The Reluctant Wag

Chapter 7


She only half expected to make the papers the next day. There had been so many well-known people at the launch, and probably thousands of photos taken. But there, on the front cover of the Tribune, was a photo of Merise laughing into Cal’s face while he looked down at her with such intensity that she felt herself blush. There was no doubt about it, they looked like a couple besotted with one another.

She pushed the paper aside and lifted the Times. They were on page three, under the byline ‘Bringing Classy Back’ – Merise obligingly showing off the dress, as requested, while Cal stood to one side watching her with undisguised admiration. He played his part well, she thought bitterly. If only people knew. Although she was grateful that the photo didn’t tell the story of her very raw humiliation.

Her mobile buzzed. It was Erica.

‘Have you seen the photos?’ she practically squealed down the phone.

‘Yes. I’m going to die of embarrassment.’

‘Oh come on! You’ve got to be kidding, Mer! You look like a . . . a film star. It says here, “Merise Merrick is the hottest new star in the Melbourne modelling firmament. Her outstanding looks and the way she handled herself on the red carpet last night captivated all present. Wolves star Cal McCoy was clearly besotted. And who could blame him? This woman is all class.”’

‘What?’ Merise cried. ‘Where does it say that?’

‘Back of the Tribune sports section.’

Merise groaned. Two mentions in one paper!

‘What’s up? You did really well. You should get a bonus. It’s fabulous publicity for you and the club. And so romantic! He looking at you the way he looks at a footy when he’s lining up for goal . . . you know, all intense.’

Merise didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘You don’t understand, Erica – Cal and I don’t get on. He thinks I’m a dill. He won’t be happy when he sees these shots.’

‘Then he’s a great, stupid oaf and he doesn’t deserve you,’ retorted Erica hotly.

Merise had just put down the phone when Bev rang to congratulate her. SMO were also very happy and planned to capitalise by following up with a TV ad. It would feature Merise in the gym with the entire Yarraside team. She was dreading it. How could she look Cal in the eye with all the things that were being said about them, and after the way he’d spurned her? Would he think she’d be panting to see him again? One thing was certain – he’d be furious about the innuendo. He liked the focus to stay on the football, not on his personal life, even if it was all just speculation. Yes, she was certainly dreading seeing him again, but another part of her couldn’t wait.



Cal had played and replayed the newsreel of their grand entrance and their interview at the casino. It was thrilling and troubling at the same time. They looked good together, as if they were made for each other. He remembered the feeling of her in his arms. It had taken a superhuman effort to quench the quiver of desire that had flared in him. He’d almost gone too far last night. He could have had her – she’d been willing. What had stopped him? There was a real chemistry between them, but there was also a chasm that it’d be better not to breach, because he was beginning to think that whatever it was about Merise Merrick, she wasn’t just another woman.



The Yarraside gym was a great cavernous space, its walls lined with state-of-the-art equipment and hung with on-field shots of the club’s champions in action. Merise reluctantly followed Jay, Simon the photographer and Tim Kearns from SMO as they moved to the centre of the gym for the shoot.

All around them players were furiously working on their fitness as high-energy music pumped through the room. She could see players lifting weights, working on treadmills and bikes and stretching on floor mats. Through the glass wall on one side she had a view of the pools and the massage area. This entire space was a temple to the male body. And such bodies!

Merise tried hard not to look at the sculpted, bare torsos all around her as Jay fussed with her hair and Simon set up his lights and tripods. She managed quite well until he came in. She sensed him before she saw him, and she felt her body respond instinctively to his presence. There was a momentary pause in activity when Cal entered the gym, as team members registered his presence and greeted him. She deliberately didn’t look his way; instead she became suddenly concerned that she’d smudged her eye make-up and turned to Jay for help.

‘No, you’re right, darling,’ said Jay airily. ‘You’re just gorgeous,’ then lowered his voice, ‘but not half as gorgeous as Captain, my captain. Don’t look now – he’s just come in, looking absolutely divine. Be still my heart!’

Merise couldn’t help but laugh, which somehow eased the tension inside. She felt she was ready to look at Cal – but she was wrong. He was talking to one of the trainers, his hands on his hips, wearing only his shorts. He looked like a statue of a Greek god, only more muscular. She gulped and took a deep breath.

‘Best not to look,’ whispered Jay. ‘If you get any more heated I’m going to have to redo your foundation.’

‘Jay!’ she hissed, and developed an intense interest in Simon’s lighting umbrellas.

