Page 20 of Blindsided By You

“We talk every week, you know.”

“Every week?”

I want to slap myself. Why is it only lame repetition of her words seems to be the only thing I’m capable of in Jenna’s presence?

Up until a week ago, I had no idea Rachel and Jenna were still friends. Seems they’re very good friends. Then again, Rachel and I have been strangers to each other for years. And the distance between us? That’s on me.

When I first moved overseas, Rachel texted often. My frequent lack of response—not out of malice, just my usual half-arsed approach to life—made them dwindle to almost none. A ‘Happy birthday’ here. A ‘Well done’ there, as she climbed higher up a ladder I’ll never even reach the bottom rung of.

Not wanting to look the arsehole brother I am in Jenna’s eyes, I smile, making a noise that suggests I know they keep in touch.

“Yeah, I told her we caught up at the party. Hey, I know. I’ll send her a picture.” Jenna rummages in the bag at her feet and pulls out her phone. “She’ll think this is funny.”

I doubt funny is the word Rachel will use. I can’t imagine her being thrilled at her kid brother hanging out with her friend. Andif she knew where my intentions lay, well, that could get ugly. But Jenna knows my sister better than I do, so I go with it.

She leans in, wrapping an arm around me, and raises her phone. Even sitting chastely next to her, the smell of Jenna Sharpe is delicious—like the inviting, yeasty pull of fresh bread from a Subway store. Up close like this, the need to have her, to taste her, is overwhelming and I’m drawn into that warmth.

With a start, I straighten. Christ. I need to kick these eating metaphors to touch. They’re leading in averydangerous direction. I need to stop before the lustful images in my mind spill onto my face for all the world to see. Well, for my sister anyway, and that would be almost as bad.

I crack a goofy grin. I can’t help it. The crazy whirl of emotions twisting my face makes me look like a right dick in the picture. Part nerves at Rachel seeing this, part triumph at my arm around Jenna’s shoulder.

The photo vanishes through the ether on Snapchat. Pretty sure that’s the one that disappears after a time. A shame. If things go south, I won’t even have a souvenir to prove this moment happened. Or to cry over later.

“So, Geordie MacDonald,” she says, grinning. “Who’d have guessed we’d find ourselves all grown up and back in Cluanie? Tell me, what have you been up to? I don’t want to hurt your ego, but you haven’t exactly been part of the conversation between Rachel and me.”

I gather my thoughts. An opportunity here if I can string together a coherent answer. Maybe I can prove Jenna hasn’t been saddled with a complete idiot for the next half-day on this bus. I’m keento impress, but I’ll take care not to overdo it. Jenna isn’t drawn to blowhards. I saw the disdainful looks she threw Kyle’s way.

“Rachel doesn’t know the half of it anyway,” I laugh. “Didn’t want to worry her. Or Mum.”

“Well, now you absolutely have to tell me. Come on Geordie. What trouble did you get yourself into? Thrown in jail maybe?

I look her in the eye, saying nothing, while trying to keep my face neutral, but I can’t help my mouth twitching in amusement. She’s guessed right.

“What the hell, Geordie? Jail? Really?”

“In Brunei.”

“My god, no wonder you didn’t tell your family.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. It was only for a couple of hours.”

I’m smiling as I tell the story, but at the time I was shit scared of ending up another foreigner languishing in an Asian jail for something he didn’t do.

“I’d parked my rental car—legally—at the junction of a T-intersection. This local woman came right through the stop sign. Ploughed into my car. I arrived back there at the same time as the police. Well, she said the accident wasmyfault—if I hadn’t parked the car there, she wouldn’t have hit it. So they tookmeaway for questioning. It all got sorted out. Luckily.”

“Could have done with your lawyer sister there, perhaps?”

“Hell no. If Rachel had been there, I’d probably still be in jail. Her too, for abusing the police.”

“Probably,” she grins. We both know my sister is hot-headed. “So jail, huh? What else? Near-death experiences?”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean ‘not quite’?” She gazesat me expectantly.

“OK, well, I did come a little bit too close for comfort to a crocodile last year.” Her eyes widen. “We were on shore leave in Darwin, and a few of the lads suggested we go for a round of golf. Pretty tame stuff you’d think, except in bloody Australia. We were having a nice round, just coming up to the eighth hole and there’s a greenkeeper waving his arms at us, and we’re like “What the fuck’s his problem? We paid our green fees” and keep walking towards the hole. Anyway, then he begins yelling at us, but we keep walking, thinking he’s just some crazy Aussie. Until he starts pointing at the little lake to one side. Well, there’s a croc lazing on the fairway, happily sunning himself. One of the guys had hired a golf cart, and we’d been giving him a hard time, telling him he’s a posh dickhead. We were sure glad of it then. So we all leapt in the cart, a couple of us dangling off the sides, and powered our way out of there. Didn’t stop to worry about the greenkeeper. Guess he got out alive.”

I go on to share more, a potted version of the last ten years. I’ve visited some remote places, met a wide slice of humanity, and built up a decent bank of entertaining stories from my time ashore in between the monotony of life on an offshore oil rig. Enough to hold Jenna’s attention, often provoking her pretty smile and occasionally bubbling laughter.

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