"I'm sure of it," Lois said, sadness oozing through her words. "I'm sure that within three years, at least one of the current Victorian clubs will no longer exist in the form it is now. There will either be a merger or a takeover or a forced move interstate."
"How do the people feel about that?"
"Many of us are terrified that it could be our club. The big clubs are safe - Collingwood, Carlton, Essendon - the clubs that have large memberships, huge followings, draw big crowds, and are financially stable. But others - Footscray, Fitzroy, North Melbourne - their supporters fear the future that rests in the hands of those despised administrators who choose to only see the game as a business."
They were well out of the city now - there were green fields on both sides of the freeway.
"Is your club safe?" Clark said.
"I hope so," Lois said and her voice shook. "I hope so."
Part 5
Half an hour later, Lois and Clark left the highway and weaved through the streets of the bay-side city of Geelong. The road they took was wide and straight and gently undulating. Clark surmised it was an older part of the town. The houses exuded a timeless elegance - due partly to the ornate decoration of the front porches, and partly to the fully-grown trees and shrubs in the front gardens.
Lois parked the Jeep next to a large sports complex decked in blue and white. "Kardinia Park," she said. "Home of the Geelong Cats."
"I noticed that Hawthorn is going to play Geelong this weekend," Clark said as they climbed from the Jeep. "Will the game be here?"
"Yeah."
"Will you be here?"
"No," Lois said. "I'm doing St Kilda-Sydney on Saturday."
As they walked across the grassy strip to the stadium, Clark surveyed the area. It had a quiet and sedate atmosphere that seemed more suited to a recreational club of weekend sportsmen than a top professional outfit. "Are you able to go to Hawthorn games often?" he asked Lois.
"Maybe five or six times a season."
"How often do you cover the Hawthorn game?"
"Never," she said. "Browny keeps me away from them."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't trust me to be impartial," she said without any noticeable resentment.
"But ..." Clark wasn't sure how to respond to such a frank admission. He recalled reading Lois's match reports from the previous weekend. "But you write with such clarity and vivid detail," he said. "I haven't even seen the game being played, yet out of everything I've read, it was your words that gave me the clearest picture."
Lois stopped abruptly and her eyes drilled into his. "Do you mean that?" she demanded.
"Yes, I do."
A pleased smile spread across Lois's face. "That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about my work." She rested her hand lightly on his arm. "Thank you, Clark."
Lois ... her touch, her eyes, her smile. Clark stood there, helplessly enchanted, as they bombarded his senses. He became conscious of the protracted silence, and frantically delved into a brain gone to pulp for something coherent to say. "Is that hard?" he managed. "Not being able to see your own team?"
"I would prefer to be there, of course, but there are always replays." Lois grinned up at him. "And the bottom line is that I get paid to watch and write about footy. I really don't have a lot to whinge about."
They circled the outside of the stadium until they came to an unlocked gate. Lois pushed through it without hesitation. The playing field was deserted. She headed for a door under the grandstand and knocked vigorously.
When there was no response, Lois thumped harder.
Eventually, a man opened the door and glared at her. "Whata ya want?" he said.
Lois smiled. "G'day, Poddy," she said. "The bush telegraph is buzzing with the news of an injury this morning."
The man scowled. "The bush telegraph got it wrong. Sorry you wasted your precious time coming here."
Lois's smile turned positively sickly. "I always enjoy a trip to Sleepy Hollow," she drawled. "Will Kendall play this week?"
"It must be nice to get out of the poison of the Big Smoke."
"Kendall? Will he play?"
"Are you here as a reporter?" Poddy sneered. "Or as a spy for Hawthorn?"
"I reckon the Hawks would be pretty pleased if you lost Kendall," Lois noted smoothly. "That'll leave a big hole in your defence."
"Kendall will play," the man said brusquely.
"On one leg?"
"He'll be fully fit."
"No problems at all?"
"None."
"You'll train this afternoon? Kendall, too?"
"Of course," the man said scornfully.
"Thanks for all your help," Lois said, smiling sweetly. She turned and walked away. "I'll make sure the Hawk forwards know Kendall's shoulder is a bit dodgy," she called as she reached the gate.
The man slammed the door with such force that the echo reverberated around the deserted stadium.
