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"I know. Relax, mate. Everything is under control. I got this."
"I hate surprises."
"What a shocker."
I glance over at Wilby reversing out of the parking lot. Is he smirking, or is that his usual resting Aussie face?
"You want tunes?" he asks, once we get on the road.
"I don't mind."
He flicks the car radio on. A song that sounds like an old-school rock anthem, sung in a very throaty Aussie accent, comes on, and Wilby starts singing along. Not too loudly, which is an improvement from last night, but still very,verybadly. The poor guy really has a terrible singing voice. Why has no one told him?
The blue waters of Bondi Beach fade into the background in the rearview mirror. Every time I see the photos Wilby took of me, I'll remember our little underwater adventure. I'm just hoping there weren't any drones buzzing about that I was too preoccupied to notice. Not super keen on the idea of the footage leaking and going viral.
"Can you at least give me a clue as to where we're going?"
He stops singing and turns the volume down. "Wings."
"Ooh, like chicken wings. Do you have chicken wings in Australia?"
"Nah. Our chooks are wingless down here."
"Really?"
He bursts out laughing. "No, Jesus."
I wince. "Can I blame that on delayed jet lag?"
Wilby flashes a smile. "Sure you're not coming off the adrenaline high ofalmostbeating me in the water?"
"What are you talking about? I did beat you. I came first."
"Nuh-uh. I've consulted with the judges. Apparently it was a photo finish. Our sprog hit the ocean at the same time."
"Sprog?"
"Yeah, you know. Our little fellas."
"What a gross word."
"Seepage is a grosser word. Anyway, stop deflecting. The judges say it was too close to call."
"So, a tie, then?"
"I s'pose so." He glances over at me and lifts his chin. "Got time for a rematch?"
"No. My flight leaves in less than three hours."
"I'm aware. You've mentioned itseveraltimes."
After we left my hotel, and before we got to Bondi, we stopped by Wilby's hotel. He's leaving Sydney today, too, so he grabbed his gear, checked out, and we took his rental car to the beach. I may have been hurrying him along, mentioning I had a flight to catch a time or two…or several.
In my defense, it's flight day. Normally, I'd be way more unbearable to be around. I increased my meds, so he's getting off lightly. If anything, he should be thanking me.
"What time is your flight?" I ask.
"In, er, less than three hours."
