Chapter 1: Champagne Tension at the Surf Club
The air in the surf club bar was thick with the smell of spilled beer, salt, and decades of sunscreen baked into its bones. Faded surfboards hung like shields on walls stained yellow from cigarette smoke of a bygone era. A neon Schlitz sign buzzed and flickered, casting a sickly green glow over Geoff’s hand where it rested on the sticky bar top. The jukebox in the corner played some forgettable rock ballad, its thump-thump-thump barely cutting through the roar of Friday night.
Eleanor’s laughter cut across the noise, a bright, clear bell. Geoff turned, a smile automatically finding his lips. There she was, her blonde hair catching the low light like a halo, her simple sundress the color of sea foam clinging just so. She was talking to Mandy from the book club, completely unaware of the glances sliding her way from the blokes near the pool table. She never saw it. To her, this was just a friendly night out with her husband at the local. To Geoff, it was a small paradise, hard-earned and deeply cherished.
“Another one, Geoff?” Barry the treasurer appeared at his elbow, his face serious, a folder clutched to his chest. The budget meeting had officially bled into social hour. Again.
“Oh, yeah, cheers Barry. A lager. And a champagne for Ellie,” Geoff said, his eyes drifting back to his wife. She’d tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile wide and unguarded.
“About the roof repair,” Barry began, opening his folder on the bar. “The quotes are coming in astronomical. It’s the imported shingles, see, they’re talking about coastal-grade…”
Geoff nodded, tuning his ear to Barry’s monotone while keeping his gaze on Eleanor. He saw Dave before she did. Dave, tall and broad-shouldered in a tight grey t-shirt, moving through the crowd with the easy confidence of a man who owned every room he walked into. He was a good bloke, Geoff thought. Did their decking last summer. Fine job.
Dave’s path wasn’t random. It intercepted Eleanor just as a wave of rowdy kids fresh from the beach surged towards the bar, all wet hair and loud shouts. Eleanor, startled, took a half-step back, directly into Dave’s waiting space.
“Whoa there, Ellie, steady on,” Dave’s voice carried, deep and friendly. His hands came up to her hips, ostensibly to stabilize her.
Geoff’s smile tightened. It was a natural thing to do. A helpful thing.
But Dave’s hands didn’t fall away after the jostle passed. One stayed, a large, tanned palm splayed possessively on the small of her back, his thumb resting just above the waistband of her dress, on bare skin. The other gestured towards the bar, his head dipping close to her ear to be heard. Eleanor, ever gracious, laughed again, a touch nervously, and nodded.
Barry droned on about drainage. “...and if we don’t address the runoff, the foundation’s next…”
Geoff’s champagne flute felt fragile in his grip. He watched Dave’s thumb. It moved. Just a tiny, almost imperceptible sweep back and forth against Eleanor’s spine. A casual, intimate stroke. Geoff felt a hot, sharp stone settle in his gut. It was nothing. Probably an accident. Dave was just… being friendly. A bit handsy, maybe, but that was Dave.
Eleanor shifted, turning slightly towards Geoff, her face seeking him out. Dave’s hand slipped, lingering for a beat too long as it left her body. He gave her a wink before turning to order a round of shots for the blokes beside him, seamlessly rejoining the masculine fray.
“So, what do you think, Geoff?” Barry asked, tapping a spreadsheet.
“Yeah. Yeah, sounds right,” Geoff muttered, his eyes following Eleanor as she made her way back to him, a fresh glass of champagne in her hand. She looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the heat and the laughter.
“You’ll never guess what Mandy just told me,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him, her knee pressing warmly against his leg. “About her daughter’s wedding cake. It’s a whole saga.”
Geoff forced his shoulders to relax. He drank his lager. It tasted flat. “Oh yeah?”
She launched into the story, her hands animated. Geoff watched her, the love a physical ache in his chest. But his peripheral vision was now a high-definition trap, tracking Dave’s reflection in the murky mirror behind the bar. Dave was leaning back, elbow on the bar, watching the room. Watching them. His eyes, half-lidded, were fixed on the line of Eleanor’s shoulder.
“Geoff?” Eleanor’s voice pulled him back. “You okay? You’re miles away.”