Lois retreated through the gate, and as she crossed the park towards the street, she pulled her cell from her bag and thumbed in the numbers. "Do you need to get back to Melbourne for anything?" she asked, looking up at Clark.
He shook his head.
"Browny?" Lois said into the cell. "Yeah, Kendall has definitely done something. They won't even admit to the ankle we've known about for weeks. This could be his shoulder though. No, I don't know if it's left or right. He might still play - I dunno how bad it is. Don't know if they'll risk him, not with finals coming."
Lois listened for a few seconds, and then said, "No, they wouldn't say anything - you know Geelong, it's like trying to get blood from a stone. You could run with it - throw a few uncertainties into the mix. I'm guessing training will be a non-event but as I'm here, I'll stick around and have a squiz." She hung up and smiled at Clark. "Are you up for a little investigation?"
"Sure," Clark said, feeling a bit dazed by the rapid progression of the story. "Browny is going to print that Kendall's shoulder is injured?"
"Yep."
"But we didn't see Kendall," Clark said. "And the person we spoke to said he had no injuries."
Lois grinned. "Don't try to tell me that Americans always tell the whole truth when nosy journos ask awkward questions."
Clark laughed. "No," he conceded.
Lois responded with a relaxed sigh. "It's a nice day, there's a bit of sunshine around - we could do worse than poking around Sleepy Hollow for a few hours."
That sounded perfect. "Great," Clark enthused.
"You sure it's OK?" Lois said as they reached the Jeep. "You probably had plans, and you won't get another day off for a week."
Clark just wanted to be with Lois. "My only plans were to watch the replay," he reminded her.
Lois settled into the driver's seat. "If you still want to, we could watch that this evening," she offered.
"That'd be great," Clark said. Then he deliberately dampened his enthusiasm. "If it's OK with you."
"I'll be watching it anyway," Lois said. "You're welcome to join me."
"Thanks."
At the next intersection, Lois did a wide u-turn and headed back to the centre of Geelong.
"Where are we going now?" Clark asked.
"If Kendall was injured, you'd expect him to seek medical attention, right?"
Clark nodded.
"Let's check it out then," Lois moved into the right-hand lane. "OK," she said. "I'm going to drive past the front of the hospital. They don't know you, so you can take a good look at the entrance."
"What am I looking for?"
"A group of people - probably two or three that appear to be hanging around aimlessly. See if they've got coffee."
"OK."
A minute later, they passed the hospital and then stopped at the traffic lights. "Well?" Lois said.
"You were right," Clark said. "Two men - both drinking coffee."
"The footy department of the Geelong Addy," Lois proclaimed triumphantly. "That's Geelong's local paper. They must be worried if they've sent two along to investigate."
"Addy?" Clark asked.
"Advertiser. There's a sort of symbiotic relationship between the Addy and the footy club. They revel in the feeling of the united city of Geelong versus the nasty outsiders from the big city."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all," Lois said lightly. "Except it hasn't worked. Their last premiership was 1963."
"Oh," Clark said. "If you know the reporters, wouldn't they have recognised your vehicle?"
"Possibly. But they would've seen me turn right, so they'll think we're headed home."
"But we're not?"
"Nope."
Lois took two more right hand turns and parked in a side street. She put a few coins in the meter, and Clark followed her as she slipped into a cafe diagonally opposite the front of the hospital. They sat at a table near the window.
"See that?" Lois gestured to the tall building where Clark had seen the gathered reporters.
"Yes."
"That's the Geelong Private Hospital," Lois said. "The building next to it - directly across from us - is the Geelong Public Hospital. Kendall went into the Private, and the Addy journos know because they're congregated at the door waiting for him to come out."
"But?"
"But there is a passage under the road between the two hospitals," Lois said. "More than one Geelong player has entered the Private Hospital and snuck out of the Public Hospital exit."
"So we watch?"
"Yep," Lois said. "And if Kendall comes out and faces them, we'll know whatever was wrong isn't too bad. But if he tries to avoid them, we'll know it's serious."
"The Geelong players don't completely trust the reporters from their own town?"
"Nobody trusts anyone is this business," Lois said. Her grin flashed again. "Actually, that's not quite true, but footy runs on rumour and innuendo and half-baked stories, and most of the time we play games that have absolutely nothing to do with chasing a football."
