The one morning he could sleep in, his bloody phone started buzzing.
Clay groaned, his irritation giving way to a jolt of worry. He stretched out on the hotel bed and grabbed at his phone, squinting at the screen as he sat up and leaned against the wall.
Relief flooded him, but his heart sank as he read the text messages that had come in one after the other with more urgency, irritation returning full strength. “Strewth,” he muttered. What time was it in Norway? He attempted the mental math before grumbling, “To hell with it.”
Besides, what did it matter? Pete needed more money no matter what time it was. He threw off the covers, shivering in the air con and scratching his bare arse as he made his way to the coffee maker and put in a pod. Tapping the microphone on his phone he spoke a message into WhatsApp. “Hold your horses. Got to talk to your mum first.”
Of course it came out: All the horses go talk to Emma first.
He erased the gibberish and typed out the proper message. Almost instantly came the reply that Pete had already cleared it with his mother. “Uh-huh,” Clay muttered. “She never says no to you.”
He’d much rather not call his ex-missus until he had at least a coffee in him, if not brekkie, but he went for a piss and then opened his contacts and hit the number. It rang a few times before Barry answered, and Clay put on his most affable voice, as if he was greeting tour guests.
“G’day, Baz. It’s Clay here. Is Barb around?”
“Hello. Yes, she’s in the garden. The lilies are really stealing the show. Although I must say the Dianthus—”
“Too right, I’m sure it all looks a ripper.” Once the Latin words came out, Barry tended to go on and on. “Can I just have a word with Barb? It’s about Pete.” Not that he needed an excuse to speak to his ex-wife, but it tended to speed up the process. She and her new husband lived in Christchurch, New Zealand. Apparently the gardening was far superior than in their dusty outback hometown, and flowers had become Barb’s new obsession.
When she came on, she said, “Little bugger keeps running out of money.”
“That he does. How much more are we gonna send before we say enough is enough?”
She sighed. “He promises he’s got a job lined up at one of the ski resorts next week.”
“All right, transfer a few more hundred. But we’ve got to put our foot down. This is meant to be a working holiday, not just partying. He’s twenty-four now. At his age—”
“Don’t remind me. We had two kids and a mortgage. Look how that turned out.”
It was nonsense to feel a stab of hurt, and Clay put on a smile even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, well, we didn’t have too bad a time of it.”
“’Course not. Just teasing. Where are you today? Sam said you’re up the coast again? She actually answered when I rang yesterday. It was a bloody miracle.”
Clay winced. Sam had been furious with her mother when Barb had left with Barry. She was a daddy’s girl and had been fiercely protective of him. Hadn’t spoken to her mum for months until Clay had put his foot down. It could still be prickly between Sam and Barb, but their relationship had slowly thawed, thank goodness.
Still, the urge to defend Sam rose up. “You know her days are chockers with summer classes and work at the pub. Not to mention Jase.”
Barb sighed. “Yes, I know. I’m not criticizing. Much. Oh, did she tell you she scored well on that exam?”
“She did. It’s brilliant.” At least one of their kids had a head for uni. Pete had barely graduated with his QCE before doing a runner and bumming around Thailand and Vietnam as soon as he was eighteen. “And I’m in Cairns. Went to Port Douglas yesterday morning with the Sydney group. Back up there this arvo with the new bunch. We head back down the coast in a couple days.”
“No rest for the wicked. Anyway, I’ll send the bugger the money so he leaves us in peace.”
“Ta. Happy gardening.”
“Bye for now, Mr. Kelly.”
Even though Barb was Mrs. Wallingford now, she still always said goodbye with her traditional farewell. It was strangely comforting, even if it made Clay fidgety at the same time. But he was proud of how amicable the split had been. That was the word the lawyer had used over and over: amicable.
Clay needed to shower and trim his beard, but he pulled on shorts and a tank top and headed down the sleepy street to Macca’s for a hash brown and a sausage McMuffin. Sam would lecture him on healthy eating and try to push some vegan thing with nuts and seeds and tofu on him if he was home with her, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt.
With a patch of grease seeping through his paper bag as he returned to the hotel, he sidestepped a gaggle of tourists staring up in wonder at the flying foxes that lived in the massive fig tree on the library grounds.
“Good lord, they’re bats!” a fellow exclaimed in a very proper English accent, his children yelping in response.
