{"product_id":"the-swell-isbn-9780593187869","title":"The Swell","description":"\u003cb\u003e\"The holiday getaway takes a suspenseful turn.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCut off from the rest of the world, a group of elite surfers are determined to find the perfect waves at any cost . . . even murder.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThree years ago, surfer Kenna Ward swore off the water for good after her boyfriend's tragic death. But she is drawn back to the beach when her best friend, Mikki, announces her engagement to a man Kenna has never met—a member of a tight-knit group of surfers. Kenna travels with Mikki to a remote Australian beach, entering a dangerous world where the waves, weather, and tides are all that matter, meeting the reclusive group that will do anything to keep their surf spot a secret.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis coastal paradise has a dark side, and Kenna is shocked by the extremes the surfers are prepared to go to for the next thrill. When she learns about mysterious deaths and disappearances within the group, her suspicion is heightened. Soon, Kenna realizes that in order to protect Mikki and herself, she must become one of them . . . and hope she isn't the next to go missing.\"Who says a beach read has to be romantic? This spine-chilling thriller takes readers into the uncharted waters of a remote beach off the coast of Australia. . . . This nail-biting seaside suspense guarantee[s] readers unexpected twists and turns that will make it impossible to put down. . . . This pulse-pounding adventure is an ideal beach read for those who desire a fast-paced summer setting as they lounge safely on the sands of the shore.\" —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew Jersey Digest\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The holiday getaway takes a suspenseful turn.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e, \"Summer Reading Picks\"\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A surfer who quit the sport after her boyfriend’s drowning is drawn back in by new friends, who may be even more dangerous than the waves they chase.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Pick up this adrenaline-pumping novel for a cast of unhinged, sinister surfers, a remote Australian beach and a woman caught in a deadly adventure.\" —\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eParade\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The author of \u003ci\u003eShiver\u003c\/i\u003e moves from the mountains to the beach as a passionate surfer finds herself caught in a deadly adventure. An exhilarating, adrenaline-filled tale of surfing and rock scrambling.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This fast-paced, suspenseful thriller with undertones of 'Survivor' contrasts an idyllic landscape with its savage inhabitants. Recommend this to fans of Ruth Ware, Lucy Foley, and Sarah Goodwin.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We need more sports thrillers, so I'm glad Allie Reynolds, former professional athlete and author of the brilliant thriller \u003ci\u003eShiver,\u003c\/i\u003e wrote \u003ci\u003eThe Swell\u003c\/i\u003e.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBuzzfeed\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This pacy travel thriller delivers a secret community, a cast of hot surfers, and a classic dystopian sting in the tail.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eCrimereads\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If you’re looking for beach reads, it doesn’t get any      beachier than \u003ci\u003eThe      Swell\u003c\/i\u003e…Prepare to clear your schedule for this Agatha      Christie-esque book.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBook Riot\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A compulsive page-turner. The hidden motives of this surf-worshipping cultish group of friends, who would do anything necessary to protect their hidden beach from the outside world, maintained a taut suspense that truly had me until the very last page.\" \u003cb\u003e—Sally Thorne, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Hating Game\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A thrill-ride of a novel,\u003ci\u003e The Swell \u003c\/i\u003ebrings together a cast of sinister characters on a remote, surf-pounded beach, where no one is what they seem. A high-octane, addictive summer read, perfect for your beach bag.\" —\u003cb\u003eLucy Clarke, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eOne of the Girls\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Swell \u003c\/i\u003eis a delicious blend of travel and danger, a surfer's paradise of a book with a razor-sharp menace just under the surface.\" —\u003cb\u003eRoz Nay, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Hunted\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The Swell \u003c\/i\u003eis like an unhinged adult surfer \u003ci\u003eLord Of The Flies\u003c\/i\u003e, and it is thoroughly satisfying. Buckle in, let the paranoia overtake you, and ride it to its satisfying end!” —\u003cb\u003eDarby Kane, author of \u003ci\u003ePretty Little Wife\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A unique, addictive thriller set in the fascinating and often dangerous world of surfing ... where a close-knit, thrill-seeking community will do anything to protect their own version of paradise ... and where everyone has something to hide. The tension builds with the heat and the waves. I was totally swept away!” \u003cb\u003e—Helen Cooper, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Downstairs Neighbor \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Readers, get ready: \u003ci\u003eThe Swell\u003c\/i\u003e is a pulse-pounding, treacherous adventure that will pull you in like a powerful undertow and not let go. With a lush, sun-soaked setting, a relentless plot, and jaw-dropping twists, you'll race through the pages and into the nightmarish dark side of this beach paradise. An intense, visceral reading experience.