Page 39 of Third Time’s a Charm

I hit a single.

Half the crowd groans, the other laughs.

“Well, at least you’ve got the single sorted early, city boy,” Eddie crows.

My next two hit home. Two double bullseyes.

The crowd is silent.

“Fuck,” mutters Eddie, who takes a gulp of his beer, shakes his massive shoulders, twists his head from side to side and lines up to take his shot. He’s rattled and his shots are off.

I line up for my second turn and take my shots. One, two, three.

Quick and sharp.

Three triple twenties. There’s a gasp from the crowd.

Eddie steps up and manages a single bull and a couple of doubles.

You could hear a pin drop as I line up. Three triple twenties again.

All the air has left the room. Even the poker machines in the adjacent room fall silent.

I only have forty points to go. I could draw it out. Torment him with a couple of fifteens and a ten, but that would be cruel.

I let my dart go, and it sails straight into the double twenty.

The crowd erupts.

Eddie goes perfectly still. For a moment I think he’s going to haul off and punch me. Our gazes lock. Three heartbeats, just like the darts. Then Eddie’s massive head tips back and he roars out a thunderous laugh that causes the glasses on a nearby table to rattle.

“You pommy fucker,” he gasps once he’s got control of himself. “You played me like a fuckin’ fiddle. Get the man a beer on me, Bernie,” he shouts across at the barman.

The entire bar is slapping me on the back, offering to buy me beers, asking for tips to beat Eddie—who it turns out is the brother of father-to-be Trev—next time.

Louise’s mouth has formed a lush and distracting O and her eyes are brimming with excitement.

“Maybe three’s not so unlucky after all,” I murmur in her ear before I’m pulled away to discuss the finer points of the game with the onlookers.

It takes us over an hour to escape, and only on the promise that if we’re still in town we’ll come back for a rematch tomorrow night. Apparently, Eddie likes a bit of competition, and that’s in short supply around here.

“Well, aren’t you a dark horse,” Louise says as we cross the wide expanse of still-hot asphalt to our motel. Despite this being a major road, the only cars we see are parked, dark and still and silent, and a long line of trucks stacked one behind the other on the side street. “I thought we were in for a brawl when you beat him.”

“Why do you think I didn’t increase the bet?” I laugh and open the door to our room.

“Important question. Do you play pool?” Louise switches on the bedside light, bathing the room in a slightly orange glow courtesy of the seventies-style floral lampshade.

“Who do you think I am? Of course I play pool.”

“Do you reckon we could fool them a second time?”

“I doubt we’d get away with that here. But I’m sure we’ll find a pool table somewhere between here and Sydney.” We share a smile. No. Not just a smile. It’s a moment. A little like the moment we had in the hallway in Cowra. On the grass under the stars. In the wine barrel. And on the porch last night. So many moments we’re collecting.

We sway towards each other, caught in a sparking electric current that runs between us, wraps around us, traps us. There’s a deep pink flush on Louise’s cheeks. The bright green of her eyes is swamped by the dark velvet of her pupils, and it’s as if I can see right through to her soul.

A jackhammer blast of compression brakes from a passing semitrailer breaks the spell. The electric current releases us, and we collapse back, both breathing hard. What is it with this country and sudden loud noises?

“Oh, that gave me a fright.” Louise puts a trembling hand to the base of her throat where, even in the dim light, I can see her pulse throbbing.