Even though the bats were meant to be sleeping in the day, they still managed to make a hell of a row, drawing constant attention. Clay glanced up at the black shapes hanging from dense branches. They were a sight to see when they took flight at dusk to go foraging. Beautiful in a strange way, even with the shrieking racket they made.
The ringer on his phone was still off, but the buzzing started in again just as he got back to his room. First was a text from Pete:
Thanks heaps, Dad.
Clay wanted to tell him to pull his socks up and stop getting pissed every night and drinking away his money, and to take something seriously for once like his sister, but Pete knew it all anyway. Instead Clay responded:
Get a job, mate. Soon. Love ya.
Then Clay tapped on Sam’s name, her wide smiling face in the little picture making him smile. She had her mother’s soft golden curls instead of Clay’s wiry, brownish-red mop that he kept trimmed short. He’d always been softer on Sam than her brother, it was true. But she’d always been a good girl, and Pete had never listened to a word. Not that Clay didn’t love Pete just as much. ’Course he did. It was that Pete had him exasperated more often than not.
But this morning, Sam was bucking the trend, and Clay groaned as he eyed the pictures she’d sent. One after the other, seven smiling women filled the screen. They were either in their thirties, or forties like him, all surely very nice, but… A brunette was posed at the beach with a retriever at her feet. Sam wrote:
This one has a dog! Open your app and send her a message. I added them all to your faves list. You’re too young and hot to still be single. Jase agrees, for the record. His parents are ancient.
Clay laughed, shaking his head. He was glad to know his daughter’s boyfriend approved of his hotness. Why he’d ever agreed to set up the profile on OzLove.com, he’d never know. Actually, he knew exactly why—Sam had given him an ear-bashing about it so many times he finally gave in so he could enjoy the cricket in peace and quiet.
He’d promised to do it the next day, but she’d insisted on opening the account right then and there on her laptop before making him install the app on his phone. She’d chosen his profile pic and lectured him on the importance of making the right first impression so he had the chance to make a second.
Clay had protested that he was a bit slimmer in the shirtless picture—which Sam had taken a few years earlier on their trip to Bali before she started uni. It had turned out to be the last family vacation they’d all taken together before things with Barb had gone pear-shaped. Well, not so much pear-shaped as it’d just…ended.
He caught his reflection in the long mirror by the closet as he went to toss the food receipt in the bin. He was still fit even if he was a little softer around the middle than in his prime. He swam most nights on the tour before bed, or lifted weights in the hotel gyms. Too many freckles on his arms and shoulders, but he was tall and strong. Barb had always said he was a catch. Although she hadn’t stuck around, so maybe he shouldn’t take her word for it.
As if it would make up for the fast food, he dropped to the carpet and did twenty pushups, laughing at himself when he finished. Sam was right—he was still young. Only forty-four, although with two grown kids sometimes he felt older than perhaps he should have. But in the outback it hadn’t been out of the ordinary at all to get hitched and start a family straight out of school. Now he definitely felt like the odd one out on the dating apps.
He shuddered to think of the painfully awkward speed dating event he’d reluctantly attended a few months before. He didn’t seem to have anything in common with single women in Sydney. They were perfectly pleasant, but it felt so forced. Maybe he needed to move back to a small town to find another wife. Go back to basics.
Clay snorted to himself now as he turned off the phone and unwrapped his breakfast before it got any colder. At least he was happy with his own company, and with Sam’s, and their dog Gilly’s. Romance and sex had never been all they were cracked up to be from where he was sitting.
Perhaps there was a yearning for more that he couldn’t quite explain. It should have made him eager to date and find the right woman, but scrolling through the smiling photos only left him feeling empty.
He turned on the telly and looked for the sports or news, grimacing at the crap picture. It never ceased to amaze him that the fancier hotels on the tour didn’t have digital cable while the motel-style ones did. Sitting on the bed, he ate and sipped his coffee, which wasn’t as strong as he would’ve liked, but it did the job.
The greasy brekkie hit the spot, even though he knew he shouldn’t have it because of cholesterol and saturated fat and lots of other nasty stuff that Sam lectured him on. She was smart as a whip and knew what she was on about, but sometimes a man just needed Macca’s. Not to mention a holiday, but he’d have another ten nights going back down the coast to Sydney with the tour before he had a real break.
He’d already cleaned the coach, so he had a couple more hours to himself before he met Shiv, the tour guide, downstairs to greet the new lot. It would be a long day with the welcome dinner out at the aboriginal center, but they’d be in Cairns two more nights, so at least he’d been able to unpack a bit. Not that he had much gear with him. Still, he could settle in more than at the one-night stops.
