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before she could examine them too closely.
    ‘Thank you,’ Tiffany meant to say but the words didn’t emerge as recognisable sound. She took a sip of water and tried again. ‘Thank you.’
    This time they were audible, just.
    Xanthi stuck her hands on her generous hips and studied Tiffany, the buttons on her pink cotton dress straining dangerously over melon-like breasts. Tiffany envisaged a life of blindness caused by flying, white plastic shrapnel if the forces proved overwhelming.
    ‘You’re sick. What’s the matter?’ Her pudgy face screwed up in matronly concern.
    ‘A headache,’ murmured Tiffany.
    ‘You look terrible. You need to eat! I get you some food.’
    ‘No, tha…’ Tiffany began but it was too late. Xanthi had disappeared in a swirl of clicking plastic flyscreen.
    ‘There’s no point arguing with her,’ said a laconic voice. The surf shop guy came into view from next door, carrying a gigantic mug, the sort bistros served soup in. ‘Xanthi looks after people whether they want it or not.’
    He peered down at her curiously. Conscious of the increasing scrutiny Tiffany picked up a sachet of sugar and tore it open. Fine white grains flew everywhere but her cup. Her hands were shaking like someone with the DT’s.
    ‘Are you all right?’ He may have been smiling, laughing at her, if she’d looked.
    ‘Headache,’ she muttered keeping her head lowered. She attempted to sweep the mess she’d made into the palm of one hand but most of the sugar went on to her bare thigh and the hem of her shorts. She gave up and brushed it off. Her hand was sticky now — sugar and perspiration equals glue.
    ‘Too bad,’ he said. ‘Need anything for it?’
    ‘I have some aspirin.’
    Tiffany picked up another sachet of sugar and this time with great concentration and willpower steadied her hands enough to sugar her tea. She stirred it vigorously. He was still there watching her. She glanced up and met the hazel eyes full-on.
    The contact scorched right through the residual fog. Her heart tried to bounce out of her chest. Tiffany gasped and looked out to sea quickly. The hand holding the spoon jerked, the cup tilted and swayed and sent a wave of steaming liquid across the table and dripping to the footpath.
    ‘Wooh,’ he cried leaping back so his bare legs weren’t scalded. ‘Hang on, I’ll get a cloth.’
    Tiffany stood up helplessly. She wasn’t fit to be out in public. About a quarter of her brain was functioning. The man came back wielding a red checked dish cloth and mopped up the flood. He removed the cup and went back inside the café where she could hear the murmur of voices and a laugh from the woman.
    ‘I’d better go home,’ she said when he returned.
    ‘Home home or to the motel?’
    ‘Uh — the motel.’
    ‘Don’t leave because of that little accident,’ he said. ‘Sit down and relax. Xanthi’s bringing you something to eat.’
    Tiffany sat down, mainly because she wasn’t capable of coming to another decision on her own. Her head felt as though some maniac was hacking it open with a chisel. She drank half the glass of water in one gulp. If he went away she could take a couple of aspirin but he insisted on standing there watching as though she were an exhibit at the zoo.
    Xanthi appeared with coffee, a plate of fried eggs and bacon and two heavily buttered slices of white toast. Tiffany’s stomach heaved just looking at it. The smell of bacon wormed its way into her nasal cavity and lodged there doing its insidious work. She swallowed uneasily. She’d never liked bacon.
    ‘You eat that,’ ordered Xanthi.
    ‘I...’ Tiffany looked up but wasn’t game to do more than offer a feeble smile and say, ‘Thank you.’ Maybe a caffeine hit was what she needed.
    Now Xanthi and the surf shop guy were both standing there watching. Feeding time at the zoo. She was saved by two young boys who pedalled up on their bikes. They hurled the bikes carelessly to the footpath and rushed into the