The waitress came to take their order. She was probably in her sixties and had probably eaten a little too much of the cafe's fare in her time.
"Thanks, Mandy," Lois said after she'd ordered two coffees.
"S'OK, Flinders," Mandy replied. "You reckon we'll beat the Pussies on Saturday?"
Lois chuckled. "You know Geelong - if the game means anything at all, they usually find a way to lose it."
They shared a gleeful grin. "1989," they chanted together. Their shared laughter ricocheted around the small cafe.
"Will you be there on Saturday?" Lois asked.
"Wouldn't miss it for anything in the world," Mandy said. "I'm taking my daughter and five of me grandkids."
"Do the kids barrack for Hawthorn?" Lois asked.
Mandy looked at Lois with open indignation. "They wouldn't be coming to the footy with me if they didn't," she declared staunchly.
Lois smiled and put a hand on the older lady's arm. "Well-brought-up kids, eh?"
"Too right," Mandy said. She turned to Clark. "Who'j'barrack for?" she asked.
Clark looked from the older woman to Lois. Lois stared back, her face impassive, but with the hint of a smile playing on her mouth.
"I ... ah ... I'm new around here," Clark said. "I haven't decided yet."
"Who's the most important woman in your life?" Mandy demanded.
"Ah ..."
"Is it your mum?"
"I ... guess so," Clark said.
Mandy smiled jubilantly. "Then you should barrack for the Hawks," she declared firmly. "We're the Family Club."
Clark nodded.
Mandy walked away and Lois said, "She's a Hawthorn supporter."
"No kidding," Clark said with a smile.
"Mandy won't tell anyone we were here," Lois said. "She keeps an eye on the hospitals for me and rings me if any Geelong players go in or out."
Mandy brought their coffees, and Clark eyed his with a reluctance he hoped wasn't noticeable. He hadn't had a decent coffee since arriving on Australian soil. He promised himself that next time he went home, he would definitely remedy that. He added three sugars. Lois watched, her eyebrows lifting a notch higher with each additional spoonful.
"Are you planning to go home ten kilos heavier?" she asked, grinning.
Clark was still trying to think of a response when Lois suddenly straightened in her seat. She pulled the camera from her bag and went to the window. He stood behind her and saw that a tall man had been corralled by the two reporters. Clark tuned in his hearing.
"Nothing at all, fellas," the tall guy said.
"You'll play on Saturday?"
"You bet," the man Clark assumed was Kendall replied. "Gotta beat the Squawks."
The reporters chuckled. "Was it your shoulder, mate?" one asked.
"Yeah," Kendall admitted. "Just a bump to the right shoulder. The scans say no damage." He took a step forward. "Thanks, fellas."
Lois turned back to the table and sat down. "Looks like he's OK," she said.
Clark could discern no disappointment in her tone. "Were you hoping he wouldn't be?" he asked. "You'd have a story, and Hawthorn would have more chance of winning if Kendall isn't playing for Geelong."
Lois shrugged. "Stories are good, winning is great, but I've seen too many talented footballers sidelined through injury." She pulled out her cell and called Browny. She talked for a few moments, but Clark tuned out her words and just allowed himself the luxury of watching her.
Lois was beautiful.
As she talked, a fascinating myriad of expressions floated across her face. Her eyebrows lifted, and that amazing smile flashed with wonderful regularity. How would it feel if she turned those luscious brown eyes on him and gave him a smile of love? Clark knew he would have no defence. He would simply melt on the spot and be hers forever.
Even without that special smile just for him ... he was completely enchanted.
She hung up her cell and smiled at him in friendly fashion. "How are you settling in?" she asked.
"Good," he said, tearing his mind back from its wanderings. "Though I haven't actually seen footage of a game yet, and I'm not at all confident that I could write a match report."
"I don't think that is what Browny has in mind for you," Lois said. "Not just yet, anyway."
"Then what?"
"I imagine he'll ask you to write your impressions of the game - from an outsider's viewpoint. That would be fascinating reading. Those of us who grew up with the game love a peek of how it looks to fresh eyes."
That sounded reassuring. "I'm not sure I'll get all the terminology correct."
"That will be a part of the attraction," Lois said. "But if you're really worried, I'd be happy to look over your copy before you submit it."
"Thanks."
"Has Browny told you which games you're doing this weekend?"
