Earth-mover, shape-shifter …

     One day, as I’m tidying up my little home, a piece of paper falls out of the pile of books and magazines I have ready to return to the library. It’s the note I’d scribbled of the contact details for Will, James’s friend. I decide that I really should be polite and give him a call.

     ‘Aloha, Will speaking.’
     ‘Oh hi Will, you don’t know me but . . .’
     ‘Hello! You must be Joy.’
     ‘… How did you know? Oh, I guess my accent gave it away, huh?’
     ‘Yeah, there’s no mistaking that soft Aussie’ — he says “Oss-si” — ‘twang! How are you Joy, and how are you finding the Island?’
     ‘Oh I love it … although I haven’t managed to find a beach with proper sand yet. They’re all quite rocky.’
     ‘Ahhh, you just haven’t been to the right places.’
     ‘I’m sure you’re right. Will, I just wanted to let you know that it’s really nice of you and James but I’ve actually found a place to stay . . .’
     ‘That’s great, I’m glad to hear it. Say, how about coming to dinner? The girls and I would love to meet you.’
     ‘Well that would be really nice but I don’t want to put you and your family to any trouble.’
     ‘It’s no trouble, we’d be delighted. That’s one of the great things about living here, you get to meet people from all over the world. How about tomorrow night at say, seven?’
     ‘Okay, sure. That would be lovely.’
     He gives me directions and I write them down. He lives at Keauhou, about a twenty-minute drive from my condo and very close to the timeshare apartment I’d stayed in when I first came to the island with my workshop friends.


     What should I take to Will and his “girls”, whom, I assume, are his wife and daughters. I scour the wine shops and there are Australian wines but they aren’t good quality. I finally settle on a Barossa Valley red and a pretty box of locally made chocolates.
     Will’s directions are easy to follow and I soon find myself on an elevated winding road that looks down first to the highway and then, across a patch of housing to the sea. It is the same wonderful view that I have from my condo but further south. The winding road has lots of letterboxes lining each side but few homes are visible. I have been told to look for blue gates and then the next driveway on the left is Will’s. I turn a corner, wild turkeys scattering at the sound of my car, and there are the blue gates. Very grand, like the entrance to a ranch in a John Wayne movie. Opposite is the letterbox, in a cluster of three, bearing Will’s name.
     I enter the communal driveway and stop at the middle house. I leave my gifts and purse in the car and knock on the front door. A dog barks from inside and I hope it’s friendly and that I’ve found the right place. I hear children’s voices, more barking, footsteps. The door opens.
     Big black dog pounces on me. Big pink tongue licks me. Barking. Lots of barking, jumping and licking. Voice shouting at dog, apologising to me. Voice belongs to man with black hair and concerned eyes. Brown. Concerned brown eyes. Man grabs dog by collar and marches it down the stairs to kennel. Girl — blonde — pretty — smiles at me, invites me in. I murmur something about getting the stuff out of my car and turn around. Bump straight into man with brown eyes. Now laughing brown eyes. I’m laughing too. Another blonde girl appears and a couple of cats. I need a drink!
     Which is just what the man with the brown eyes says. Soon I have a glass of wine in my hand, I’m sitting in the living room, the girls have disappeared into the kitchen and Will is apologising and explaining how he thought he had everything organised and the girls — whose names are Angela and Kate — were just about to take Gemma, the dog, for a walk when she disgraced herself in the hallway and at that exact moment I’d knocked on the door and …
     ‘Here’s to life getting in the way of perfection,’ I say and we clink glasses.


     It’s half past nine and I know I must escape — now! Angela and Kate are charming, so intelligent and full of life, but they have talked non-stop for hours and I’m exhausted. All evening the cats have taken turns jumping on and off my lap and although I love cats, I’m feeling like a pincushion. Thankfully Gemma hasn’t been allowed back inside.
     I have learnt that Will is divorced from Angela and Kate’s mother. She lives close by and the parents have joint custody. In practice that means the girls live with their mother from Monday to Friday but Will has them from Friday to Sunday night and after school on Monday. He is the owner of a café in town. Actually it is one of the two I go to when I want real coffee but I have never seen him because he employs a manager so he can spend time with his daughters. I know all about Angela’s prowess in tennis and gymnastics and Kate’s talents in dancing and ice-skating. My head is reeling from all this talk of family and school.
     ‘Thank you so much Will and you too, Angela and Kate. I really must go . . .’ I grab my purse, shake hands with Will, smile at the girls, then I’m out the door and running for the car. I drive at a furious pace until a red light finally stops me in my tracks.
     Oh my God, no! I have just escaped twenty-five years of domesticity and I cannot, will not, let it happen again!
     I read a book once by Anne Tyler about a woman who just walks off down the beach one day and keeps on going. She leaves her family behind and starts a new life. The trouble is, her second life turns out just the same as the first because she creates more people who rely on her. And, for a terrifying moment tonight, I have had a flash of myself doing the very same thing.
     I tell myself I’m overreacting. It was just dinner. Just a nice man and his daughters being hospitable.


     It takes three days before I can compose myself enough to go to the library and send Will an email thanking him for a lovely evening. He writes back and says he knows the girls were over-the-top in their efforts to impress me and would I like a tour of beaches with some real sand? Adults only, he adds.
     It takes another two days before I have the courage to say, ‘Yes’.
     As promised, he shows me some beautiful beaches and we have a wonderfully relaxed day sightseeing, swimming and talking about life, love and everything in-between.
     When he takes me home he lingers awkwardly at the door. Then, with two strides, he reaches me, leans forward and kisses me tenderly on the lips.
     ‘I’ve wanted to do that all day,’ he says.


     He calls the following evening and asks if I’m free for dinner on Thursday night. He takes me to a very good restaurant away from the tourist traps on the harbour. Over coffee he asks if I will spend the night with him.
     ‘Yes,’ I say. I am so nervous. Will he be able to tell how inexperienced I am?
     ‘Oh my God, really?’ he says. ‘Do you mean it? Things like this just don’t happen to me.’
     ‘… Um, sorry, what did you say?’
     ‘Beautiful women from the other side of the world dropping out of the sky and landing in my life. It just doesn’t happen.’
     ‘Goddess with a Parachute.’
     ‘Pardon me?’
     ‘Goddess with a Parachute. I just had this image, y’know, of me, wearing a parachute and landing in your life. I drop in, stay a while, then fly away again.’