A few minutes later Simon was ready to begin the shoot and Tim went off to get Cal. Merise could feel her heart battering her chest as he walked towards them.

‘Hi,’ he said and she responded with what she hoped seemed like a distracted ‘hello’.

But then she couldn’t help it – she looked at him, he smiled, and something melted within her. It was at that very second, in that great space smelling of sweat and liniment, that she realised that she’d fallen utterly, hopelessly in love with Cal McCoy. It wasn’t just physical after all, it was the whole emotional deal. She craved his very presence. She wanted to please him, she wanted to care for him, and for him to care for her. That realisation came as a shock, and was even more upsetting than his being so close. It was something she’d sensed at a visceral level, but had never allowed to form into a conscious thought, until now, and it rattled her to the core. She suddenly understood just how deep her feelings were for this man, however different they might be as people. It was a sad realisation, because she was sure that any feelings he had for her were pretty superficial. And she only had herself to blame. She’d scorned his world, made it clear she’d wanted no part of footy or the fame that went with it. If he had been attracted to her at the start, he was probably over that now. He wasn’t the kind of man who had to beg for a woman’s attention. He’d have moved on. She barely heard Simon as he talked about the set-up, and woodenly followed his directions.

‘Okay, Merise, standing right there – between Cal, Troy and Ryan.’

She positioned herself between the three players – Cal pumping a small dumbbell in each hand, Troy bouncing on a mini-trampoline and Ryan pedalling on an exercise bike. But all she could think of was that she had to cover up the way she felt about Cal. Wasn’t it written all over her? She felt utterly exposed there with the camera continually flashing at her. Surely it would tell the truth.

‘Right, Merise, turn and look admiringly at one of the boys,’ Simon instructed, and she deliberately turned her back on Cal. Her eye fell on Ryan – a player who had only joined Yarraside that year. He was a handsome twenty-year-old, already the darling of the team’s teenage female fans. Merise had an idea. She fixed her gaze on Ryan and gave him the biggest, most adoring smile she could muster. Her face lit up as he smiled back and Simon snapped, ‘Yes! That’s it – good girl. Move closer now. Keep smiling, Ryan.’

‘No worries, mate,’ said Ryan obligingly as Merise moved towards him and draped herself seductively over the bars of his bike. What was she doing? Part of her was standing back, scrutinising her antics in a kind of horrified disbelief; another part was driving her on, shaken by the thought that Cal could see what she felt for him, and desperate to show him that he was mistaken.

She didn’t look his way for the rest of the shoot, flirting wildly with Ryan and even a little with Troy. By the time Simon was satisfied, the two young men were high on the exercise and apparent adulation. While Simon was packing up his camera gear, Ryan approached Merise.

‘Hey, you wanna go down to the café and get a Coke or something?’

‘Sure,’ she said impulsively, ‘that’d be great.’ But out of the corner of her eye she was watching Cal striding out of the gym.

It wasn’t quite noon and the café was almost empty when she followed Ryan to the counter. They got their drinks and sat down at the window overlooking the river. Ryan was quite a talker. He rattled on about his time at Yarraside, about the games he’d played and the things he’d done in Melbourne since moving there from a country town in Tasmania. She tried to pay attention, to nod and smile at appropriate times and to ask the occasional question. But her whole mind was fixed on Cal.

When had this happened? When had she fallen so completely for him? Was it the first time she saw him play? Was it while she watched him by candle light at the Spanish restaurant? Was it that night when he’d kissed her so ruthlessly? Or was it actually that very first day when he walked into Paige’s office and straight into her heart?

She felt totally miserable now as she sat there, pretending to listen to Ryan’s ramblings. What was she doing, leading this boy on? He was only a year younger than she was herself, but he was a lifetime younger than Cal McCoy, and that was what counted. How could she ever really look at another man after Cal? No one could ever compare to him, she thought despairingly.

And yet, she could never have him, because she was nothing to him. She was a pretty face – one of dozens who moved around him like dazzling satellites – but that was all she’d ever be to him, because he only had one thing on his mind, and that was football.

The café was beginning to fill up and as the door opened again she looked up. It was Cal. She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her, then he was immediately approached by a group of young boys clamouring for his autograph. She expected him to refuse, instead he smiled warmly at them and spent the next few minutes signing their caps and jumpers, answering their questions and laughing with them.

As they finally went off, delighted with their idol, Cal walked towards the counter and immediately spotted Merise and Ryan. His face fell. She felt somehow ashamed and lowered her eyes to the table. At the same moment, an old lady at the table next to hers called to Cal, ‘Hello, my darling. How are you going?’