"No," Clark said. "But I'm hoping I'll be with you."
Lois thought for a moment, and Clark wondered if she was going to respond to his baldly stated preference. "I know," she exclaimed suddenly. "On Sunday, I reckon it's a good bet you'll be sent to the Melbourne-Richmond game at the 'G. Two traditional rivals, big crowd ... Yeah, Browny will want you to see that game."
"Will you be there?"
"No," Lois said. "I've got Footscray-Fremantle on Sunday."
"Oh," Clark said, disappointed.
"But," Lois said, "You could tell Browny that you'd like to see the other main ground, Waverly Park, on Saturday - that'll mean you'll be at St Kilda-Sydney."
"Which is the game you're doing?" Clark said, trying to temper his leap from disappointment to delight.
She nodded. "We can drive out there together. There's no public transport." She drained her coffee. "Oh, and dress warmly. It's not known as Arctic Park for nothing."
"Thanks for the warning." Clark picked up his cup and saw with some amazement that it was almost empty. He couldn't recall drinking much of it.
They replaced the empty cups on the counter with a pink five dollar note, and Lois called out, "See ya, Mandy. Go Hawks!"
"Go Hawks!" came the shout from the back room.
Lois and Clark returned to the Jeep. "We've got a couple of hours before training starts," she said. "What would you like to do?"
"You're the local," Clark said. "What do you suggest?"
Lois got into the Jeep and leant over to unlock his door. "Let's go to Eastern Beach," she said.
||_||
A few minutes later, they parked at the top of a hill that overlooked a wide bay. In the bowl of the bay was a swimming area - enclosed by a large circular boardwalk. "Feel like a walk?" Lois said.
"Sure."
They made their way down the hill, crossed the stretch of sand, and stepped onto the wooden boardwalk. The swimming area had platforms and diving boards and a big waterwheel.
"Looks like fun," Clark commented.
"It is," Lois said. "In summer."
"Lois," Clark said sternly. "You surely cannot consider this weather to be winter."
"Why not?" she shot back, grinning.
"There's no snow," he said. "And it has to be at least fifty degrees right now."
"Sunny winter days are the absolute best," Lois said.
"Yep," Clark agreed. This was perfect.
They strolled around the large circle of the boardwalk in silence; the placid sun rippled off the water, the gentle breeze played on their faces. The boardwalk seemed to transport them from the bustle of the city and into another world.
Clark allowed himself to daydream as they walked. What if this were real? Him, here with Lois? As a couple? As two people absolutely content in their togetherness - whose future was secure in each other? He imagined the warmth of her hand in his. Imagined how she would look up at him, not only with a friendly grin, but with so much more. In his mind, he saw them reach the furthest point of the arc and stop. He would take her into his arms and lean down and conduct a thorough exploration of her tantalising mouth.
Clark wrenched his mind back from paradise. "What happened in 1989?" he asked.
"1989," Lois said, with a sigh infused with poignant memories.
Clark nodded, encouraging her to continue.
"Grand Final," she said. "Hawthorn versus Geelong."
"I thought so." He smiled down at her. "And I can tell from your face that Hawthorn won."
"We did," Lois said. "But it was a close thing."
"Tell me," he requested, because he loved listening to her voice. And he loved her accent. And he wanted to hear her talk about something she loved.
"The first bounce ..." Lois said. "The ruckmen went up, Geelong cleared it ... got it to their gun forward, Gary Ablett. He marked, had a shot for goal, kicked straight, and they're a goal up."
"That doesn't sound like the greatest start," Clark noted.
"Ah, there was more to that bounce than most of us realised at first. As the ball was bounced, Mark Yeates from Geelong charged at Hawthorn's centre half forward, Dermott Brereton, and belted him."
"You're only allowed to bump if the ball is nearby, right?"
"Right," Lois said. "And the ball was nowhere near them. It was illegal ... and it looked pre-meditated."
"Losing a key player in the opening minute can't be good."
Lois glanced up with a look Clark was starting to recognise - a look that told him he had hit the mark with his comment. A look that said her respect for him was growing. A look that did untold things to his insides. "But this was Dermie," she said with deep affection in her voice. "He could dish it out, no question - but when he copped it, he didn't squeal. Anyway, Yeates had got him good, and he was pretty badly hurt. A couple of broken ribs and a tear in his kidney. Dermie collapsed onto his back and when the trainers managed to get him to his feet, he was woozy and vomiting. They tried to get him off the ground, but he wouldn't go, so they sent him to full forward where it was more likely he would get a few moments to recover."
