Nobody's Fantasy Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Louise Hall. All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ZEV

  The first time I ever see Jane is down by the beach.

  You’d think that it would be a typical place for me to meet women since apart from a few years living in L.A., I’ve lived in Oahu all my life but the truth is, I’m not really a surfer dude so I don’t come down to the beach that often. My roommate, Danny is though and he wants to go surfing first thing this morning. Since I’m working the late shift, I offer to help him out by covering his juice stand for a couple of hours.

  After the early morning rush is over, when all of the nearby college students are safely juiced up and in class, I have some time to think which generally isn’t good for me so I look around for something, anything to distract me.

  The beach is empty: it’s mid-week, we’re just far enough away from the big hotels that there aren’t any tourists milling about and the ocean is calm so the serious surfers like Danny have gone elsewhere.

  I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye and watch as a young woman dressed in black leggings and a loose white vest carefully attempts to cross the road. From the way she’s frantically checking left and right, you’d think that she was trying to cross a seven-lane freeway in rush hour instead of a quiet back road. The whole time she’s crossing the road her fists are clenched tightly by her sides. I wonder if she’s just had an argument with somebody and come down to the beach to cool off. My own fists clench as I think that maybe she’s had a fight with her husband or boyfriend? If that’s right, they are the very worst kind of stupid for (a) letting her go off on her own and (b) doing something to piss her off in the first place. I’ve never been territorial over a woman before now.

  The beach here, like all the beaches in Hawaii, is beautiful and most people take off their shoes when they step on to the sand for the first time but she doesn’t. She’s wearing big, chunky trainers and she keeps them on the whole time. I watch as she walks towards the ocean but stops about halfway back and sits down. She sits there for what feels like hours just staring out at the horizon and I wonder what she’s thinking about? I realise that I was wrong before, she isn’t angry about something. She’s sad, I can see it almost as clearly as if she’s dragging it in a burlap sack behind her.

  LOLA

  I only moved to Oahu a couple of months ago and I don’t know anybody here apart from my younger brother, Mateo, who I’m living with. He’s studying marine biology at the university. We live right across from the beach but I never come down here on weekends or if the forecast says that they’re going to get even halfway decent waves. I only come out when I can guarantee that I won’t see anybody. I like looking out at the huge ocean in front of me and not having to think about all of the bad things that have brought me here to Hawaii.

  Even though there’s nobody else on the beach, I still hesitate about taking my shoes off. I don’t have a right foot anymore; I have a gruesome claw instead. My parents, my brother and my younger sister (when my parents are in earshot) tell me that it isn’t ugly but I know that they’re only trying to make me feel better. I lost all my toes on my right foot in the accident and then the infection I got in the hospital afterwards ate up a lot of the muscle in my right calf. The double whammy of compensation I received means that I’m kind of wealthy and it pays for custom-made padded leggings and shoes to try and disguise the ugliness but it doesn’t bring back everything I’ve lost.

  The trouble is that the ocean looks so tempting. It’s a really hot day and I’ve already drunk the bottle of water I brought with me. I passed a juice stand on my way down to the beach but the guy manning it looked like he was either asleep or stoned.

  I look left and right making triply sure there’s nobody else around before prising off my trainers. Without the support for my right foot, I’m a little more unstable and so I have to pick my way carefully across the warm sand. I roll up my leggings a little and let the cool water rush over what’s left of my feet.

  One of my earliest childhood memories is going to the beach in Santa Monica with my mum and dad. We had beaches back home in England but we didn’t have a lot of sunny days to actually enjoy them. My mum had never been to California before and it had always been her dream to see the Pacific Ocean. I remember she was so excited as she clasped my hand inside hers and we ran towards the ocean together. Ugh, I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I miss my parents so much but I can’t be around them right now without feeling like a big, fat failure.

  The sand sinks down a little as the tide washes out and it’s enough to knock me off balance. I tilt sideways and before I know it, I’m falling. Great! This is just the latest in a long line of Lola goes arse over tit moments. At least there’s nobody else here to witness my humiliation. Except of course I’m wrong. There’s never anybody there to witness my finest moments like when I make it across the road without having a complete panic attack but the moment I fall over in the shallowest water possible, of course somebody appears out of nowhere. I feel their hands on my waist and it’s so long since anybody’s touched me, since I’ve allowed anybody to touch me, that my first thought is that they’ve got to be a danger.

  I’m feeling steadier now so I whip around and shove them backwards. I absolutely don’t notice how hard their chest muscles are under my fingers, absolutely not.

  “Hey,” the guy yells. I must have caught him at a bad angle too because even though I barely touched him and he looks strong enough to withstand a force nine gale, suddenly he’s falling backwards too and it’s quite something to watch. His arms are frantically pin-wheeling trying to keep him upright but there’s a loud splash and he’s down. I think he might be the stoner from the juice stand, i.e not a threat so I reach down to try and help him stand up. As I offer him my hand, I notice that his jeans-clad leg is getting longer and longer. It’s like that toy my cousins, Rocco and Luca used to play with, where you could stretch out the doll’s arms and legs.