Cal drew his eyes away from Merise and turned to the woman with one of his killer smiles. Merise felt an almost uncontrollable urge to run up to him, throw her arms around his neck and cling to him. How could she possibly bear not having him love her for the rest of her life?

He was talking to the old woman, bending down and holding her hand in such a gentle way. This was a side of Cal she’d never seen before. Was he really only doing it because the woman was a Wolves supporter? That was why he tolerated Merise, because she happened to strike a chord with the public and because she was good for the team’s image. Well, she’d made him think she fancied Ryan. Let him. That was a good thing. That way he would never guess where her heart truly lay. He must never know. He would think her foolish; he might even pity her, and she could never bear that. Better to have him feel indifferently towards her, and remember her as a great asset to the club’s marketing strategy, and nothing else.

And the sooner she could get out of this arrangement with Yarraside and never see him again, the better it would be for her sanity.



It was Erica’s birthday and Merise had offered to buy her lunch at a stylish Southbank restaurant. It was a sultry day and the girls sat on the terrace, overlooking the promenade beside the river, watching the passers-by.

‘This is great,’ said Erica. ‘The food’s beautiful and the view’s superb. Look – there’s Mia Guerrero – that new actress from Neighbours,’ she hissed.

‘Is it? I don’t know her, but I recognised Angela Zouzoulas and Dinny Rankin from Breakfast the minute we came in.’

‘Yeah, so many celebrities come to this place. I’ve always wanted to eat here.’

‘Me too. But I can only afford it thanks to Yarraside Wolves,’ Merise said with a wry smile.

‘And just think – you’ll always be able to afford this sort of thing. You’ll be able to have a great lifestyle if you keep modelling.’

‘That’s the last thing I want to do,’ said Merise, suddenly serious. ‘I’ve actually been thinking of giving it up now that I’ve almost got enough money to see me through uni.’

‘But, Merise, you could set yourself up for life if you just keep doing it on a part-time basis for the next couple of years.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t think I could —’ At that moment a shadow fell across their table. Merise looked up to see a rumpled, middle-aged man beaming down at her. He smelt of cigarettes and hair oil and Merise found herself recoiling.

‘Excuse me barging in, ladies,’ he said slickly. Then he leant towards Merise. ‘You’re Merise Merrick, aren’t you – the famous Miss Yarraside Wolves? I’d recognise that bone structure anywhere.’ He laughed loudly at his own remark.

She disliked him at once, and Erica pulled a face behind his broad back.

‘Er, yes,’ she said reluctantly, ‘I’m Merise Merrick.’

He held out a sweaty hand. ‘I’m Greg Bedford, editor of Celebrity Watch. Delighted to meet you.’

Merise had no choice except to shake his hand, but inside she was panicking. What did he want? An interview? A photo? The last thing she wanted was to be connected with the grubby rag that notoriously stalked the rich and famous. She stared coldly up at him. Erica was looking appalled.

‘I’ve heard something fascinating about you; I’ve heard you’re a journalism student,’ Bedford said.

‘Yes,’ Merise replied warily. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to be seen with him. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this greasy shock-horror merchant.

‘Glad to hear that, because if you’re ever looking for work, there’s a desk for you at Celebrity Watch – guaranteed. You have a very bright future, young lady, and we’d just love to be part of it.’

She could feel her lip curl, but hoped he couldn’t read in her face the contempt she felt for his awful gossip rag. It was the lowest form of journalism – a parasitic publication that fed off the mistakes and misery of any Australian celebrity unfortunate enough to set a foot wrong or be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d rather serve second-rate coffee for the rest of her life than work for that magazine.

Just then Bedford was hailed by his colleagues, who were leaving the restaurant. He excused himself and left, placing his business card on the table in front of Merise. She’d torn it up before he disappeared along Southbank.

‘Rat!’ she said, almost grinding her teeth.

‘Yeah,’ Erica agreed, rolling her eyes. ‘Didn’t think you’d be too keen on that offer.’

Merise tried to smile and shrug off the encounter, but somehow all the fun had gone out of the day.

She passed a miserable, sleepless night, but by the next morning she knew what she had to do. The approach from that horrible Bedford man had been the last straw. To her, a job offer from Celebrity Watch was tantamount to an insult – it confirmed that she was being categorised as a mindless airhead with nothing to offer but gossip and celebrity connections. She felt humiliated. Well, it was time to redeem her future career in journalism, if it wasn’t already too late.