\" \u003cb\u003e—Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Girls Are All So Nice Here\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Reynolds has delivered yet another tense, twisty, addictive read. The vivid world and fascinating characters will stay with me for some time!” \u003cb\u003e—Jo Spain, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Perfect Lie\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Allie Reynolds once again immerses us in a setting so powerful that we can hear the waves crashing into the bay as we follow a group of wayward surfers on their journeys to overcome fear while each hiding a dark secret. With bone-chilling dread and irresistible cliffhangers, \u003ci\u003eThe Swell \u003c\/i\u003eshowcases Reynolds's immense talent at turning her own passion into a twisty, creepy suspense that will keep you glued to every seductive page.\" \u003cb\u003e—Samantha M. Bailey, author of \u003ci\u003eWoman on the Edge\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWatch Out for Her\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An absolute masterclass in tension; dripping from every page as the fear ramps and the questions as to what is really going on build. The setting and characters are magnificent.\" —\u003cb\u003eSarah Bonner, author of \u003ci\u003eHer Perfect Twin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A wild ride, full of thrilling twists and unexpected turns, made more compelling by the book’s majestic and eerie setting. Reynolds’ intimate knowledge of the surfing world adds layers to a story that had me racing through the pages until the final, pulse-pounding conclusion.\" —\u003cb\u003eDanielle Girard, author of \u003ci\u003eWhite Out\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sun, sand, surf and suspense: \u003ci\u003eThe Swell\u003c\/i\u003e is drenched in atmosphere, tension and intrigue.\" —\u003cb\u003eEmma Haughton, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Dark\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A tense and gripping thriller about friendship and obsession. Kept me guessing until the very end.\" —\u003cb\u003eJo Jakeman, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eWhat His Wife Knew\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAllie Reynolds\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eShiver\u003c\/i\u003e. Born in Britain, Reynolds is a former freestyle snowboarder who swapped her snowboard for a surfboard and moved to the Gold Coast in Australia, where she taught English as a foreign language for fifteen years. She still lives in Australia with her family. Reynolds's short fiction has been published in women's magazines in the UK, Australia, Sweden, and South Africa.\u003cb\u003e1. KENNA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHey, you!\" A blonde woman holds a flyer in my direction. \"Take one please!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA slight accent: Dutch or Swedish or something.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI blink, dazzled by the sunlight after the shade of the train station. Why is it so bright? It feels like the middle of the night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Best Thai food!\" shouts a young man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Looking for a room?\" calls a girl with multiple facial piercings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe touts stand there, holding their ground-or trying to-in the stream of people flooding from the station. Sydney may be on the other side of the world, but so far, arriving here is little different to arriving in London or Paris.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy heavy backpack makes me unsteady on my feet. The Thai restaurant guy tries to give me a flyer, but I have my travel card in one hand and my daypack in the other so I shrug in apology and step around him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Happy hour!\" shouts another voice. \"Six-dollar schooners.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I'm wondering what a schooner could be, a hand grips my wrist. The Dutch woman. She's fiftyish with dark blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Pretty, or she would be if her face wasn't taut and unsmiling. I want to pull free and walk on-ignore her like everyone else-but the desperation in her eyes stops me. I glance at her flyers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMissing! Elke Hartmann, German national.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe photo shows a smiling blonde girl clutching a surfboard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My daughter.\" The woman's voice is raw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot Dutch then. I'm hopeless with accents. The tide of people divide and merge around us as I skim the flyer. Elke is twenty-nine-a year younger than me-and she's been missing for six months. I offer a tight smile of sympathy. I hope the bus stop isn't far because this backpack weighs a ton.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA briefcase bashes my calf. I spot the clock on the wall. Half past five: the evening rush hour. The realization makes my brain hurt. I can never sleep on planes. I've been awake for two whole days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Have you ever lost someone you love?\" the woman asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI turn back to her. Because I have. Lost someone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"She was backpacking here.\" The woman nods at my bags. \"Like you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'm not backpacking, I want to tell her, but she doesn't give me a chance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"They're in a foreign country and they don't know anyone. If they disappear, it's days before anyone notices. They're easy targets.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith the final word, her voice cracks. She lowers her head, shoulders shaking. I drape my arms awkwardly around her. My palms are damp; I don't want to ruin her blouse. I need to get going, but I haven't got the heart to leave her like this. Should I take her somewhere-buy her a cup of tea? But I want to get to Mikki's place before it gets dark. I'll give her a minute and hope she cries herself out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOffice workers file past. The women seem better groomed than their British counterparts: all glossy hair and tanned legs in heels and short skirts. The men wear their shirts with the sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone, suit jackets slung over their shoulders, ties nowhere in sight. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSweat pools under my armpits. This sticky humidity, Mikki always moaned about it: \u003ci\u003eNearly as bad as Japan\u003c\/i\u003e. It's March, the Australian autumn, and I hadn't expected it to be this hot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI watch the touts handing out flyers. The Thai restaurant guy offers a flyer to anyone who'll take one, but the others seem to be targeting backpackers. With their oversized backpacks and milk-white or sunburnt limbs, they stand out a mile. Easy targets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElke's mother sniffs. \"Sorry.\" She hunts through her handbag and pulls out tissues.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No problem,\" I say. \"Are you okay?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe dabs her eyes, sheepish now. \"I let you go. But you be careful, yes?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I will. And don't worry about me. I'm not a backpacker. I'm here to visit a friend. She's getting married.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, my apologies. She'll be expecting you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes,\" I say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe isn't, though.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e2. KENNA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'm going to kill you!\" Mikki says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stand on her doorstep, hunched under the weight of my backpack. \"I knew you'd be mad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFreckles pepper Mikki's cheeks and forehead. Her long hair, previously glossy and black, is matted and burned brown by the Australian sun. The flowering tree beside her front door scents the night air with an exotic smell, highlighting the fact that I'm on the other side of the world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe's looking at me as though she can't decide if she's happy to see me or not. \"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBecause you told me not to come\u003c\/i\u003e. But we won't get into that yet. \"I tried phoning, but you didn't answer.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I told you, there's no reception at the beach we go to.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer white Roxy top shows off her taut biceps and tan. As unobtrusively as I can, I look for bruises but don't see any. I let out my breath a little. Here she is, apparently safe and well. My best friend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe breaks into a smile. \"Oh my God, Kenna! You're really here!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI smile too. \u003ci\u003eOh my God!\u003c\/i\u003e is her catchphrase and I can't count the number of times I've heard her say it-usually at the latest crazy thing I did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe pulls me into a hug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eSee? It's all right.\u003c\/i\u003e Best friends do stuff like this. If your intentions are good, it's okay to overstep boundaries.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat is a friendship but a sum of the memories of the time you spent with someone? And the better the memories, the better the friendship. Memories of Mikki: me and her nude surfing one night when we were drunk; me push-starting her ancient Beetle down a narrow Cornish road above a cliff; a camping trip when she forgot to pack the tent so we chatted up the campers next-door and booted them out of one of their tents so we could borrow it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll the hilarious things we got up to. And this will go down in our shared history as another of those things. The time I flew to Australia to pay her a surprise visit. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself. She must have been surfing today-her hair is sticky with salt. I peel a strand from my mouth and pull back to look at her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can't believe you came all this way,\" she says. \"What if I wasn't here?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe thought had crossed my mind. \"I'd have found a hotel.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's a stiffness between us. It could be because we haven't seen each other for over a year, yet it feels like more than that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Come on in,\" she says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI remove my shoes before I enter. Mikki hasn't lived in Japan since she was six, but she's acquired many of its customs from her parents. Dumping my bags, I glance around. Wooden floorboards, junk store furniture. Is her fiancŽ in? I hope not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Are you hungry?\" she asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Um. I don't know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe laughs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My body clock's all messed up. What time is it?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe checks her watch. \"Nearly seven.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Seriously?\" I strain to think. \"It's eight a.m. in England.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm making \u003ci\u003enikujaga\u003c\/i\u003e. A monster batch.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI follow her into the kitchen, where a rich and meaty smell hangs in the air, and realize I \u003ci\u003eam\u003c\/i\u003e hungry. My skin is slick with sweat. The windows are open, the back door too, but the draft coming through the flyscreen is as warm as the air in the room, and the ceiling fan only circulates the heat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki fans her face as she stirs the pan on the stove. Now that she's got over her shock, she \u003ci\u003eseems\u003c\/i\u003e happy to see me, but you never can tell with Mikki. She comes from a culture of politeness before all else. I, on the other hand, have one of those faces that shows every emotion so I keep my gaze firmly on the surroundings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDishes are piled high in the sink; ants crawl over the worksurface. Strange. Mikki's a neat-freak-used to be, anyway-and the place I shared with her in Cornwall was always spotless. She sees me looking and squashes ants with her finger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy head throbs with a mixture of dehydration, tiredness, and jetlag. \"Can I have some water?