The sun’s strong today, and I splash some water over each of my arms just for something to do while I churn that thought over and over in my mind.
“Let’s walk back so you can put some sunscreen on. The sun’s hot today.” I turn and start walking back, and Roman walks quietly beside me. I pull the suncream out of my beach bag and rub some on my arms and legs. I sit down on my towel as Roman stands in front of me, pulling off his vest and rubbing the suncream over his shoulders. I try not to look at his body, but it’s so fucking perfect I can’t help it. He doesn’t have the spray-on-looking abs that Cam has, but there’s definitely a six-pack going on. He has toned arms and legs, and a broad chest. A fine smattering of chest hair runs all the way down and disappears into his shorts, right through the middle of that V-thing blokes have going on. His skin is a beautiful golden brown and is shining in the sun now that it’s covered in suntan lotion. He sits on the towel next to me and sighs deeply.
“So, Georgia, tell me about the story of you then, but just the bits you want to.” He lays down on his side and props himself up on his elbow, facing me. I look down at him and smile.
“My name is Georgia Rae Layton McCarthy and this is the story of me, the true version.” He gestures for me to wait a minute, then rolls over and pulls us a beer each out of the cool bag. He has a bottle opener attached to his keys and opens them both, puts them in a cooler each, or stubby holder as they call them here, and then passes me one. I take a long swig before starting my story. I tell him about my parents, my brothers and how I met Sean when I was just eleven. He asks questions every now and then, but mostly he’s quiet and just listens. I don’t go into great detail about me and Sean, and the subjects jump about. We talk about the countries we’ve been to and the bands we’ve seen. It’s almost like I’m just a normal woman, meeting a bloke and we’re just getting to know each other, without this whole other life that I’ve led ever happening. Like Jackson, Roman’s a good listener, but unlike Jackson, I don’t feel analysed when I talk to him.
After a while, he sits up and pulls a tin from a drawstring sports bag he’s brought with him. He opens it and then looks up at me.
“D’ya mind?” The tin contains rolling papers and weed and a few cigarettes. I shake my head.
“Go for it.”
The one thing I’ve learnt in the short time that I’ve been in Byron is that a lot of people smoke weed. I don’t know if it’s because of the markets and music festivals that go on locally that attracts people into the area who just happen to be into it, or if it’s just something that’s acceptable here. I’m not being judgmental about it; how could I be? I’d grown up around it, and where I came from, from the age of about fourteen or fifteen, everyone smoked the stuff. I just had never seen it done so openly anywhere else, other than Amsterdam, of course. And that thought leads me into another conversation with Roman. While he rolls a joint, we sit side by side on the beach, smoke it and talk about Amsterdam, the coffee houses, the red light area. The conversation is easy and I feel totally relaxed and at ease with him. When we’ve had enough sun, we pack up our things and wander back to the bar.
*
Brooke’s back and already working; she comes around the bar and gives me a big cuddle as I pull up a stool.
“George, you missed a grouse weekend, darl. Seriously, next time I go down, you’ve got to come. So many men, George, so many.” Roman sits down on the stool next to me and Brooke gives a little squeal.
“Fuck me! Roaming Roman the Rooter, when d’ya get back in town?” She throws her arms around his neck and he wraps his around her waist; I watch with interest, especially after what she just called him. I know we all talk English, but the Australians have completely different slang to what I was used to, and I was learning it slowly. I know a ‘Rooter’ or a ‘Root Rat’ was someone who shagged about a lot.
Roman kisses Brooke’s cheek. “How ya goin’, Brookie? Ya lookin’ good, darl.” She stands back, puts her hand on her hip and looks him up and down; he’s put his vest back on, but his nicely tanned and toned arms are still on display.
“You too, Rome, lookin’ pretty damn hot yourself. Broken any hearts since you’ve been back yet?”
He shakes his head, turns and looks at me. “Would you like a drink, Georgia?”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Brooke shrieks, “Oh, my fuckin’ God, you have got to be kidding me!” She looks between Roman and me. “Three days, three fuckin’ days I’ve been away, how… when did this happen?” She gestures with her pointy finger between the two of us.
“Shut up, Brooke,” Roman says to her. She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hip to the side, tapping her foot.