Of course it would mean she’d never see Cal again. They lived in very different worlds, and they’d be unlikely to run into one another. So he would be out of her life for good. Part of her knew that that would be the best thing: in the world he inhabited, he was like the sun, and she was just one of the many satellites that revolved around him. She knew she’d never really matter to him. At the same time, she already felt a devastating sense of loss, and an awareness that he was the one man she could never replace.

She felt herself trembling as she picked up the phone and rang Bev, but she steeled herself. There was no other way. She had to finish it now.

‘I’m sorry, Bev. I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I want out. I’m withdrawing from the Yarraside campaign. Actually I’m withdrawing from modelling altogether.’

She heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the phone, followed by a pause. Then Bev said, ‘But why, Merise? I don’t understand it. You’ve been a runaway success. You were born to do this. I’ve never known anyone to capture the public imagination so effectively or so quickly. And Yarraside and SMO are thrilled with your work.’

‘It’s nice of you to say that, Bev, but I’ve made up my mind. This isn’t turning out the way I wanted. I seem to be developing an identity as a WAG. I never anticipated that and I don’t want it. I want to be a serious journalist, but no one will ever take me seriously if I’m just known as the Number One Yarraside camp follower, or just another of Cal McCoy’s many squeezes.’

‘Listen, don’t decide anything now, Merise. Give it a few days. Maybe I can even get SMO to bump up your fees.’

‘It’s not that. I’ve been well paid. It’s not about the money any longer.’ That was true. She’d already made enough money from modelling to cover all her uni fees and even to pay her living expenses for the next two years.

‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful, Bev, and I know it’s been a fabulous opportunity, but this is just not what I want to do with my life.’

‘I understand that, but it’s a huge decision. You know, Merise, you only ever get a few chances in life, and this is one of yours. You won’t see it that way because you’re so young. At your age, life seems full of possibilities. But you know, the twenties is a decade of disillusionment, as your dreams shut down on you, one by one. Do you really think I wanted to do this for a living? I can tell you I didn’t. I wanted to be a writer, too, Merise, but it didn’t work out for me. Now I just gather crumbs at the tables of the great.’ Bev sighed, and Merise realised she’d never heard the older woman speak in that way before; she was always so positive and energised.

‘Tell you what,’ said Bev after a pause, ‘I have to go over to Perth for the weekend. Why not think about it while I’m away? If you feel the same way next week, I won’t pressure you; we’ll part friends.’

That seemed reasonable, and Bev had been so good to her. Merise agreed. ‘Okay, though I can tell you now, nothing’s going to change my mind.’

But something did.

She was making notes on media law the following evening when she heard her doorbell ring. She opened it to Cal McCoy. Her mouth just about dropped open, and she stood there for a few seconds, staring up at him.

‘Can we talk for a few minutes?’ he asked. He seemed uncharacteristically agitated, not at all his usual steely cool self.

‘Um . . . yes, of course,’ she squeaked. ‘Do you, ah, want to come in?’ she added, confused.

‘Ideally,’ he said with the shadow of a smile.

‘Oh, sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Please come in. I was just a bit surprised to see you.’

She led him into her living area. The furniture was strictly op-shop acquisitions, but she’d covered the sofa and chairs in lengths of bright cloth and had decorated with piles of cushions, lots of small pots, art prints and scented candles. She’d lined the walls with bookshelves fashioned from rows of bricks topped with old planks.

‘Very resourceful,’ Cal said, nodding at the makeshift book cases. ‘This is a good room. And I know how hard it is to make these micro-units liveable.’

‘Thanks. Did you live in one yourself?’ she asked wryly.

‘No, it’s just that I’m into property.’

‘Oh, yes, I think someone said something about that,’ she said distractedly. ‘Please, sit down. Can I make you a drink? Tea or coffee?’

‘No thanks, I’m fine.’

They sat down at the old round table in the centre of the room. Merise had sandpapered and limed it herself and placed a bowl of dried native flowers in the centre. Cal looked around the room, taking in everything.

‘Are you happy here?’

It was an odd question, but she answered promptly, ‘Yes, I love it. It’s tiny but it’s bright and clean compared to most student digs around here, and it’s close to uni. Wanting to stay here was one of the main reasons for starting the modelling work. I couldn’t have afforded to stay otherwise. The rent’s just soared this year.’

‘And now you’re regretting it – the modelling?’