"What happened?"
"The ball came down our end, Dermie marked it and goaled. The message could not have been clearer - hit us with everything you have, but we will *not* lie down."
"So the Hawks went on to a big win?" Clark guessed.
"No," Lois said. "Dermie was bleeding internally, but that wasn't our only problem. Dipper played most of the game with a punctured lung. Platten was hit too and had a concussion. There were only two on the interchange bench in those days, so for the entire game, we had at least one player on the field with a significant injury. We had a big lead, but the injuries took their toll, and Ablett was sensational for Geelong, kicking nine goals. They came back really strongly ... but we held on and won by six points."
"Were there recriminations for Geelong over their tactics?"
"No - the umpires didn't see it. Footy has been cleaned up a bit since then. Geelong hadn't won the premiership since 1963 - they were desperate. Not that it helped them any. They lost to us in '89, and then made the Grand Final in '92, '94, and last year - and lost all of them."
Clark winced. "Ouch."
Lois shrugged. "They aren't called the 'handbaggers' for nothing."
"Handbaggers?"
Lois laughed. "A term meant to suggest that the Geelong team lack a bit of heart when things get tough."
"And do they?"
"Depends on who you ask," Lois said with a shrug. "But the records say they haven't won a flag in over thirty years."
They were almost back to the shore. Clark didn't want this to end ... not yet. He wanted to prolong this time with Lois - wanted to savour the feeling of being alone with her. "Would you like to walk around again?" he asked.
"OK."
Clark dropped to the lower level of the boardwalk and held out his hand for Lois. She only hesitated for a moment and then put her hand in his and followed him down. Clark used his other hand to steady her and, once she'd landed, for a split second he was almost holding her. She backed away - when everything within him wanted her to advance ... wanted her to wrap her arms around his neck and nestle into his chest.
They walked clockwise around the boardwalk. Clark buried his hands in his jeans pockets to keep from the temptation of reaching for her hand. "When we go back to Kardinia Park," he asked, "Are we going as reporters or opposition spies?"
Lois eyed him speculatively. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"
"Walked in the Australian sun with a beautiful woman?" Clark asked.
She was almost quick enough to hide her reaction to his compliment. Almost. The slight flicker of her eyelids gave her away, but it was too insignificant for most people to have noticed. But Clark did. What he couldn't detect was the underlying meaning. Wasn't she used to being told she was beautiful? Had she spent so much time competing in a man's world that the men in it had become blind to her beauty? Had she dismissed his comment as empty flattery?
"No," Lois said lightly. "Reporting on sport."
"No, I haven't really done this before," Clark answered. "I did a game-fixing scandal story once but the sport was nothing more than the means to the criminal end."
"Getting back to your question," Lois said, "I'm going partly so I can give Browny a quick rundown of whatever they do and who trains and who doesn't. He'll print my story, so Hawthorn will know anyway. But ..." She grinned mischievously. "Anything Browny decides not to print will probably find its way to the Hawthorn brains-trust."
Clark felt his smile curling. "And why else are we going?"
"It can't hurt your footy education to see a training session."
He smiled at her. "Thanks," he said softly. They had passed the mid-point of the boardwalk, and Clark again felt his reluctance to leave this oasis. "It's great out here," he said. "Do you want to sit down for a bit?"
Her face lit with a sudden idea. "How much do you feel the cold?" she asked.
"Ah ... not too much," he replied.
Lois grinned at him with a challenge in her eyes. "Want to dip your feet in?" she said. "Are you game?"
"Will it be cold?" he asked.
"Of course it will be cold," Lois said with a chuckle. "But come on, Clark; show me how tough you Americans are." She sat on the edge of the boardwalk, and quickly removed her runners and then peeled off socks.
Clark sat next to her and watched as Lois dipped the tip of her toe into the water.
"Eeeek," she squealed. She snatched back her foot and rolled the legs of her jeans to her knees; then she plunged both feet into the water, causing a little splash.
