From Paradise...to Pregnant!. Kandy Shepherd

were at Northside High.’

      ‘Because we occupy different space on the planet,’ she repeated, determined to make her point. ‘I went to another school after Northside, but I was still in Sydney. Away from school I hung out in the same clubs and went to the same concerts as other kids our age. But our paths never crossed again.’

      ‘Until now,’ he said.

      ‘Yes. It took an earthquake to shake us back into the same space.’

      He laughed, and she had to smile in response.

      ‘You’ve still got a quirky way of putting things. Seriously, Zoe, I want to know all about you,’ he said.

      His words were flattering, seductive. Not seductive in a sexual way, but in a way that tempted her to open up and confide in him because he sounded as though her answer was important to him. That she was important to him. Even aged seventeen he’d had that gift of being totally focussed on the person he was addressing.

      She realised it was highly unlikely she’d see Mitch again after today. He would go home to Madrid; she would fly back to Sydney. There was also a chance that a bigger earthquake might hit and the whole resort area would be wiped out. It was unnerving in one way—liberating in another.

      ‘How about we get that beer and then we can talk?’ she said.

      ‘About you?’

      ‘And you too,’ she said, finding it impossible not to feel flattered. ‘I’d like to hear about your life behind those media reports.’

      ‘If that’s what you want.’

      ‘I’m warning you: my life story will be quite mundane compared to yours.’

      ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ he said.

      ‘There are beers in the mini-bar,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on an alcohol-free detox since I’ve been in Bali and sticking with mineral water. Not that I drink a lot,’ she hastened to add.

      ‘I think getting out of an earthquake unscathed is reason enough to break your fast,’ he said, heading towards the fridge.

      He brought out two bottles of the local Indonesian beer, took off the caps and handed one to her.

      ‘Let’s take them out near the pool,’ she said, picking up one of the remaining glasses to take with her. The ceiling fans were circulating air around the rooms, but the air-conditioning didn’t appear to be back on yet. Besides, it felt too intimate to be alone in here with Mitch, and the king-sized bed was too clearly in view.

      It was only a few steps out to the rectangular lap pool, which was edged on three sides with plantings of broad-leaved tropical greenery. Two smart, comfortable wooden sun loungers with blue-striped mattresses sat side by side in the shade of a frangipani tree. A myriad of pink flowers had been shaken off the tree by the quake onto the loungers and into the water. The petals floated on the turquoise surface of the pool in picture-perfect contrast.

      In different circumstances Zoe would have taken a photo of how pretty they looked. Instead she placed the beer bottle and the glass on the small wooden table between the two loungers. She flicked off the flowers that had settled on one lounger before she sat down, her back supported, her legs stretched out in front of her. Thank heaven for all that waxing, moisturising and toenail-painting that had gone on in the spa yesterday.

      She felt very conscious of Mitch settling into the lounger on her right. His legs were lean, with tightly defined muscles, his classic six-pack belly hard and flat. Even she knew soccer players trained for strength, speed and agility rather than for bulky muscle. Come to think of it, she might know that from hearing him being interviewed on the subject at some stage...

      These villas were often booked by honeymooners, she knew. The loungers were set as close as they could be, with only that narrow little table separating them. Loved-up couples could easily touch in complete privacy.

      She had never touched Mitch, she realised. Not a hug. Not even a handshake. Certainly not a kiss. Not even a chaste, platonic kiss on the cheek. It just hadn’t been appropriate back then. Now she had to resist the urge to reach out and put her hand on his arm. Not in a sexual way, or even a friendly way. Just to reassure herself that he was real, he was here, that they were both alive.

       She and Mitch Bailey.

      He swigged his beer straight from the bottle. The way he tilted back his head, the arch of his neck, made the simple act of drinking a beer look as if he was doing it for one of those advertisements he starred in.

      He was graceful. That was what it was. Graceful in a strong, sleek, utterly masculine way. She didn’t remember that from the last time she’d seen him. Off the football field he’d been more gauche than graceful. At seventeen he hadn’t quite grown into his long limbs and big feet. Since then he’d trained with the best sports trainers in the world.

      Yes, he inhabited not just a different space but a different planet from her. But for this time—maybe an hour, maybe a few hours—their planets had found themselves in the same orbit.

      Mitch put down his beer. ‘So, where did you go when you left our school?’ he asked. ‘You just seemed to disappear.’

      Zoe felt a stab of pain that he didn’t seem to remember their last meeting. But if he wasn’t going to mention it she certainly wasn’t. Even now dragging it out of the recesses where her hurts were hidden was painful.

      She poured beer into her glass. Took a tentative sip. Cold. Refreshing. Maybe it would give her the Dutch courage she so sorely needed to mine her uncomfortable memories of the past. She considered herself to be a private person. She didn’t spill her soul easily.

      ‘I won a scholarship to a private girls’ boarding school in the eastern suburbs. I started there for the next term.’

      ‘You always were a brainiac,’ he said, with what seemed to be genuine admiration.

      Zoe didn’t deny it. She’d excelled academically and had been proud of her top grades—not only in maths and science but also in languages and music. But if there’d been such a thing as a social report card for her short time at Northside she would have scored a big, fat fail. She’d had good friends at her old inner city school, an hour’s train ride away, but her grandmother had thwarted her efforts to see them. The only person who had come anywhere near to being a friend at Northside had been Mitch.

      ‘I had to get away from my grandmother. Getting the scholarship was the only way I could do it.’

      ‘How did she react?’

      ‘Furious I’d gone behind her back. But glad to get rid of me.’

      Mitch frowned. ‘You talk as though she hated you?’

      ‘She did.’ It was a truth she didn’t like to drag out into the sunlight too often.

      ‘Surely not? She was your grandma.’

      Mitch came from a big, loving family. No wonder he found it difficult to comprehend the aridity of her relationship with her grandmother.

      ‘She blamed me for the death of my father.’

      Mitch was obviously too shocked to speak for a long moment. ‘But you weren’t driving the car. Or the truck that smashed into it.’

       He remembered.

      She was stunned that Mitch recalled her telling him about the accident that had killed her parents and injured her leg so badly she still walked with a slight limp when she was very tired or stressed. They’d been heading north to a music festival in Queensland; just her and the mother and father she’d adored. A truck-driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and veered onto their side of a notoriously bad stretch of the Pacific Highway.

      ‘No. I was in the back seat. I...I’m surprised you remember.’

      He slowly shook his head. ‘How could I forget? It seemed the most terrible