She looked guardedly at him, but saw only openness in his eyes. Those hot, hazel eyes that seemed to see inside her head. She looked away quickly.

‘Yes. It was a mistake. I should never have got involved in the first place.’

‘You think it’s compromised your chances of making it as a serious journalist?’

‘Yes. Did Bev tell you that?’

‘No, she just said you were pulling out to concentrate on your studies. She’s a diplomat. She wasn’t going to tell me you didn’t want to be associated with a bunch of meathead footballers.’

‘But I didn’t . . .’ she began to protest, but saw that he was smiling. He was teasing her.

‘It wasn’t hard to guess what the problem was, Merise, especially after all that speculation in the papers. But you know, that’s what life is like in the public eye. It’s tough and it’s unpleasant – not just for you, but for your family and friends. People can say or print anything they like about you and there’s very little you can do about it.’

‘But it’s not right! People are entitled to some privacy.’

‘In theory, yeah. But in the real world, or rather the phony world of celebrity, that’s not how it works. If it’s any consolation, I know how you feel. It used to really get to me – photographers following my car, waiting outside my house. And I can’t even smile at a woman without some gossip columnist announcing to the world that we’re engaged or at least having an affair.’

She felt herself blush, but he only smiled easily. ‘If I’d been involved with all the women my name has been linked to, I wouldn’t have been fit to play a single game in the past seven years.’

She smiled too. ‘I suppose it is that ridiculous, and it’s good that you can joke about it. I must admit, I do find it all very upsetting. I’m clearly not cut out for this sort of thing.’

‘No one’s cut out for the rubbish aspect; you just learn how to deal with it, eventually. But you’re seriously good at what you do. I know, because I’ve had massive feedback from our supporters. The fans all ask me about you. They love you. You’ve given our barrackers a new image – young, vibrant, classy. You’re the face of the Yarraside faithful now, and I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘But . . .’

‘Please, just listen to me for a moment. I know how hard it is to handle all this stuff. I almost gave up and went home in my first year at Yarraside.’

‘Really?’ She couldn’t imagine him giving up on anything.

‘Yeah. I’m just a country boy, don’t forget. But I stuck it out, and I gradually learnt to take it in my stride. Now, I know modelling isn’t your passion, as footy was mine, but if you really want a future in media, you won’t get another chance like this. You’re getting exposure, and that means everything. As you said yourself – well-known meatheads get all the good gigs.’

‘Don’t remind me, please. That was so arrogant, so stupid.’

‘Yeah, but it was also partly true. Listen, Merise, I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but I’ve come to ask you to do just one more project for the Wolves.’

She looked at him, and then quickly looked away. There was something unbearable in his intensity. She wanted to reach out, put her arms around his neck and feel his hard cheek against her soft one. She took a deep breath, tried to master herself.

‘What is this project?’

‘The opening game of the season is always a big deal, and this year it has to be bigger than ever. I know this is our year to win the flag. I just know it. I want us to kick it off right. I want to get the momentum up and keep it going all year. The team is fit, fired-up and ready; we just need to get the barrackers a hundred per cent behind us, and that’s where you can help.’

She was watching him carefully, drinking in the ardour in his eyes. They blazed when he talked about his beloved club, about footy. If only she could elicit such a response from him.

‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked quietly.

‘I just want you to be there, at the opening game. SMO wants your face flashed up on the screen when we score, and when we win. It’s the face of hope for our barrackers, and sends out a very positive message. Once we get the season underway, the boys and I will take it from there. And I promise that there won’t be any of those shots at the race or in the changing rooms. It’ll be just you in the crowd.’

‘And you scoring goals?’

He flashed that arrogant grin. ‘Depend on it. What do you say, Merise?’

What could she say? Especially when he said her name in that voice. As if she could refuse him anything! ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’

His face lit up. ‘Thanks, this means a great deal to me.’

She knew it did, because the Wolves meant everything to him.

‘In fact,’ he added, ‘I’ll drive you to the game myself, provided you don’t mind turning up hours early?

‘I’ll have to anyway; it takes Jay forever to fluff and primp and gel me into shape.’

‘Fine. I’ll give you a ring.’ He turned to go, then stopped en route to the door. ‘Look, can I buy you dinner? To seal the deal?’

Merise experienced a sudden rush of happiness. ‘Ah . . .’

‘You liked La Cocina del Diablo, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, very much.’

‘La Cocina it is then. Come on. I’m starving.’



