On the first Saturday of December 2016, Coral itched to know the day's plan. My best friend's mood had added joy because of Ruby's and my renewed friendship.
Coral bordered on impatience through the lead-up to Saturday as she attended a work conference on civic art in Melbourne from late November. Now free for the weekend, Coral agreed to lunch at the jetty.
I arrived carrying rods and a bait box, and the girls were already perched on the wooden edge, their legs dangling.
As I approached, Coral and Ruby reminisced.
They acknowledged me as they delved into fun times past.
"Do you remember leap-frog in my garden?" Coral chirped to her girlfriend
Two children who played leapfrog on the foreshore sand — away to the left — stimulated their recall.
"At your fourteenth birthday —" Ruby snickered.
Coral bubbled, "Yeah, the one time my Mum told me off for wearing a dress."
Ruby couldn't help herself. "Sweetie, you were wearing a mini!"
I, too, remembered the leapfrog birthday fun as I bent down and launched myself off the ground, leaping over Coral and landing on my feet.
Then, it was her turn. She leapt over me, and Ruby rolled her eyes as Coral's mini flew up.
Coral insisted that her girlfriend try, so Ruby, in jeans, vaulted her body over her girlfriend.
As Coral went to vault Ruby, her mother Sandy, quite alarmed, cried out as she organised the birthday cake to light, "You are a young lady!"
As indifferent as ever, Josh kept throwing baskets through the netball hoop on the corner of the garage.
I reminisced about Coral at fourteen and the end of leapfrog games at birthday parties. The year, too, of her last egg hunt, when Josh declared he was uninterested in hunting chocolate in the future. The year I noticed Coral's spinning top lost its place atop her dresser.
Her childhood delight was quietly packed away.
The top she taught me to spin at the age of six.
On the jetty, as I sat beside the girls, Coral clapped her hands.
"I'm dressed properly for leapfrog today," she announced brightly, "Though I'm not joining those kids down there on the beach."
Her feet swinging off the jetty edge, the golden girl wore jeans: designer ones.
"No leapfrog for you now either, sweetheart, trendy dress," my bestie complimented Ruby.
Coral felt the fabric of her girlfriend's stylish satin pink dress.
"Let's eat," said Ruby, who looked exquisite today, opening the large picnic basket.
We savoured olives and delicious prosciutto, plus everything else Ruby packed. Her mother donated salami, sun-dried tomatoes, and cured vegetables. We indulged in a moist chocolate cake topped with swirls of Italian buttercream — thanks to Ruby.
Coral complimented her girlfriend on the lunch, "Scrumptious honey."
Ruby acknowledged her mum as her picnic teacher and helped her create the delicious cake. The girls packed all the leftovers.
Coral quizzed, "Well, I don't see either of you as competition for fishing."
She saw the rods and a bait box spread on the jetty.
Coral forced a grin before looking at me, "Throwing crabs, yeah, Luke might win— Nah," then giggled.
"If we swam the jetty length, then I surrender to Ruby already,"
I recalled the little minx in her black bathers at the jetty trouncing Josh and Coral, aged fifteen, in a freestyle race around the jetty at high tide. And because I hated swimming, I gave the starting yell and was meant to officiate a close finish. As per usual, there was no close finish involving a competitive Ruby.
Coral fingered along one of the rods beside the tackle box and mentioned Josh for the first time on the jetty picnic.
"Fishing was Josh! Well, who is it going to be today? I only see two rods. Luke? Ruby?"
Coral didn't look at us as she said this— she held her gaze to the horizon.
Behind her, at her shoulder, "Me, will you forgive…."
"Oh Josh, Josh," instant flustered joy from my bestie.
Coral bounced around without hesitation as she slipped her hands into his. They held their hands together tightly, and their warmth permeated my being, transporting me from this Saturday afternoon to a wretched Friday night at Luna Park and the thought of what the day after should have been for this pair.
My golden girl hugged her bear, and my mate Josh hugged the woman he loved.
They left their past mistakes behind.
As their hug progressed to cuddling, I recalled how Ruby and I worked on arranging the picnic, bringing Josh and Coral together.
I recalled Ruby's work in getting Coral to the picnic day was fast and efficient.
Over coffee in early November, Ruby laughed as she provided me with a concise summary of how she asked her girlfriend to the jetty.
Her story unfolded:
Ruby faced timed Coral.
"Are you screwing, honey?" Ruby asked.
"I beg your pardon?" Coral barked back defensively.
"I'll take that as a no," Ruby stated.
"Why?" Coral asked, tilting her head.
"I have a guy for you to meet in Melbourne."
Yeah, Ruby said she batted her lashes.
"Thanks, sweetie, I'll stay single till then," followed by her signature twitter.
"You better!" demanded Ruby.
Ruby and I watched Coral and Josh on the jetty. Their combined cuddle and snuggle elevated to a nuzzle. Romance is for two, yet their expanding expressions of love compelled me to gaze. Their fingers traced each other's cheeks and necks. Their bodies rocked and swayed in tandem.
