“Got it!”With the bow against the bank I eased the stern toward the river’s center, then backed us out into the current. I knew just the place – a half-mile upstream, a strip of swamp between the river and higher ground, water deep enough for us to get close to the cypresses that line the banks there.I was used to mooring like this single-handed. With Gee’s eager participation we made short work of the task. I knew that the river was neither rising nor falling, so I eased us into the mud, invisible below the tea-tinted waters. We’re secure. At least the boat’s secure.Me, I think I’ve fallen. We’re washing the grime from our hands. Mooring lines tend to get nasty. I finish, flicking the water off mine, step sideways and she turns to me.“So you love me, do you?”“Yep. Got it bad.”“How bad, Josh? Weekend? A month? Six months?”“You tell me, Gee. I don’t say that lightly. I don’t think I ever saw you as a short-term thing when I started thinking the l-word. There are plenty of women I. ”He looked at me inquirin’ly.“My flatmate.”“Where is he? Would he like to come too?”“Nah. He’s gone off somewhere.”Somethin’ in my tone must have alerted him to my real feelin’s, because he looked at me for a minute, his face blank. Then he gave me a sweet smile and said, “C’mon then. Let’s go.”He didn’t have a surfboard rack on his car but it didn’t matter. It was an old Kingswood station wagon, rusted and a bit worn and tatty, but big, so we put the board in the back. We didn’t bother to get changed. I only had my wetsuit, and some shorts and a t-shirt in my backpack. You’re not supposed to drive in thongs or without a shirt but Mattie did anyway.The house was an Edwardian wooden bungalow, with boards which were once white but which were all peelin’ now, and Windsor-green doors and window frames and veranda posts. The garden was full of ancient cedars and a couple of oak trees and creepers and the sound of doves. It was so cool and nice. I envied him this place. My flat was fuckin’.
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