Excerpt: Seascapes

Going to the pub was a lot like fishing. Heather surveyed The Pier over her wine glass, her eyes sharp for prey. As it was summer, there were always newbies; tourists that didn’t know to stay away from the lure. Heather had her bait. Bryony was beside her, a curvy blonde with a dimpled smile and long, fluttering eyelashes. Prey loved a good bite like Bree. And she reeled them in, like clockwork, every Friday. Once she’d caught a few, then came Heather’s favourite part. She gutted them.
Her eyes met Bree’s, and the two exchanged grins. ‘See anything good?’ Bree asked.
Heather shrugged without looking at the crowd. ‘Not yet.’ She placed her wine on the counter and ran her fingers along the stem. ‘Simon called today.’
Bree took a swig of her beer. ‘Oh? How’s your dad?’
‘Worse.’ Heather pursed her lips. ‘Is it bad that I don’t care?’
Anyone else might have been horrified. But Bree smiled and grasped her arm. ‘After what he put you through, I don’t blame you.’
‘But he’s my father.’
Bree laughed and nudged her playfully. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me.’ Heather returned her smile.
Bree swept her hair back and took another swig of her beer, catching the attention of most males in the room. The wide screen television churned out the latest video clips, but the music was lost beneath the babble of the room. The Pier Hotel was literally the only place to be on a Friday night in the small coastal town of Esperance. The place had a pub, TAB, restaurant, cocktail bar and nightclub under the same roof. It was clean and friendly, and restrictive of alcohol limits. At only twenty-six, Heather was too young to remember a time when nightlife was dank and smoky. She much preferred her drinking ground to be cigarette-free and bright enough to check if there was a chip in her nail polish.
She settled back in her stool, crossing one leg over the other and allowing her skirt to ride up her thigh, just a bit. The house wine was bland in her mouth, but it wouldn’t be long before a hopeful would be buying her a new, better drink.
She caught the gaze of an attractive man by the ATM in the TAB bar. He was watching her, barely aware of the nice pile of money he was shovelling in his wallet. Heather’s heart thrilled in pleasant surprise. It was rare for her to catch one without Bree. Not that she didn’t have her qualities. Her sleek hazel hair was done up in its usual roll, reminiscent of a sixties style. And her cheekbones were high, allowing for a round, narrow chin. But her drawbacks were in her sharp features – the length of her face, the bump in her nose, and the sharpness of her brow. She could put on a severe expression without trying hard.
Well aware of her ability to scare away the catch, Heather relaxed her face and flashed a smile. The man smiled back, and Heather averted her gaze. It was a game now. Playing with the line, until the prey came to her.
Bree was nursing her beer, chatting to one of the waitresses. She didn’t need to play games. Men would approach without even catching her eye first. Heather found it annoying that they always interrupted a good conversation.
She turned back to the potential, and was surprised to see he was already heading over to her. That hadn’t taken long. He weaved across the small room and stopped right in front of her. ‘Have we met?’
The old favourite. Of course, if he was a tourist, there was zero chance that they’d met. But Heather kept the smile on her face and sipped her wine. ‘Possibly,’ she said.
‘I’ve definitely seen you before,’ the man said. ‘Where do you work?’ Heather didn’t answer as he continued to study her. He seemed genuinely puzzled.
He was very pleasing to look at, with his dark hair matted to his forehead, against his ocean-blue eyes. Plus, he had a nice leather jacket to reinforce the money he’d just slipped into his wallet. He seemed young though, younger than her. Heather didn’t date younger guys on principle. She took another sip of wine, already bored. It didn’t matter how gorgeous they were – they were all the same. Men. Just men.
Her beliefs were soon justified when the man’s attention found her companion, and stayed there. Bree had turned at his voice, and was watching with interest. The man immediately offered his hand to her. ‘I’m Dean.’
‘Bryony,’ Bree said with her dimpled smile, shaking his hand.
Out of politeness, Dean introduced himself to Heather, though his eyes continued to flick back to Bree. Heather sighed into her wine. She hoped he had enough manners to buy them both drinks.
But before Dean immersed himself with the bait, he turned to another man and brought him forward, to Heather. ‘This is Jack.’
Heather wasn’t surprised that Dean had a decoy – someone to keep any extras busy while he hit on a pretty girl – but she hadn’t even seen the second man until now.
And no wonder. He was wholly and completely unremarkable. His hair was brown; not too short, not too long. His eyes were brown; not too light, not too dark. His jaw wasn’t strong, his features weren’t chiselled, and his nose was straight and small and boring. He didn’t have a nice leather jacket like Dean – he was just wearing a normal collared polo shirt. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but so were many of the men in Esperance, as a number were farmers. Heather didn’t have time for farmers.
The only thing about his appearance that stood out in any way was a small scar down the left side of his upper lip, but that detracted from his looks, rather than added, because it made his smile a little uneven.