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe fills a glass from the water dispenser on the fridge. I slosh ice water over my fingers and T-shirt in my hurry to get it to my mouth, but it feels so good I'm tempted to pour the whole lot over me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki mops her brow. She looks leaner and stronger than I've ever seen her, even when she was competing. Below her denim cut-offs, her feet are bare, nails glossy with black polish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You look amazing,\" I say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Thanks. So do you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't lie. Especially after that flight. No wonder you don't want to come back to the UK. Who'd want to experience that flight again?\" I'm trying my hardest to shift the tension, but it's still there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your hair.\" She reaches out to touch it. \"It's so-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Boring?\" Since we met in the last year of primary school, my hair has been every color of the rainbow except its natural mousy brown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe laughs. \"I was going to say normal.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laugh too, even though \"normal\" is probably not a compliment in her book-or mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki spoons casserole onto plates. As she sets them on the breakfast bar, I spot the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. \"What is \u003ci\u003ethat\u003c\/i\u003e?\" I say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe glances at it like it's no big deal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe talked about tattoos before I got mine-a bird in flight that she designed for me, on my shoulder blade-and I told her she should get one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No way,\" she'd told me. \"My parents would kill me. A lot of Japanese people think tattoos are dirty. You can't go in a gym or public swimming pool if you have them.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Still?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah. Or you have to cover them. Many companies won't employ you if you have tattoos. It's not good for their image.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo I couldn't be more shocked to see the ink on her wrist. \"Let me see,\" I say now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki tilts her arm to show me. It's a butterfly in shades of black and brown with a stripy fat body and horned antennae. I should say something-tell her I like it. But I don't. It's \u003ci\u003ehorrible\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe pull up stools. There are so many things I want to ask her. Not yet, though. I don't want to kill the mood altogether.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt's weird to eat nikujaga in this poky overheated kitchen. We ate it so many times in our drafty, cold kitchen in Cornwall, shivering after a surf.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How's the big smoke?\" she asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI turned thirty recently, and my birthday passed almost unnoticed. My new colleagues didn't know it was my birthday and I didn't tell them. Mum sent a card and a handful of friends texted or phoned, but that was it. \"I'm loving it. I've met a nice bunch of people there already.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And how's work?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah, good. Busy. My clients smash themselves up on a regular basis.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe looks disbelieving. \"In London?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah. Rugby, yoga classes, stuff like that.\" This at least is true. I tell her about some of the injuries I've treated recently, but she seems like she's only half-listening. \"What about you? Are you still working at that nightclub?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, I quit ages ago.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki must have inherited a small fortune when her granddad died because she's mentioned she wants to buy a place here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So what are you doing?\" I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, this and that.\" She swipes a flyer off the table (\u003ci\u003eMcMorris surfboards: handcrafted boards for those who know the difference\u003c\/i\u003e) and fans herself with it. \"Fuck, it's hot.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Since when did you learn to swear?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe smiles. \"Blame the Aussies.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI smile too, teeth clamped together so hard it hurts my jaw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll the things I want to say are rising up my throat, threatening to burst out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e3. KENNA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIs he abusive, Mikki? Does he hurt you?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hope I'm wrong, but there were so many red flags in our calls. How do I bring it up? Do I just come out and say it? She might get all defensive and deny it, so I wait for an opening as we chat about mutual friends, our parents, and the Brazilian Maya Gabeira surfing the biggest wave ever ridden by a woman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's a jingle of keys and a guy walks in, tall, blond, and athletic-looking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki seems flustered. \"Um, this is Jack. Jack, this is Kenna.