  His leg suddenly pops out of his jeans and is in danger of getting carried away by the surf. I’m standing there, kind of mesmerised just watching his trainer bobbing up and down on the water when I realise that I’m being a jerk and since I’m the one standing and OK, the one who knocked him over, I should really grab his leg before it reaches Japan.

  ZEV

  Seriously, that’s the last time I’m ever going to try and help a damsel in distress. I have to slide backwards on my bottom up to the dry sand so I can attempt to reattach my prosthetic leg. I look down at my soaked jeans and realise there’s no way I’m going to be able to do that without taking them off and I might have saved her from falling into a shallow pool of water but I don’t think we’re at the stage yet where she wants to see my boxer shorts. “You need to turn around,” I say gruffly because I feel vulnerable without my leg and I don’t like it.

  “Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  I think she might be nervous though because she’s curled the toes on her right foot so deep into the sand, it’s like they disappear.

  “I’m not talking about that, hot stuff.” I really like the way she blushes when I call her that. “I need to take my jeans off if I’m going to reattach my leg and I thought you might want to go on a couple of dates first bef
ore I show you my junk.”

  “Oh,” she hiccups a little. “I’ve seen plenty of those before too.” She still turns around and it makes me think that she hasn’t seen a lot if any of them, despite what she might want me to think.

  When I’ve got my prosthetic back on, I push myself up to standing. I can’t be arsed putting my wet jeans back on, I’ve got a pair of tracksuit bottoms in the trunk of my car.

  “I’m not putting my jeans back on,” I warn her before she turns around.

  “I didn’t ask you to,” she says snootily. I want to ask where she’s from because her accent definitely isn’t from around here.

  It’s then I notice that she’s standing with one foot crossed in front of the other. My attention is drawn to her right leg where her leggings are still rolled up. Scar tissue marks her soft skin.

  “Stop looking at it,” she hisses.

  It’s then that I realise I was wrong before, she hadn’t dug her toes into the sand. She hasn’t got any toes on her right foot.

  LOLA

  Before he can say the wrong thing, because seriously what’s the right thing to say to somebody who literally has a gruesome claw instead of a dainty right foot? I hear my brother calling me from the top of the beach. I have literally never been so thankful to see Mateo before.

  “I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?” Mats asks me when I reach him.

  “No, I…” I look back down the beach at where the juice guy is obviously struggling. It looks like he can’t get his prosthetic to fit properly and without it, he won’t be able to make it back to his stand.

  “I feel bad; he kind of helped stop me from falling before.”

  “Go,” Mats says kindly. “Do you need anything or shall I see you back at home?”

  “I’ll be fine. I love you.”

  It’s probably weird that I always say “I love you” when I say goodbye to my brother but it’s something my whole family started doing after the accident.

  When I make it back down the beach, the juice guy looks up at me from where he’s sat on the sand. “Don’t want your pity, hot stuff.” I like it that he calls me that. Even if it’s just a line he uses, I haven’t felt even remotely attractive since the accident.

  “You’re not getting it,” I insist, helping him to stand up. “I’m just returning the favour. You helped me so I’m helping you.”

  We hobble up the beach together, him carrying his prosthetic leg and me carrying his wet jeans.

  ZEV

  There’s something intriguing about Jane – I heard her friend call her name on the beach back there – and I’m not just talking about her lack of toes. Of course, because lady luck and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms anymore, when we get back to the juice stand, Danny’s there. He must have just arrived because he’s still wearing his wetsuit although he’s unzipped it to the waist. He’s the absolute quintessential surfer dude, ripped muscles, bleached-blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “What happened to your leg, Zev?” Danny asks and then winces. Even though we’ve been friends since kindergarten, he still finds it uncomfortable to talk about my missing lower leg.

  “I don’t know, man,” I roll my eyes, “I turned around and it just disappeared.”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” I clap him on the back, “ignore me, I’m just in a bad mood.”

  His eyes light up when he catches sight of Jane over my shoulder. “And who might this be?”

  It might be weird considering we only just met like ten minutes ago but maybe we’ve got a kinship because of our missing bones. I can tell that Jane is desperate to leave but she doesn’t want to be rude.

  “Danny, Jane, Jane, Danny.” I half-heartedly introduce them while I rummage around in the trunk of my car for my sweatpants. I feel more comfortable after I’ve attached my leg properly and pulled on my sweatpants.

  Jane obviously feels the same because when I turn around, she’s got her trainers back on and her leggings are pulled right down so all evidence of her disability is covered up.

  A car whizzes past us, music blaring loudly and she jumps. “Are you OK?” I ask.

  “I’m fine, I’d better go.” She focuses all of her attention on the road. “My brother’s waiting.” She might not have meant to say it but I’m definitely pleased that the guy she was talking to earlier was her brother and not her boyfriend.

