I couldn’t leave Lorelle’s place at Buddina, Sunshine Coast, without going down to the beach. I snuck out the house before anyone had stirred and spent a glorious hour walking on the beach path and the sand… Laden with photographs and frangipanis, I returned to the house for breakfast with Lorelle and Monica (my old friend’s beautiful guest from Germany); and soon I was making tyre-tracks back to Brisbane and the arms of my gorgeous boyfriend Mason (well he says I’m his girlfriend – he’s only three!).

We were in our blue lagoon at the time… It was raining outside but the lagoon was like a warm comforting bath (had it been a hot afternoon it would have been too hot for comfort!). As always, I busied myself with the pool net, removing every skerrick of fallen leaf or waterlogged fly, although I did so more from habit than need because the pool was as clear as a mountain stream; in fact, we mermaids rather enjoy the feeling of our arms stretching out, this way and that, through the water. Lorelle understands this very well – we are kindred spirits. So, I quite understood when my childhood friend (and mermaid) looked up at the palm trees by the pool and exclaimed, with horror:

“Oh no! I missed them, just look at that clump of flowers that are going to fall into the pool!”

Of course, everyone knows that floral flotsam and jetsam is anathema to a mermaid and her habitat. Lorelle (or should I call her Lorelei?) immediately jumped out of the pool and found her stepladder and long-handled secateurs. I smiled to myself as I remembered my own adventures with long-handled secateurs and trampolines when I was house-sitting for Lorelle some years ago (see chapter “Virgin on the Ridiculous” in my book “The Innocent Flirt Down-under”). And I took these photographs of a mermaid quite as at home out of the water and up in trees.

“You Jane,” I thought. I a Jane too, but you may already know that.

“Hello Roland, I’m just calling to say that I changed my mind and would like some ice-cream,” I began on my mobile phone, “but, just in case you were thinking of stopping to buy some anyway, don’t do so because I’m at the shops – at last I found the shopping centre at Birkdale!”

“Hi, I didn’t get any because you said you were going to deprive yourself,” answered Roland.

“Are you still at home?” I asked.

“No.”

“Are you on the way then?”

“Kind of… I’m at some shops. I stopped off to buy a few beers and chocolate – the pedestal fan is in the car for you,” said our old friend, who had kindly offered to lend me one of his fans (as it’s been so hot in last two days).

“How long will you be because I’ll need time to get back to the house?”

“Not long for I’m quite close, in fact I might even  be at the same shopping centre as you – I’m in the car park,” added Roland.

“I’m in a car park too. Has yours got a Woolworths?”

“Yes!”

“And are there yellow and white awnings in the car park?”

“Yes!”

“Are you in Birkdale?” I asked.

“Yes!”

I got out of my car and scanned the car park for Roland’s car, which was a bit futile because I don’t know his number plate and didn’t have my glasses on anyway; besides which, most modern cars look pretty much the same to me. I heard a whistle and Roland came bounding over.

A few minutes later we were coming out of Woolworths with a tub of delicious ninety-seven percent fat-free chocolate ice-cream (how do they make it taste so nice?); Roland was walking his usual ten paces ahead and didn’t hear a woman’s voice call out:

“Sally!”

“It can’t be for me,” I thought, “I don’t even live here!”

“Sally!” the voice became insistent.

“Sue!” I said, upon turning around to see my ex-sister-in-law, “what are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she laughed.

Well, what do you know? The little suburb of Birkdale – between Wynnum and Wellington Point – is the hub of the universe after all! It’s a wonder to me now that we didn’t meet Roland’s daughter Michelle who lives in this popular place also.

Sue and Roland joined me at Jan and Neil’s (where I’m house-sitting) and we sat in the relative cool of the Bali Hut where a light breeze almost rustled the palm fronds. We three of long acquaintance enjoyed nearly fat-free chocolate ice-cream, strawberry champagne and beer while we ‘chewed the fat’. And now I’m off to bed with my two fans – the pedestal fan and Doris the cat.

“Is this the way to the sea?” I called out as I zoomed past a man who was putting a mower in his Ute.