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'm on my guard immediately. So this is him. I glimpsed him during some of our FaceTime calls and heard his voice in the background but never properly saw his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe grips my hand with a confident smile. \"I've heard so much about you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe intense way he's looking at me makes me flush. I take in his strong frame, sizing him up. Nobody threatens my best friend and gets away with it. \u003ci\u003eCalm down, Kenna. You don't know that.\u003c\/i\u003e But I sure as hell intend to find out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe shoots an amused look at Mikki. \"Did you know she was coming?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMikki's smile seems forced. \"No.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe turns back to me. \"First time in Australia?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah.\" I absolutely do not want to fancy this guy, but he's ridiculously good-looking. From his tan and the way his hair is bleached almost white in places, it's obvious he spends a lot of time outdoors. Clean-shaven with a strong jaw and a cleft in his chin, broad shoulders packing out a Quiksilver T-shirt, he could have stepped off the set of \u003ci\u003eHome and Away\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Never been to England,\" he says. \"Too cold and all that. One of me mates went out there for a year and froze his nuts off. Imagine surfing in gloves and a balaclava. And that's in summer, hey?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How was work?\" Mikki asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It was all right.\" Jack dishes himself a plate of casserole. He didn't kiss her, or even hug her-although who am I to judge how long-term couples should greet each other?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You finished early.\" There's an accusing note in Mikki's voice and I add this to my tally of black marks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yep.\" Jack peels off his T-shirt and slings it into a corner, then takes a beer from the fridge. \"Want one, Kenna?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI battle to keep my eyes on his face, not his chest. \"Better not or I'll fall asleep.\" And I need to keep my focus.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJack sits beside me and takes a long drink. I'm torn between hating him and fancying him. I can't deny that they look great together. He: blond and athletic. She: dark and a full head shorter. And they have a major interest-surfing-in common. But in our calls Mikki hardly mentioned him. If she was truly into him, she wouldn't be able to stop talking about him, surely?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the way she moved in with him right after she met him, paying his rent for him when he was out of work, and their rapid engagement, you’d think they were head-over-heels, but watching them now, I don’t see it. She seems mildly irritated by him; he seems good-naturedly tolerant of her. Mikki’s always been reserved when it comes to showing emotions, plus they’ve been together nearly a year, so the fire might have died down to a slow and steady flame. But her evasiveness about him suggests something is off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The little I know about him, I’ve had to drag out of her. He isn’t working much – he has back issues – so she’s \"helping him out\" with the rent, and she’s abandoned her plans to travel round Australia, because Jack’s shown her \"The Best Beach.\" He sounds way too controlling for my liking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her wedding announcement had slipped out when we spoke last week, as though she hadn’t intended to tell me. It was the final straw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I’ll fly out,\" I said immediately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, no. We don’t want a fuss. It’s not a big deal.\" Her tone was one of weary resignation – sadness almost.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Are you pregnant?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I heard her splutter. \"No!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So why, then? But she didn’t explain. I was worried enough that I booked a flight as soon as the call ended. It meant taking a month off work, which wasn’t ideal, but I work for myself, so I can take holiday whenever I want and besides, I’ve done nothing except work for the past eighteen months. I’ve been a rubbish friend, too caught up in my own misery for too long. Mikki was there for me two years ago when I needed her, so I owe it to her to help her now. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore I left, I phoned her parents to say I was going to visit, and sound them out. I didn’t mention the wedding and neither did they, which suggested they didn’t know about it: another red flag.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I’m worried Jack’s pushing her into marriage because he’s after her money. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been taken advantage of. Mikki gets taken in by every sob story going. You know the sort: people who ask for money in the street because they lost their wallet and they need two-pound fifty for a bus home, then you see them the next day doing the exact same thing. Mikki gives them two-pound fifty, every damn time. She’s the kindest-hearted person I know, but she never seems fully equipped for the adult world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Does Jack know her family own a chain of successful surf stores? Even if she hasn’t told him, he could have Googled her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe clasps a large hand over Mikki’s lower arm. \"Paperwork all done?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I stiffen immediately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yep,\" Mikki says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There’s no sign of fear in her body language but it doesn’t mean it’s not there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Two weeks today, hey?\"Jack says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Oh, shit. They must be talking about the wedding. I had no idea it was that soon. So I have fourteen days to convince her to change her mind.","brand":"G.P. 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