A droplet of water landed on Clark's hand confirming that, for most people, the water would indeed feel cold. He removed his socks and shoes, and rolled up his jeans. Then he dropped his feet into the water and looked at Lois. She was grinning widely.
"We're both idiots," she announced.
"Yep," he agreed happily. He had never thought that sitting on a wooden boardwalk with his bare feet dangling in cold water could make him feel so incredibly good.
Lois slowly swung her feet through the water.
"Hey," Clark protested. "Don't splash."
Lois grinned at him. "If I don't move my feet," she said, "Very soon I won't be able to feel them any more."
"What happens then?"
"I don't know," Lois answered, clearly unconcerned. "I reckon I'll have to rub them."
"I could carry you," Clark said nonchalantly. "For a price of course."
Lois contemplated him with laughing indignation. "For a price?" she spluttered. "What do you want?"
"Information."
She studied him, her smile hovering, her eyes questioning. "What sort of information?" she asked suspiciously.
"Why do they call me Rubber?"
Her laughter rang out across the water. "Haven't you worked it out yet?"
Clark shook his head.
"What do you think?"
"I figure it's embarrassing."
She giggled at that but said nothing.
"Come on, Lane," Clark said, trying to sound menacing. "Tell me. Or you'll be hobbling back to the shore without my help."
"You *really* want to know, don't you?" she teased.
Clark bent low and dipped his fingers into the water and then held his hand poised to flick the cold drops into Lois's face.
"You wouldn't," she said, holding up her hand to fend him off. Her grin, though, remained undaunted.
"I would," Clark assured her.
"OK." She enclosed his damp hand in hers and forced it back. "I'll spill," she said. "But you don't fight fair, Kent."
"From what I've heard of Aussie Rules, anything is fair," he said.
Lois released his hand. "Here's the deal - you tell me what you *think* is the reason they call you Rubber and I'll tell you what it really is."
"That is definitely not fair," Clark declared.
Lois shrugged. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
"If you won't tell me, I could ... I could pick you up and throw you into the water."
She laughed at his threat.
"You don't seem worried," Clark said.
"I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Because I know you wouldn't do that."
Clark laughed. She had him. She knew it. So did he. "Well, at home ..." he mumbled.
"At home ..." Lois pressed.
Clark sighed with exaggerated dramatics. "I figure it has something to do with condoms," he admitted.
Her laughter burst out again.
"Well, does it?" Clark demanded.
She made an effort - quite a dismal one, Clark thought - to gather herself enough to answer. Clark again lowered his hand towards the water.
Lois held up her hands. "No, no," she said. "Don't splash me. I'll tell you."
Clark lifted his hand away from the water. "Go on, then, Ms Lane."
"There's a very famous company called Clark Rubber," Lois said.
He waited for further explanation, but none was forthcoming. "That's it?" he asked, incredulous.
"That's it."
"What do they sell?" A sudden horrible thought hit him. "Not condoms, surely? Please tell me they don't sell condoms."
"No," Lois said. "They're basically into anything rubber - mattresses, boots, cushions ... anything really. But they're most famous for swimming pools."
"Pools," Clark said, a little weakly. He was surprised by how relieved he felt.
"They had a very famous advertising ditty that went something like this ... 'Clark pools, better than a beach in your own back yard.'"
She'd sung it for him, and Clark just couldn't drag his eyes from her.
Lois's hand cupped his thigh for less than a heartbeat. "All that obsessing for nothing, Rubber," she chirped.
Clark grinned. "How are your feet, Flinders?" he asked. "Can you still feel them?"
She shuffled away from him, lifted both knees and hung her feet above the water. When they had mostly finished dripping, she swung them onto the wooden boards and wriggled her toes experimentally. "They still move," she said.
Clark copied her movements and looked at their feet, which were lined up together as a gradually expanding patch of dampness seeped into the timber. Lois's feet had a bluish tinge and he wished he dare send a little spurt of heat onto them. He reached forward and touched the top of her foot with the back of his fingers. "You're cold," he said. "Come on, we should get you back to the Jeep so you can warm up." He stood and offered her his hand.
Lois tucked her socks in her runners, took his hand and allowed him to pull her up. As soon as she was standing, she withdrew from his hold. "Let's go," she said.
"We had a deal," Clark reminded her.
"You are *not* carrying me," she said firmly.
