge that there was nothing between her and the Antarctic but a few thousands miles of ocean.

  It was her favourite place, her saving grace, her anchor. She’d needed to get out there in the waves, to calm her growing sense of dislocation. Since Dan’s accident, normal life in Middle Point had veered off course, like a stone from a crooked slingshot, in a direction no one had prepared for or planned. And since then, nothing had come together in exactly the same order. Julia and Ry were still on tenterhooks around Dan and their attempt to get Lizzie to help him hadn’t worked. He was clearly pushing back, trying to put a distance between them. Lizzie felt foolish all of a sudden; she should have gone with her first instinct, which was to do exactly the same. Instead, she’d let herself be distracted by his handsome sadness.

  At the sound of girlish shrieks of laughter, Lizzie turned back to the sand and watched two young women contemplate the water. As they ran into the waves, their tanned knees rose up like prancing ponies. They were happy, giggling, calling to each other, clad in tiny, precarious bikinis that wouldn’t survive a strong wave. She wondered where they got their mysterious confidence and more importantly, where hers had gone. Part of it was back in London, she knew. Maybe she would never get it back.

  The girls ran deeper and then ducked under a wave like dolphins, emerging from the other side of the foam, squealing. Fifteen years before, that was her and Julia. She shook the thought away. So much had happened in those years, enough that she’d chosen to be tethered to the safety and comfortable regularity of Middle Point, as reliable and certain as the waves on the sand and the wind in the southern sky.

  Lizzie turned her attention back to the horizon, judging each wave as it rolled towards her. Some looked impressive, boastful even, full of foam and height but they petered out quickly. They were a trick for beginners. They looked strong but left you hanging, unsatisfied.

  Since London, she’d learned to be patient, to wait for a strong one, could tell by the foaming caps and the strength of the undertow if the next wave would be strong enough to take her, would be worth launching herself at, body and soul, and then riding it, hanging on tightly as it propelled her to the sand in the perfect ride.

  Lizzie saw one ahead, could feel it rushing t
owards her. There was a sound, a roar with it and she waited. As it approached, she turned to face the beach, gripped her board and then launched herself onto the wave.

  And then she was off, the force of it hurtling her and her board towards the sand, a schoolgirl squeal on her lips. The growl and splash of the water, the roaring noise, blocked out every other sound and she imagined people on the beach were wondering what the hell that woman was laughing at as she rode the wave into the silvery water of the shallows.

  When her board skimmed the sand and came to a sudden stop, Lizzie rolled off it and sat there, grinning, feeling free and light and unburdened. The adrenalin still coursed through her and she caught her breath, her board banging against her calf, tethered to her by her wrist strap.

  Whatever was happening in her life, there was the comfort of this. The ocean. The beach. The Point she loved so much. In all her best times, and her darkest, all this had been her constant. They gave her no excuses, cut her no slack. The waves rolled on no matter what was going on in her life away from them.

  Her life. Lizzie held up a hand to shield her face from the harsh sun and the light it shone on her circumstances. Suddenly, lately, it had felt like she’d put that life on hold. For years, she’d been content to simply let things happen to her, whether by luck or circumstance. Life as a waitress at the pub, doing her bit for others around Middle Point, hiding away and sleepwalking through her life had been enough.

  Now, she yearned for more. Maybe it had been spurred on by Ry’s arrival and his purchase of the pub, the way he’d given it a much-needed injection of energy. The previous owners, while wonderful to Lizzie over the years, had been old-school, happy to let business continue as it had since the 1970s. When Ry had arrived in town, the first thing he’d done was guarantee all the staff their jobs. Lizzie had liked him immediately and liked him even more when he’d promoted her to the newly created position of manager. He’d made special mention of all the work she already did around the business and rewarded her for it. She was proud of the promotion and had stayed awake at night wondering if all her crazy ideas for the place were good ones. There was so much potential there and, for the first time in forever, she let herself think there might be potential in her.

  A small black dog appeared at her side, panting, eager for a pat. Lizzie reached over to give it a scratch behind the ears. After a whistle from its owner, it scampered off down the beach, stopping to sniff the clumps and knots of dried sea grasses on the sand.

  Lizzie rose to her feet and gazed out to the water. She made a resolution right there and then. She had to get that mysterious confidence back.

  A part of her knew that there was something between her and Dan, something puzzling and powerful, something that had been hinted at right from the beginning. But that didn’t mean the time was right. For her or for him. And if the timing wasn’t right, did that mean it wasn’t supposed to happen for them?

  That’s life.

  Lizzie decided it was time she got on with hers.

  Ry placed his knife and fork neatly across his plate and took a sip of water, a huge grin creasing his face. He leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms up and linked them behind his neck. He took a satisfied look around the pub’s front bar.

  ‘Lizzie, you know what I love about my life?’

  From across the table, Lizzie raised her eyebrows. ‘Other than Jools, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah, other than JJ. I love that I get to have business meetings in the front bar of my pub. Wearing shorts and thongs. On a near perfect day, like today, looking out at that spectacular view. It’s bloody brilliant.’

  Lizzie smiled back at him. She knew what he meant. ‘You’re like a reformed smoker, you know that? You’ve only been here for –what is it now – six months, and you’re Middle Point’s biggest fan. Those of us who are born and bred have known its attractions for a whole lot longer.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, and I suppose I won’t be considered a local for at least another three decades, right?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Lizzie crossed her arms and leaned on the table. ‘So, can we talk business now?’