  I watch her carefully cross the road again and disappear up the steps to her house. I’m still watching the empty space when Danny whacks me in the chest. “You can’t go after her, you know.”

  “What?” I spin around. He’d better not be making a claim for her.

  “Don’t give me that look,” he hops up on to the stool at the side of the juice stand. “I’m just saying, do you really think it’s wise with your history to get involved with somebody like her?”

  My nostrils flare even more, “what do you mean somebody like her?”

  “I saw her foot, man,” Danny replies and before I can punch him in the face for being such a shallow bastard, he continues, “I also saw how much she jumped when that car went past and how careful she was crossing the road just now. I’d bet any money that she was injured in a car accident. If you get involved with her, you’ll both get hurt. Find somebody else.”

  I can’t be bothered going back home and when I get to the Ink, the tattoo shop where I work, Emmeline, one of the other artists, wrinkles up her cute, little button nose. “Ugh, you stink. What the heck happened to you?”

  “I love you too, Emmy,” I chuckle, ruffling her hair which I know for a fact she hates. She tries to swat me with her small ineffectual fists but I duck out of the way.

  “I went for an impromptu swim.” I’ve got a spare pair of clothes in my locker so I rip off my damp t-shirt. Emmy doesn’t even bat an eyelid at my bare chest, which I’m totally glad about since she’s my cousin and it would be beyond weird if she thought about me like that. It does make me smile though that all the women in my life seem to want to punch me today, first Jane and now Emmy. I try to remind myself that Jane isn’t technically in my life yet.

  “But you hate the ocean,” Emmy reminds me.

  “I don’t hate it per se,” I reply, shrugging on a clean shirt. “I’m just not obsessed with it like most of the guys around here.”

  LOLA

  When I get back to the house, my brother is making BLT sandwiches which would be awesome if the “bacon” he was using wasn’t vegan. I mean, seriously, who wants to bite into what they thought was going to be a delicious slice of bacon only to find out that it’s dehydrated carrot? In my previous incarnation, I’d always eaten healthily but just when I could finally eat whatever I wanted, I had to go and live in Hawaii with my zealously vegan brother.

  “Who’s the guy?” he asks, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. I’ve told him a thousand times he needs a haircut but he’s such an uber-geek, he’d much rather be studying.

  “I’m not Sierra; I’m not going to girly chat with you.” Our younger sister, Sierra, is the total opposite of me. She is the girliest girl you could imagine.

  “I’m like, totally devastated,” Mats rolls his eyes, “I was just checking if you’d made a new friend so I can tell Mum that you’re at least attempting to be social when she grills me about how you’re doing when she calls tomorrow. Do you want a sandwich?”

  It’s funny really because when my parents first suggested that I come and live with Mats here in Hawaii, it was so that I could keep an eye on him because he’d graduated high school early and had a tendency to get so engrossed with his studies that he forgot the necessities of life like eating, sleeping and showering.

  “Ugh, I wish she’d stop worrying about me so much.”

  “No, you don’t,” Mats makes me a sandwich anyway even though I didn’t ask him to.

  “I guess not.” We take our sandwiches and go and sit on the front porch. “This is a really good sandwich, it doesn’t taste
vegan at all.”

  “Ha,” Mats cackles, “perhaps I’m converting you to the dark side.”

  After a few minutes of silence – that’s one of the things I love most about my brother, he doesn’t feel the need to fill in every break in conversation with mindless chatter – he asks, “are you friends then? I mean, you showed him your foot?”

  I huff, “I told you not to call it that. It’s not a foot if it doesn’t have toes, it’s a claw.”

  “Shouldn’t a claw have nails?” Mats asks.

  “Fine then,” I huff again. “It’s an ugly, useless stump instead.”

  “Jane,” Mats rolls his eyes again. That’s what we do now – I huff a lot and he rolls his eyes at me. “For the last time, it’s not ugly or useless; it’s just a foot without a few accessories.”

  ZEV

  I try to stay away from the juice stand, I really do. I know that Danny’s right; with my history, I’m not good for somebody like Jane. I last two days. I still score it as a win for my self-control though because I don’t actually get out of my car, I just sit in the shade and watch like a creeper as she skittishly crosses the road and then takes a huge gulp of breath when she reaches the other side safely.

  I badly want to know what happened to her leg. Late at night, when I get back from the Ink, I lie in bed and stare at the Google app on my phone but I’ve only got her first name and address and I doubt even Google can make me that lucky. Even if I did have more information about Jane, I don’t know that I’d go through with it. I want her to tell me herself. I think that maybe if I hear the brutal truth from her, I’ll admit to myself that I’m the last person she should ever be hanging out with and I’ll leave her alone.

  After a week of self-control… OK, mild stalking, I hate seeing her so scared of crossing that quiet road. I get to the beach early and walk across to the bottom of the stone steps in front of her house. I sit on the low brick wall and wait.