Josh's head bent, and Coral's toes rose to kiss his forehead. Hands brushed and swept, separate, then united. His tongue flicked wetly on her earlobe, light as a feather. Her moist lips swept the C-shape of his ear like tracing the curves of a sea shell.
I stowed my tears as I witnessed Ruby wipe her wet eyes.
—I recalled my job in getting Josh to the jetty. It started in mid-October when I told Rhea that Ruby and I planned to bring Coral and Josh together again.
My wife wisecracked, "About time," and then urged sympathetically, "Well, get busy."
I rang Josh on his landline, and we prattled the usual preliminaries. He enthusiastically detailed his finished skylight and invited me to view the completed loft. His description sounded terrific and provided the perfect opportunity to ask him to go to the jetty to reconnect with Coral.
I hesitated over the phone because I wondered if my mate was dating. I focused the conversation on the restoration and left alone the tricky question of a woman in his life.
Curious about his relationship status, I visited his old home and chatted with his mum, Sarah.
She was delightful, glad to see me and offered me tea and biscuits. Even aged and grey, she kept her braided hair.
Over afternoon tea, I asked, 'Did Josh have a lady in his life?'
I leaned forward on the edge of their sofa, my tea cup shaking on its plate.
A waver in her voice as she offered me another chocolate biscuit, which I accepted, "Josh has been single for too long."
I drove to Josh's country home in late October, anxious and reflective. I chose a meandering route instead of the highway.
How would I broach Coral into a conversation with Josh?
And I mulled on our troupe's backscattered screw-ups- we all carried selfish baggage from the past.
Josh greeted me warmly at the top of his winding gravel driveway, wearing work overalls and sturdy boots. He guided me upstairs to a finished loft — a magnificent space with its high, broad timber beams and a massive skylight—a masterwork of restoration, a labour of love.
Recently finished, his scaffolding and work ladders lay spread. This was the right place to talk about the past and the future.
I managed to be direct as I asked Josh, "Will you meet Coral in Melbourne if Ruby and I arrange it?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, his large hands jerked, tipping a step ladder and a pile of neatly folded drop sheets.
He knelt and clawed at the sheets, strong hands bundling shoddily.
On his knees, he exclaimed, "What should I say? I cheated on her. I left her, and I never contacted her!"
He scrunched and twisted the sheets in an unholy mess.
Josh lumbered on his hands and knees on his wood-beamed floor.
He bowed his head and cursed, "It's too late."
Sunlight burst through his skylight; the rays shone like angel dust. My focus shifted to Josh's huge hands clawing into and stretching down his overalls.
His eyes blinked into the sun, and his nose sniffled as he blubbered, "I figured Coral moved on. Oh man, it would be uncomfortable to contact her and see that she was in a relationship."
His agitation rubbed at me.
My hands knotted.
"She's not," I raised my voice at him, "and neither are you."
Josh appeared crushed by guilt resurfacing.
He cheated in his van on his golden girl in a moment of weakness.
His hands raised a drop sheet near covering his face, but he released it in a flop like he was letting Coral drift away.
He needed to take action.
My mate knelt and tied a fricking shoelace.
He started on the second lace.
"Get up, Josh," I commanded. "You're going to Melbourne."
I spoke firmly and compassionately because Joshua Thomas Hardiman needed decisive friend advice.
He rose.
My imposing mate cast small as his shoulders slumped.
I urged, "Trust me like you did the day I took you to Coral at the spring. Coral isn't hooked on time. Her life is a picture frame of space. Your outline is etched, central on her canvas. Go to Melbourne and complete it."
He stepped tentatively forward, and I joined him.
We man-hugged, generating mutual resolve.
Josh said, abrupt and purposeful, "Yes, Melbourne, Coral."
The bear broke his torpor of hibernation.
"The Jetty!" he queried.
"Where else," as I back-slapped him.
—My best mate and best friend finished a marathon hug and caressed on the jetty.
"Oh, you two," gushed Coral, giving Ruby and me a face-to-face boundless smile, "you set us up!"
She extended her arms wide, "Come here."
And as adults, we achieved what the four of us never managed as teenagers: a group hug.
Josh gave an enveloping bear hug, and Coral gave a soft-pelted bunny hug. Ruby contributed a tight waist hug while I shared a bonding hug.
Combined on the jetty, we defined enduring friendship.
Once we let go of the embrace, Coral said warmly, "We are a troupe."
She then busied as her typical organisational self.
Josh relaxed, loose-limbed.
"Your rod, my rod," Coral said methodically.
Next, they organised hooks and bait.
Josh suggested, "Later, let's you and I go to Luna Park and ride the carousel."
"After the dodgems," countered my bestie.
"No," Josh said softly, "I only want you and the carousel. No planning, Coral, let's wing it."
"Yes," she nestled and agreed.
Her freckles dispersed in happiness.
"Yes, Josh, let's take it as it comes."
My best friend needed to soar.
I pictured overlaying Coral the Quadracci Pavilion.
The building rises, its wings open to the sky—Coral glides through the world as Josh freewheels with her.