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Rielle’s weight was negligible. If it wasn’t for her arms holding him, Jake might not have been conscious of her at all. As it was, he was terrified of her getting hurt. It wasn’t as though he was going to drop Bonne or let anyone run into them. And he doubted it was the first time she’d been on the back of a bike. She knew how to move with him, leaning into the corners. But she was barely dressed, and now he’d accepted her as a passenger, she was his responsibility. She should’ve been with her band mates and her brother or a security goon, but she was flying with him on the back of Bonne, her hands flattened over his ribs, trusting him totally.
If he smiled any harder he’d be picking bugs out of his teeth for weeks.
The traffic was light, and the air was warm. With twilight held off by daylight savings, it was a perfect night for a ride. Jake headed out towards Henley Beach, but Rielle didn’t want to stop amongst the restaurants or the families fishing from the pier. He drove through West Beach and on to Glenelg and again she wasn’t keen to stop. At Brighton Beach, he pulled over under a stand of massive Norfolk Pines and killed the engine.
“Thank you,” she breathed in his ear, no longer holding on to him, and with the helmet in one hand. She climbed off, finger combed her hair. “They suit you.”
It took him a few seconds to work out she was talking about the sunglasses. “Ah.” He took them off, holding them out to her. “Thanks. Saved me from bug blindness.”
He went to wipe the lenses on his shirt, but she said, “Hang on to them. Is it okay if I go for a walk?”
“Sure.” The beach was deserted, but he was damn sure he wasn’t supposed to let her wander off alone. “Want some company?”
“No. If that’s all right, I’d like to be alone for a while.”
He nodded. “No problem.” It was her life. Hijacking him in the first place was out of the rule book. And Rand knew what she was up to. If she wanted to go walkabout on a quiet beach who was he to stop her.
Rielle unlaced her boots, leaving them with her socks, wallet and miniature mobile phone tucked inside, on the ground beside the bike. Jake watched her walk over the soft white sand and down to the water’s edge. She looked small and vulnerable with the broad expanse of blue sea in front of her and wide empty beach behind. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered how often she got to be alone. Seeing her today, as she worked and played with the other band members, he’d figured her natural environment was with her pack. But watching her now, he wondered how much lone wolf she had in her. Hadn’t sh
e joked with Rand she was raised by wolves?
Rielle walked into the ocean letting the low waves break against her knees. The sound of the sea and gulls wheeling above flowed through her body. She felt her shoulders relax, but her stomach was still churning. The sick feeling that had been with her on and off all day was back, same as always before a big gig. Worse than ever this time, because it was home.
She’d never been to Adelaide before. Never stood on this beach with her feet in this sand and looked at this horizon, but she couldn’t convince herself it was somewhere that didn’t matter. Every minute that passed was a minute she’d be closer to Sydney.
She bent forward, put her hands on her knees and threw up. She hadn’t eaten much during the day but still, breakfast and bile splattered the white foam, churned under, slapped the sand bed and washed back out to sea. She hoped Jake hadn’t seen that. She rinsed her mouth with salt water, which almost made her sick again and breathed the briny air, letting the surge and drag of the small waves bury her feet to the ankles in heavy wet sand. Now she felt suddenly anchored to the world in a way that recalled her childhood, when she and Rand built sandcastles and squabbled over buckets and Paddle Pop sticks on endless summer days, with both parents watching lazily from towels further up the beach.
She shook her head to clear that image, a stupid thing to remember. Ben and Maggie, both long gone. She took one huge breath of sea air, imagined it cleaning out junk thoughts and bad vibes and headed back up the beach.
Jake was stretched out on the sand, his eyes closed behind her sunglasses, breathing steadily. He’d ditched his shirt and had his hands behind his head as a pillow. At a guess he was in his late twenties, early thirties. He was a good looking man. She’d known that since the day in the gym. Lying there, feigning comatose, he was doing a fair imitation of a rock god in her Persols. His muscles were all in the right places. He had a light sprinkling of hair across his chest and arms and that tattoo—not a star—a compass, was an interesting touch. She wondered what it meant to him.
Seeing him laid out like that, she had an urge to pounce on him and rumble him like she used to do with Rand when they were younger, making each other laugh, despite the fact someone usually got hurt. It was a weird thing to think, but then Jake was a weird mix of a man; and he’d been a good sport tonight, giving in to her demands for a ride, when she knew he hadn’t wanted to.
Jake heard Rielle approach but let her sit beside him before he spoke. The ride had cleared his headache and the sun at this end of the day was gloriously warm but had lost its sting. Even the tension in his neck had worked itself out. This wasn’t exactly the room service, mini bar experience he’d been looking for, but it would do. And since Rielle wasn’t trying to argue with him or make him climb anything, it was an improvement in their relationship. Once he’d stopped worrying about her, could feel how comfortable she was riding behind him, he’d enjoyed the ride—and it seemed to make her happy as well. She looked less stressed now than she had in the stadium car park.
“You ready to go back?”
“When you are. I thought you might’ve dozed off.”
“No,” he said, with a sudden flashback to how they’d had trouble waking Jonas when he’d fallen asleep on the stage floor. He sat up, used his shirt to dust sand off his back, and pulled it back on. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
“I know a great burger place back in Glenelg; it’s on our way. Can I tempt you?”
“If they do takeout, sure. It can be annoying being with me in a public place.” She shrugged.
He smiled and tossed her the helmet. What neither of them needed was crazy fans and no security to deal with them. It could be annoying to be with her almost any place, but so far it was still the job. “Takeaway it is.”
9. Retribution
Before the first Ice Queen chord was struck, in concert mode, on Australian soil; before Rielle screamed her first note in front of fifty thousand frantic fans; before the support act Problem Children rocked out—and as the early bird, diehard punters began to arrive, Rielle enacted her retribution.
Three stories above the stage, the spark fairy who’d taken the part that powered the trapeze motor and not replaced it was suspended. Neddy dangled, booted feet down, blond shoulder-length dreadlocks up. Flapping beside him off the rigging was a hand lettered sign that read, I’ve been a very naughty boy. Beneath him for the first ten minutes of his punishment were Bodge and Teflon placing instruments and doing the final preparation for the opening act. After that he hung there alone.
He hung there while Rielle watched, hidden at the side of the stage, as the stadium floor area filled up and the punters jostled and manoeuvred for the spots closest to the stage. He hung there when the punters with seated tickets started arriving, filing in at a leisurely pace in their hundreds. He hung there while punters speculated about what he’d done, and made up outrageous stories to satisfy their curiosity. He hung there while they heckled, took photos and videos of him, and pretended to throw things at him. And when Collin Ng switched on vision, he hung there in triplicate on big video screens and Rielle knew in minutes he’d be featuring on Facebook and trending on Twitter.
Neddy tried not to move much because he’d worked out when he did, the trapeze shifted about violently and the punters laughed. At one stage, he tried to answer a particularly loud heckler and ended up face down, the long strands of his dreads wafting in the light breeze. That just made the punters laugh more and Bodge had to yell instructions on how to right himself.