“Just Barry’s budget talk,” he lied, squeezing her hand. “Death by spreadsheet.”
She giggled, squeezing back. Her trust was absolute, a fortress he lived inside. To question its walls felt like a betrayal.
Later, as they bundled into their coats, Dave materialized again, his large frame blocking the doorway for a moment. “Off, are ya? Night, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” His grin was wide, his eyes crinkling. He clapped Geoff on the shoulder, a solid, heavy thump of camaraderie. Then his gaze slid to Eleanor. “Look after him, Ellie. He’s one of the good ones.”
“I know,” she said, smiling that sunny, oblivious smile.
In the cool silence of the car, the salt air clearing the beer haze from his head, Geoff focused on the yellow lines passing under the wheels. Eleanor hummed along to the radio, her hand resting on his thigh.
“Dave’s a character, isn’t he?” she said, yawning. “So friendly.”
“Yeah,” Geoff said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. “A character.”
The image played on a loop behind his eyes: that thick thumb, moving deliberately against his wife’s skin. The way Dave’s body had curved around hers in the crowd, a wall of muscle and intention. The possessive grip masquerading as protection.
He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, the vinyl creaking. The stone in his gut hardened, cold and certain. It wasn’t nothing. He knew what he’d seen.
He knew what he’d seen.
The car hummed along the coastal road, the dark ocean a void beyond the guardrail. Eleanor’s hand was warm on his thigh.
“He really is such a great guy, Dave,” she said, her voice soft with sincerity. She stared out at the passing moonlit dunes. “You know, Mandy was saying he’s completely revitalized the under-sixteens football team. The boys adore him.”
Geoff made a non-committal noise in his throat. It was all he could manage.
“Seriously,” she continued, turning to him, her face pale in the green glow of the dashboard. “She said he’s got them on this proper strength and conditioning program. No one else was doing that. He knows so much about it, I suppose. Given his history.”
Geoff’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “His history.”
“As a champion athlete. Back in the day. State-level decathlon or something, wasn’t it? All that knowledge, and he just gives it to these kids for free. It’s really admirable.”
He gives it away for free, Geoff thought. The words curdled in his mind. He pictured Dave’s hands, those champion’s hands, demonstrating a clean-and-jerk to a teenage boy. Then he pictured them on Eleanor’s hips. The same authority. The same possessive confidence.
“He just has that way about him,” Eleanor mused, yawning again. “Makes people feel… looked after.”
The heat was back in Geoff’s gut, sharp and corrosive. Looked after. Is that what that was in the crowded bar? A public service? He wanted to say something. The words lodged behind his teeth: He was touching you. His thumb was on your skin. It wasn’t friendly. But to voice it would make it real. It would fracture the easy night. It would force him to examine the unthinkable: that a man he considered a mate was patiently, skillfully, laying siege to his life.
And worse, it would force him to see the truth in Eleanor’s eyes. Either the horrified dawning of understanding, or—a possibility that chilled him more—a gentle, puzzled dismissal. Don’t be silly, Geoff. It was nothing. You’re imagining things.
He couldn’t risk it. Not yet.
So he swallowed the acid taste of suspicion and nodded. “Yeah. Admirable.”
They pulled into the driveway of their neat, weatherboard home. The sensor light blinked on, flooding the porch with a harsh, yellow clarity. Eleanor unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over, pressing a soft, champagne-scented kiss to his cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Ellie.”
He watched her walk to the front door, the sea-foam dress swishing around her calves. She was everything. His whole world. A world that suddenly felt porous, its boundaries marked by the casual stroke of a thumb on bare skin.
He turned off the engine. The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant crash of waves. He sat there in the dark, the weight of his keys heavy in his hand.
Strength and conditioning.
The phrase echoed. It wasn’t just about training kids. It was a philosophy. It was about assessing weakness. Building pressure gradually. Applying force where it would be most effective. A champion would know that. A champion would be disciplined, strategic.
Geoff looked at the dark kitchen window, where Eleanor’s silhouette moved, turning on lights. A profound, defensive cold settled over him. This wasn’t jealousy. This was reconnaissance. He had seen the first, barely perceptible move in a game he hadn’t known they were playing.
And Dave, with his easy smile and his local hero status, was clearly in training.