They sat for almost three hours over a dish of paella followed by great slices of tarta helada and several cups of coffee, and talked the whole time. Cal told her all about growing up in the shadow of his famous father and his life as a so-called sports ‘superstar’. Merise told him about the farm back home, about her life at uni and her dreams of being a feature writer specialising in the arts and the environment.

Things had been so easy between them and Merise felt elated. When at eleven-thirty they realised they were the only people left in the restaurant, Cal called for the bill. ‘Better let them close up,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Merise agreed, ‘they probably should have thrown us out an hour ago. They must think a lot of you.’

‘Because I eat like a horse.’

She laughed. ‘Well, yes, I couldn’t help wondering where you put it all. I suppose you need a lot of fuel.’

As they strolled to his car together through the balmy night, she thought how wonderful it would be to always be with him like this. Just the two of them. No cameras, no reporters, no barrackers, no marketing machine. Just her and Cal. The relaxed feeling between them was still there as they drove back to her flat, soft flamenco music playing on the car stereo. She listened to the beautiful music and felt the strength and warmth of Cal beside her, and she felt wildly happy. She knew it couldn’t last because Cal was too focused on footy to get seriously involved with her, but while this quiet, easy intimacy existed between them, she would revel in it. She was struck by the irony of the situation. Just when she had resolved to take a step back, she’d never felt closer to him, and she sensed that he was beginning to like her, too – just not enough.

It was still pleasantly warm when they reached her flat. There was a comfortable silence between them as Cal walked her up the path. When they reached the front door, he turned and gazed down at her with such an intense look that Merise’s heart jumped. She stared back into his eyes. Suddenly they were very close, almost touching. She could feel his breath on her cheek, the heat coming off his body. A second later, he leant down, cupped her cheek in his big hand and kissed her lightly on the lips. She gasped. He drew back, saw a light in her eye that answered the fire in his own, grabbed her and pulled her to him. Then he really kissed her.

His lips, firm and sweet, massaged hers with searing urgency as his hands explored the curves of her back. She felt her body mould to his – the steel cage of his chest, the muscular embrace of his strong arms. She felt herself sink into his kiss, her consciousness focused only on this moment, this thrilling sensation of his body pressed against hers. It was as if she’d left the ground, was floating on the power of his touch . . .

The next second he had broken away and she had to reach out to steady herself against the wall.

‘Sorry,’ he rasped in a husky voice, ‘that was a mistake, a bad mistake. I know you don’t want this. It won’t happen again.’

Disappointment shot through her. No! It was no mistake – it had been a moment of utter delight, a moment she’d been hoping for all her life but never thought she’d experience – the moment when she’d found her true home, in another’s arms. It wasn’t like that first time he’d kissed her; this was tender and passionate all at the same time. Surely this was something more than just body contact? Her heart was still thumping, but she breathed quickly, deeply, fighting to regain her composure. She wanted to tell him not to be sorry, but something in the troubled expression on his face stopped her. He was angry at himself. It was clear that he felt he’d gone too far, that he didn’t want to get involved. And it was clear that however much that single, life-changing kiss had meant to Merise, it meant nothing to him, other than an undisciplined breach, a momentary lapse of focus.

She swallowed hard, tried to speak in a level voice. ‘Yes, it was a mistake.’ Then, more coolly, ‘But no harm done. We’re both adults. We both know what we’re doing and we’ve both got the good sense to know we shouldn’t be doing this.’

He seemed to search her face for second, then said, ‘Right. I guess it’s good night then.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled and scrabbled in her bag for her keys. ‘See you, Cal.’

‘Yeah.’ He walked down the path, turned and watched until she was safely inside, then drove away. Inside the little flat, her back to the door, slow, stinging tears ran down Merise’s face.



As she lay awake yet again, part of a favourite old poem was playing in her head.


Despite the distance, she felt always near.

Ever aware of her, he lived distracted.


‘Ever aware’ – that was how she felt about him – that he was here, in this city, near her. The poem was meant for a woman, but Cal was beautiful to her – a manly beauty that embodied his strength, his power, his passion. And she felt his being pervade this whole city. In her mind, she passed the MCG and imagined him running up the field towards the goals; glimpsed the roof of the Hartley Centre and imagined him beneath it, swimming laps or pumping weights; walked up Johnson Street and thought of him by candlelight at La Cocina del Diablo; strolled along Southbank and remembered that night when he saved her from Murdoch. Melbourne was his city. She could never escape from him while she was here, and yet this was where she had to be, for another year at least. How would she ever bear it?