“No, it’s a cul-de-sac!” he called back.

I put on my bike brakes (I wasn’t actually going that fast) and he came running up the pavement to where I’d stopped. He was a tall thin man in his forties. His sharp nose and chin, and the freckles and lines on his skin, denoted that he was a “typical Aussie”. Some red curls escaped from beneath his workman fluorescent orange cap (one of those with material at the back to protect from the sun). He wore blue sunglasses not dissimilar to my own and he had a ready smile; indeed, I suspected he was pleased to see another soul to speak to on that stretch of lonely, lifeless street.

“Where are you heading?” he asked.

“Well, I thought I was going to Thorneside but I really don’t mind – I just want to find the sea and I’d like to get to know the area because I’m house-sitting at Birkdale.” (Not exactly too much information to a stranger, considering there are quite a few houses at Birkdale.)

“This is Aquatic Paradise,” he said, beaming.

“Aquatic Paradise? I’ve never heard of it – are you being serious?”

“Straight up,” he laughed, “I remember when the land was all flattened, before the diggers came in to excavate the canals. I used to bring my girlfriend down here to make out.”

(“That’s a bit of a sexy thing to say,” I thought but didn’t voice.)

“How long ago was that?” I asked, completely ignoring the reference to making out.

“Now let me see… I was about twenty… so it was around twenty-four years ago.”

“Goodness,” I said, “of course, I live in England these days with my English husband so maybe that is why I’m out of touch with new, or not so new, developments.” (Thought I’d better mention my husband, just in case.)

“I have five of the houses in this street,” he boasted, “that one across the road, and the four along here.”

“You must be a millionaire entrepreneur,” I complimented.

“Aw, not really,” he lowered his head bashfully.

“Well, I had better go and find the sea,” I put a foot up to a pedal, “or the fifty factor sunscreen will melt off and I’ll get burnt.”

“Yeah, I use the fifty cream too,” he looked at his arms and laughed, “but it turns me green because the grass cuttings stick to it! Now if you go on back over the bridge, turn right at the main road and you’ll come to the sea. Have you got your address and your mobile phone?”

I nodded and patted my pink knapsack.

“So you’ll be alright then?”

“Yes.”

“Listen do you have a lot of grass at your house-sitting place?” he asked.

“No, it’s just a normal-sized garden for a modern house and it’s all immaculate. I watered it this morning, which is why I’m a bit late getting out for a cycle ride. It was nice to meet you,” I held out my hand. “I’m Sally.”

“I’m Darren.It was nice to meet you, too,” he shook my hand.

“I expect I’ll be thinner when I see you again,” I said (for some inexplicable reason).

“Well, I’m along here most Wednesdays,” Darren said.

I mounted the bike and started pedalling.

“And you look nice already,” Darren called after me.

“Bless you!” I waved back without turning around.

As I cycled onward to the sea at Aquatic Paradise it occurred to me that I had misunderstood Darren and he had been too shy to tell me directly; obviously, he had the job of cutting the grass at five of the houses in that street… I chuckled to myself.

The night was dark and the bedroom was darker, owing to the thick red velvet curtains at the windows. It was one of those airless hot nights that make you kick off the bedclothes. Wearing only a camisole and pants, I slept spreadeagled on the bottom sheet; my arms were akimbo on the pillows as I dreamt of deserts and ice-cold beer (possibly, I can’t really remember).

Suddenly, I was awakened by something cold and clammy on my underarm – just for a moment. Then it happened again. In that split second between sleep and full consciousness I conjured a cane toad (not unlike the one I saw outside on the grass as nightfall fell) hopping back and forth from the bed to my underarm. Now, as you might imagine, I didn’t think to kiss the cane toad prince – I nearly jumped to the ceiling! Poor Doris, the pretty grey cat in my care, leapt from the bed and high-tailed it back to her usual bed of choice.

In a more respectable hour of morning, when sunlight found its way through the chinks in the curtains, Boris Doris returned and woke me with a lick on my cheek. A welcome breeze has filled the house and soon I’ll be out cycling in the sunshine.