"That was our deal," he said.
"I am not going to let you carry me when I am perfectly capable of walking myself."
Clark held out his hand. "Well, at least take my hand," he said. "That way, if your feet really are as numb as they look and you stumble, you won't fall into the water."
She opened her mouth, and Clark thought she was about to refuse. Then, without another word, she slipped her hand into his and they began the walk back to the shore. After about ten steps, Lois stopped and turned. Behind them were two sets of diminishing footsteps. She looked up from the boardwalk and they shared a smile.
They continued walking; the sun was warm on Clark's back and Lois's hand was soft in his palm. She made it so easy to forget everything else and simply enjoy being alive and being with her.
When they stepped from the boardwalk, Lois withdrew her hand. Clark released her despite the sharp disappointment that jabbed inside him. They reached the thick springy grass and she energetically slid her feet through it to dry them.
Clark pointed up the hill. "Can we go up there and sit down to put on our shoes?" he asked. "It looks like the view would be pretty amazing."
Lois shot him a grin. "Bet I can get there first," she said. She took off up the hill.
Clark hesitated long enough to appreciate the play of her muscles under her jeans before setting off after her.
"I won," Lois said as she dropped to the grass.
"You didn't define the finishing line," Clark objected as he collapsed beside her.
"I still won." Lois leant forward and began to brush the sand from her feet. She rubbed them vigorously and some of the colour slowly returned.
"Are you all right?" Clark asked, a little concerned. "Your feet have turned blue."
"I'm fine," she said.
"Give me your socks," he said.
She looked at him for a moment, and then reached into her runners and pulled out her bunched-up socks. "You want my socks?" she said, her eyebrow cocked in question.
Clark nodded and held out his hand.
She dropped her socks into his palm.
"I grew up in Kansas," he said. "Where it gets *really* cold. Not Melbourne cold where the sun still shines, but really cold." He carefully folded her socks into layers. "So we know a few little tricks for getting warm."
Clark glanced up and saw Lois watching him closely.
He began rubbing the layers of the socks against each other. His hand left the socks, flew to his glasses and lowered them. He spurted heat into the socks and then pushed his glasses back into place so quickly that no human could have detected the movement. He rubbed the sock material together for a few seconds longer, and then handed them to Lois.
As she felt their warmth, a look of surprise crossed her face. "How did you do that?" she asked.
"Family secret," he said.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Put on your socks," he said. "Before they lose all their heat."
Her quizzical look lingered long enough for Clark to question if he'd gone too far. Other than with his parents, he had never before used his powers so openly.
Lois's attention dropped away from him and she pulled on her socks without another word. He saw her smile of pleasure as his warmth blanketed her cold feet.
"Better?" Clark asked.
"Much," she said. "Thanks."
Knowing she was still observing him, Clark carefully rolled his own socks and rubbed them the way he had done with hers.
"Why didn't your feet go blue?" Lois asked.
"Because in Kansas, cold water has lumps of ice in it."
She grinned. "So you think you're tougher than Aussies?" she said.
Clark figured this conversation had gone far enough. "No comment," he said. He tied his shoelaces and then reclined backwards and - leaning on his bended elbow - perused the bay.
Lois wrapped her arms around her knees and also stared ahead. A comfortable silence fell. Below them, a few mothers had brought their children to the playground. Others were walking along the sand.
Clark couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. This relaxed. This peaceful.
And it was all because of her.
||_||
Kendall and Poddy are fictional characters.
Glossary
Big Smoke - the city, particularly Melbourne or Sydney.
Bush telegraph - rumour mill.
Cop it - be subjected to something unpleasant - eg criticism, physical attack.
Gun - star performer. Can either be an adjective (a gun footballer) or a noun (he's a gun).
Sleepy Hollow - slightly derogatory name for Geelong.
Squiz - a look. Take a squiz at something.
Whinge - (pronounced winj) complain.
Woozy - dizzy, especially due to nausea.
RL Footballers.
Dipper - Robert DiPierdomenico - Hawthorn player, 1975 to 1991
John Platten - Hawthorn player, 1986 to 1997. Nicknamed 'the Rat' for his long unruly hair.
Gary Ablett (Sr) - Geelong player 1984 - 1996. His son, Gary Ablett Jr currently plays for Geelong.