Clay finished watching the international cricket report and had a shower. He trimmed his beard and was just settling back down for more morning telly when there was a knock. He slung a towel around his hips and opened the door to find Shiv there, all shaved and looking smart in a white linen shirt that complemented his dark skin. His short black hair was slicked back neatly.
Shiv grinned. “’Morning! Did you see India lost the test?”
“Yep. Kiwis flogged them.”
“It was glorious. My auntie in Pakistan is gloating all over Facebook.”
Clay chuckled. Cricket rivalries brought out the competitive streaks in everyone. “As long as we can beat India in a few weeks.”
“Mate, we’d better. I don’t even want to think about losing.”
“Me either.” Clay raised an eyebrow. “Did you just come to talk about cricket, or can I get dressed?”
Shiv laughed, and there was something in his tone that put Clay on guard. “Sorry, mate. Just have a tiny favor to ask.”
Clay ushered him inside as he heard people coming down the hall. He crossed his arms. “All right, spit it out.”
“Remember Jane and Sharon? From the trip up here?”
“Two Irish sheilas. Nice girls.”
“Very nice. In fact, we have a lunch date with them.”
Groaning, Clay shook his head. “I sure as hell do not. They’re too young for me.”
Shiv scoffed. “They’re my age. You’re only ten years older. You need to live a little. I know you got married practically out of the womb, but you’re still young and now you’re single. Sow some wild oats!”
Clay snorted. “Are you about to tell me how hot I am?”
Shiv gave him a contemplative look. “Will it help convince you to come to lunch? Because you’re smokin’ hot, mate.”
“Ta,” Clay replied drily.
“Come on! Jane’s into me, and if we can just have a nice little meal with them, I know I can lock her down for later tonight. Besides, aren’t you in need of some relaxation? We’re two single blokes, and you’ve got that outback man of mystery thing going on.”
“I do?” It was Clay’s turn to scoff.
“Totally! You’re a throwback with all your old-fashioned slang and square jaw. A man’s man. Chicks dig it. Trust me.” He dropped the cajoling tone. “Honestly, I really need this. Lori’s swanning about Italy with that Tuscan arsehole, and…” He trailed off and sighed miserably.
Shiv’s wife had been doing coach tours in Italy for the same company they worked for, and had sent Shiv a text message several months earlier, leaving him after ten years of marriage without even a phone call. It had hit him hard.
Shiv added, “Did I show you the picture of them in Amalfi? I mean, does that bogan ever wear a shirt?”
“You really need to stay off Facebook. Or at least stop stalking Lori’s account.” Hell, he hated seeing Shiv so beat down. At least if he was trying to pick up another woman, maybe he’d stop moping about Lori. “We have to be ready by just after one to make sure we’re there for the early birds.”
Face lighting up, Shiv nodded. “Absolutely. It’s the perfect arrangement. Short little lunch with a deadline. Nice and casual, and you and her friend will be there for buffers. Hey, Sharon’s not bad looking either. Maybe we’ll both get lucky. You’ve been single too long.”
“All right, all right, you sound like my daughter. Let me know where and when and leave me in peace unless you want to see me without the towel.”
“Nah, nah, I’m good.” Grinning, Shiv backed out of the room. “In the hotel restaurant at noon. Thanks, mate. You’re a star.”
“A sucker’s more like it,” Clay muttered to himself. He flopped back on the bed.
It wasn’t that he had anything against Jane and Sharon, who’d been lovely tour guests. And sure, they were attractive and younger than the usual seniors. Not a thing wrong with them. But Christ almighty did he hate small talk.
It wasn’t as though he was lonely or some rubbish.
The split with Barb had been two years ago now, and maybe it was strange that he hadn’t been chomping at the bit to date around and sow some belated wild oats. He and Barb had had a fine time in the bedroom over the years. Perfectly fine. He’d never been sex-mad the way his mates had been when they were younger. He enjoyed a kiss and a cuddle and a bit between the sheets, but could live without it.
He was tired of stressing about his lacking love life. Or, more to the point, he was tired of other people stressing about it for him. Maybe the right woman would come along, but he wasn’t going to knock himself out trying to find her.
He’d found a second career he enjoyed driving coaches, and when he was in Sydney he got to see lots of Sam and their dog. Give him cricket or footie on the telly, and an ice-cold stubby of beer, and he wasn’t missing a thing.