Dean was already engrossed in a conversation with Bree, and was trying to get a waitress’s attention. Heather finished her wine and resisted the temptation to slam her glass on the counter.
Dull Farmer Jack gave her a smile, but he looked like he didn’t want to be there either. He seemed almost a decade older than Dean – he’d most likely been dragged out to The Pier against his will. Probably, he wanted to just sit at home with his boring sheepdog and read a boring newspaper. If farmers even read the newspaper.
Heather wanted to have her fun – she wanted to wave him off with a cheerful goodbye – but Bree was still occupied, and they always rejected the hopefuls together.
Heather was going to have to make small talk. Suppressing a grimace, she turned to Dull Farmer Jack. ‘So how do you and Dean know each other?’
She was already over the conversation.
Jack glanced over at his companion, who was laughing at something Bree had said. ‘We work together.’
He spoke in a deep, slow Australian drawl that had Heather shuddering. It made her think of dry, dusty country life. He probably herded cattle or something.
Silence. Heather fidgeted with her skirt. Jack stared past her at the slushy daiquiri machines, whirling round and round.
Heather sighed and swivelled round towards the bar. ‘I’m getting another drink.’
Immediately, Jack stepped forward, taking a spot at the bar beside her. ‘I’ll get it for you. What would you like?’
At least dull was chivalrous.
‘What I’d really like is a martini, but I’ll settle for a wine.’
‘I can get you a martini,’ Jack offered. Visitors to Esperance knew nothing.
‘You can’t get drinks with more than one shot at this place,’ Heather said.
Jack grinned his uneven grin. ‘You just have to know who to ask.’
Heather’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Or who to sleep with,’ she muttered beneath her breath.
But Jack hailed the owner of The Pier – a man – and asked for the desired cocktail. Heather gaped as the owner nodded and left to mix it up. ‘I’ve been trying to get a martini here for years.’
Jack shrugged, but didn’t reply. Another silence. The music on the television changed, pumping out a dance track that had few lyrics and a lot of bass. It was a tell-tale sign that the after-work drinks were over, and the heavy stuff was about to start.
Heather drummed her fingers on the counter and peeked at Bree, who was still talking. Obviously, she was having a worthwhile discussion. It didn’t happen often, so Heather was patient when it did. She just hoped Bree realised that people didn’t meet true love in bars.
‘So what do you do?’
Heather turned back to Jack, having already forgotten about him. He was holding a beer, though Heather didn’t remember when he’d received it. There was a sigh in his voice – he must’ve hated small talk just as much as she did. Heather was pleased that she had a chance to implement her lecture.
‘It’s a Friday night,’ she said, putting as much disdain into her answer as she could muster. ‘People come to the pub to get away from the thought of work.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Beg your pardon,’ he said, turning away and resting his elbows on the counter. ‘Unbelievable,’ she heard him say into the rim of his drink.
Heather leaned forward. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing,’ he muttered.
She was wearing her heels – one swift kick would get him right in the knee.
The owner returned with her martini, placing it before her and pressing a finger to his lips. Heather thanked him with a grateful smile and relished the bitter tang of her first taste. He’d even added an olive.
Jack didn’t face her as he spoke again. ‘So if you don’t want to discuss work, what can we talk about?’
‘Who says we need to talk?’
Jack gestured past her, to Bree and Dean. The two were clinking new bottles of beer. Heather pulled her lips together in a tight line. She was patient, but not that patient.
‘You want to talk?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you kindly explain to me what you men hope to accomplish when you pick up women at a bar? It certainly isn’t the pleasure of small talk that brings you here. My best friend and I just wanted to come out for a drink after work – we don’t want to be constantly bothered by men hoping for a quick lay.’
Jack seemed unmoved by her rant. His eyes flickered past her again. ‘Your best friend doesn’t appear to be all that upset by the distraction.’
Heather turned. Dean had his mobile out, typing into his phone while Bree recited a number. Heather smirked. ‘She’s finally getting rid of him.’
‘Giving him her number doesn’t seem like she’s getting rid of him.’
‘It’s not her number,’ Heather said. ‘It’s the reject line.’
She turned back to Jack, unable to restrain her triumphant snicker. His brow creased. ‘The what?’
‘The reject line,’ Heather said. ‘You give it to guys, they call the number, and they get a recorded message telling them they’ve been rejected.’
Jack’s frown deepened. ‘Charming,’ he drawled.
‘It’s the easiest way to get rid of you men.’
Jack gave a bitter laugh and picked up his drink. ‘There’s an easier way.’
He left abruptly, almost pushing through the crowd to get away from her. Heather wiggled her fingers after him. ‘Bye bye now. Enjoy the rest of your stay.’ She toasted her martini to his retreating back and picked up the toothpick, running her tongue against the olive. ‘You big, dumb, boring farmer.’