Oh, wait.’ Nicola frowned. ‘It’s not going to interfere with your big date, is it?’
‘No,’ Rose sighed. ‘It’s still on.’
Rose’s last boyfriend had been an installation artist named Marco. He’d recently moved overseas for ‘professional opportunities’, which was code for sleeping around. They hadn’t officially broken up, but things had been cooling for a while: initially Marco had seemed a practical, hands-on type, but it had quickly become clear that for him, actually making anything came a distant second to crafting long-winded explanations of what his (potential) work was trying to say. She probably should have cut him loose when he claimed stacking three burnt-out cars on top of each other was going to be his grand statement on gender relations.
‘Good,’ Nicola said. She hadn’t been sad to see Marco go, either. She had a long list of ‘really great’ guys she was itching to set Rose up with. Rose wasn’t sure exactly how Nicola knew these guys, but Rose needed all the help she could get. She sure wasn’t meeting anyone new spending all day cataloguing hammers.
Everyone told Rose that as a female tradie, she must have no trouble meeting men. And it was true – she met plenty. But the workmates who didn’t treat her like their kid sister were always playfully one-upping each other, or complaining about the incompetence of some other bloke on their site. After a day with Old Steve, there was only so much more shop talk Rose could handle. And from what she’d seen, dating a coworker never ended well.
‘Sometimes I worry that my artsy-fartsy parents have spoiled me for normal relationships,’ Rose said to Nicola.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re such snobs about everything,’ Rose said. ‘Maybe they’ve taught me to be too critical, you know? Holding out for the perfect guy?’
‘Your parents thought Marco was perfect, but that’s only because he’s an artiste,’ said Nicola. ‘I still can’t believe that embarrassing Guardian article your mum wrote about how it broke her heart when he moved to New York.’
‘I just want a man who gets things done,’ Rose said. ‘Is that too much to ask for?
‘Of course it isn’t,’ Nicola said. ‘That’s why I thought you might click with Alistair. He’s a go-getter.’
‘Good.’
‘But –’ Nicola held up a finger – ‘you have to be proactive too. Maybe if you were looking at other guys, I wouldn’t have had to set you up with Alistair.’
‘Nobody forced you to!’ Rose said, unable to keep a sulky note out of her voice. ‘It’s not like a chore.’
‘Listen, Rose, I’m doing this because I want to see you happy.’ Nicola pointed at Rose’s dog-eared paperback. ‘Maybe it’s those romance novels that are spoiling you. In real life, you don’t just … bump into the perfect man.’
‘Well,’ Rose said, ‘I actually saw a cute guy when I went for the job today. He was a contestant on Mansions in the Sky –’
‘What! You’re working on Mansions in the Sky?’
‘Um, no. I’m on The Dock.’
Nicola sighed. ‘That garbage show where they fix up trash barges? Last season they all got scurvy.’
‘I don’t think that’s how scurvy works …’
‘They did a crossover promo with Nude Island and they got lost at sea. Three months adrift. One of them married a basketball!’
‘Oh,’ Rose said. ‘What kind of show have I got myself on?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Nicola. ‘Tell me more about this hot guy.’
‘I don’t know, we just had a connection. He said his name was Dave.’
‘Hmmm, I’m on it,’ Nicola said.
‘He seemed really nice. He had really nice eyes.’
‘Nice eyes. Got it.’
‘We didn’t talk that much, but he seemed … kind,’ Rose said.
‘I’m not going to help you stalk him if you’re gonna make it weird.’
‘Look,’ Rose said with a laugh, ‘he was no Willie McCabe, Lord Dalwhinnie.’
‘That’s right, girl, keep your eyes on the prize. I respect that you’re holding out for a fictional Scottish earl,’ said Nicola. She kissed two fingers and reached out to touch them to her screen. ‘Love you.’
Rose repeated the gesture on her own computer. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you more when you’re on reality TV.’
Rose had been walking around the docks for the last fifteen minutes and she hadn’t found any evidence that a television show was being filmed nearby. Twenty years ago, commercial ships had unloaded their cargo here, but nowadays it was only used as a marina for yachts and small fishing vessels. There were plenty of people working on their boats in the crisp morning air – she just couldn’t tell who was working on them for a TV audience.
She’d called Old Steve the previous night to break the news.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Old Steve had said, in between coughs and the pounding of the waves. He claimed he needed to live by the beach for the health-giving ‘sea air’; Rose suspected it was because a beach shack was the only kind of dwelling the council would let him make entirely with his own hands. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You need a cough lolly?’ Rose had said, shaking her head.
‘I’ll live,’ he’d said, ‘hopefully.’
Rose hadn’t taken the bait. ‘Anyway, Steve … I don’t know how to tell you …’
‘You don’t need to,’ Old Steve had said after an elaborately phlegmy intake of breath. ‘I know you’ve found work,’ he coughed, ‘down the docks.’ He repeated the final syllable. ‘Dohhhhcks.’
‘What?’ Rose had been taken aback. ‘That’s not –’
‘Bernie called me this afternoon. He wanted to check your credentials.’
‘So … what did you tell him?’ she’d said.
‘That you were the most promising nail shaper I’d seen in years. I said that I was just about to let you … let you …’ He’d sniffled.
‘Use a hammer?’ Rose had said.
‘Hold a hammer. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
‘Look Steve, I really appreciate everything you’ve taught me over these last six months. But it’s time for me to –’
At this