  ‘Talk about a buzz kill. So, what’s this big thing you had to ask me about?’

  Lizzie took a deep breath to steady herself. The idea had come to her in the middle of the night. Just like that. She’d blinked her eyes open in the darkness and there it was, an idea so simple she couldn’t believe she’d hadn’t thought of it before. Over breakfast, she’d gone over and over it in her head and then called Ry, telling him she needed to talk.

  ‘I’ve got a plan for the pub. And all it needs is your okay. Oh, and your money.’ Lizzie didn’t doubt her idea was brilliant but she wasn’t used to being so upfront about what she thought. She gave Ry one of her best and most confident smiles, hoping it would work its magic on him. She searched his face. Nope, there was no sign that it had any effect whatsoever.

  Ry grew serious and leaned in. ‘A plan for the pub. To do what?’

  ‘I want to landscape the barren wasteland out the back and turn it into a dining area during the summer.’ Lizzie tried to gauge Ry’s initial reaction. He wasn’t laughing or shaking his head in disbelief. Good. That was good. So she segued to Part B.

  ‘But wait, there’s more. I want to organise a market out there on Sunday mornings. There could be stalls selling plants, old books, vintage clothes and local foods, that kind of thing, and we could do breakfasts as well.’

  ‘A market?’

  ‘It would be fantastic, Ry. The local primary school and our sports clubs – even the local environment group – are always looking for things to do to raise money. We could donate them a stall, people would come along to support them and everyone wins. You know how many extra people we get coming through the Point in summer, staying for weekends or even weeks on end. They can walk up to our market, buy a few things and have breakfast, just like the produce markets at Willunga and in the city. It’s a win-win. You get to feel good about supporting the local community and we get to sell bucket loads of bacon and eggs and coffee on a Sunday morning.’

  Lizzie sat back, feeling slightly exhausted. Nerves had triggered her excited info dump. She needn’t have worried. Ry didn’t look bored. In fact, he looked interested.

  ‘Have you worked out what this would cost?’ Fair enough question, she thought. Ry was a businessman, after all. She knew the dollars and cents had to add up for him. Unfortunately, that’s where her middle of the night plan hadn’t been fully thought through.

  ‘I have to admit…I haven’t got a clue. We’ll need a few decent-sized trees around the boundary so we get some natural shade out there and we’ll have to dig up that horrible hot bitumen, pave and do some landscaping. Maybe we could have a couple of shade sails? And there would be the cost of the extra tables and chairs, lightweight ones that we could store in the old shed over winter.’

  Lizzie was starting to feel the excitement bubbling in her stomach. She didn’t know if it was making her feel thrilled or nauseous.

  ‘It’ll need council approval, especially if we’re getting rid of car parks.’

  ‘I’m sure you can swing that, Ry. You got the Windswept Development approved, didn’t you?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘It only took a year of lobbying every local councillor, the Mayor, the State planning authorities and one very powerful local matriarch whose family has lived here since whales were hunted off the south coast. And in the end, what really swung it for us was that we’re remediating a dirty old industrial estate.’ Lizzie could see him doing the sums in his head. ‘So what time-frame do you have in mind?’

  ‘I was thinking we should get it done by Christmas.’ She blurted out the words so he wouldn’t realise that it was only a few weeks away. ‘If we could get one Sunday market organised by then, we could promote it as a Christmas event.’ A thought flashed through her mind about the perfect person to play Santa. At least he had the right beard.

  Ry looked hesitant. ‘That time
line’s gonna be tough, Lizzie. Almost impossible.’

  ‘We can do it, Ry.’

  He pondered and looked her in the eye, as if judging whether she would cave at the slightest scrutiny. And then his expression transformed from sceptical to energised, like a lightbulb had gone off above his head. When Ry reached his hand over the table to shake Lizzie’s, she gave him a firm grip.

  ‘Lizzie, you’re a genius. I don’t know why the previous owners didn’t make you manager years ago.’

  ‘Really? I can do it?’

  Ry grimaced and gave his head a little shake. ‘Well, that’s the only bit I’m having trouble with. The bit where you think you can do this all on your own.’

  ‘Well, obviously I can’t do the paving or plant the trees—’

  Ry held up his hand to shush her. ‘Hold on. Before you get too excited, you have to hear my two conditions. Firstly, I reckon we should let Julia loose on the local council, don’t you? I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. She’s antsy about the wedding and without a date set, she can’t go ahead and plan the living daylights out of it. I’ll ask her to consider a little consulting work. Pro bono, of course. ’

  Lizzie couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was really going to let her do this – and Julia would be in on the project too. If she felt any happier, she’d burst.

  ‘I take it from your reaction that’s a yes?’ Ry smiled at her.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Lizzie clapped her hands together in glee. She jumped up from her chair, rounded the table, grabbed his shoulders and planted a big kiss on his forehead.

  ‘Whoa, hold on. You haven’t heard the other condition.’

  Lizzie sat down again, excitement heating her cheeks and giving her a shiver all over. ‘You get to sign all the cheques? I’m totally fine with that, of course you should. It’s your pub.’