Pictures of Lily

  The house is quiet when I get home. Quiet and dark. But my head is buzzing. I turn my key in the lock and push open the front door, flicking on the switch to light the hall. I drop my bag on the floor and walk into the living room, turning on lights as I go. I stand there for a moment, not knowing what to do with myself. I should go to bed.

  I spin around and walk out of the room, switching off the lights again. In the bedroom I sit on the end of the bed. The wardrobe door is open and my eyes wander to Richard’s clothes hanging there. I turn and look at his bedside table and guilt overcomes me as my gaze falls on the picture sitting there of the two of us.

  You’re engaged! You’re engaged to be married! To Richard! Richard!

  Nothing feels real. I’m detached from reality. I get up mechanically and go into the bathroom. The mirror greets me and I stare at my reflection for a while, not liking what I see. Reaching forward, I open the bathroom cabinet so the mirror swings away from me. I’m left staring at my toiletries on the shelves, and all of Richard’s things – his toothbrush, his razor, his shaving foam. I lift up his aftershave bottle and put the nozzle to my nose, breathing in his scent.

  And then reality hits. Sobs engulf me and I sink down onto the bathroom floor as grief pours out of my soul. I love my boyfriend. He’s never done anything to hurt me. He’s always been there for me. He’s never left me.

  But Ben – oh, Ben . . . I remember the warmth of his body and his arm around me. His lips so close to mine. My tears come to a standstill and I stare ahead in a daze.

  This isn’t fair. I love them both.

  Somewhere deep inside me the chasm that cracked and broke open when Ben left splits even further apart. I can’t lose Ben again. But I don’t want to lose Richard, either.

  Nathan, Lucy, Sam, Molly, Mikey . . . I would lose them all, too. I would even miss Richard’s sisters, and what would his parents think of me? I can’t bear it.

  You don’t have to decide anything right now.

  It’s true, I don’t. Ben might not turn out to be the person I think he is. I’ve built him up so much over the years that he’s almost not real to me.

  I stand up, full of resolution. I need to see him again – of course I do. I can’t decide now how I want to spend the rest of my life. Ben’s an uncertainty. This whole thing with him might fall flat on its face. Richard’s here. He wants to marry me. He’s not going anywhere. But Ben . . . I need to know him better before I can make any decisions about my future.

  I get out a cotton pad from the bathroom cabinet, soak it with make-up remover and proceed to take off my make-up.

  So that’s what I’m going to have to do. Spend some time with Ben; see if he’s all I cracked him up to be. It might be that my decision in the end is easy.

  I throw the pad into the bin and cleanse the rest of my face before applying moisturiser.

  Then again, I might be about to make things harder than I could ever imagine . . .

  Don’t think about that now. Put it out of your mind. It will all be okay. It will all work out for the best.

  I close the bathroom cabinet, coming face to face with my reflection again. Suddenly I don’t feel so sure.

  Chapter 23

  I’m awake for hours that night. It’s hardly surprising. If I manage to doze off, bad dreams soon drag me kicking and screaming to consciousness and then my thought process starts ticking over and I haven’t a chance in hell of falling asleep again for a long, long time. When the phone rings, pulling me out of a long-desired slumber, I snatch it up and jolt awake as I spot the time.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘No, it’s me.’ Richard.

  ‘I thought it was my dad.’

  ‘So I figured.’ I can hear the smile in his voice.

  ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Ten o’clock. You sound croaky. Were you out late?’

  ‘Not really.’ I clear my throat. ‘I didn’t sleep well.’

  ‘Missing me.’

  ‘Huh. Guess so.’ Silence. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good. Thought I’d better give you a call, check up on you.’

  ‘All’s fine here.’ I try to sound breezy. ‘How’s the surf?’

  ‘Great. Already been out this morning.’

  ‘Everyone having fun?’

  ‘Yeah. But you’re missed.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Of course. So how’s your dad and everyone?’

  ‘Really good. We went to the zoo yesterday.’ Was it really only yesterday?

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘I’m glad you woke me up actually, as they’ll be wondering where I am.’ I was planning on going over to them for breakfast again this morning. Bollocks. ‘I’d better go,’ I say to Richard.

  ‘Okay, honey,’ he says sweetly. ‘Have a good day with them and I’ll see you Monday arvo.’

  ‘What time will you be back?’ I can’t miss lunch with Ben.

  ‘Late afternoon. I’ll give you a call when we’re on our way.’

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘You too.’ I wait for him to hang up before I put down the receiver. Oh, God . . .

  As the day wears on, the night before seems more and more surreal. Sometimes I remember with a sharpness of clarity what it was like being in Ben’s arms on the ferry, and then I shiver and I can’t concentrate on what my dad or my sisters are saying to me. But mostly it’s like a dream. I can’t believe I saw him only hours ago.

  That night when I get home I feel nervous. The thought of phoning Ben is hanging over me. I don’t know if I should call him tonight or wait until the morning. I feel strangely uneasy with the thought of either.

  Eventually it’s ten p.m. and my decision is almost made. Won’t it be too late to call him now? I remember turning up at his house the night Josh killed the koala. It was midnight and he’d been on the phone to Charlotte . . .

  I reach for my mobile phone on the bedside table and find his number in my recent calls menu. I press the call button. It rings three times.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Lily.’

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘I’m sorry, is it too late?’

  ‘No, no, I’m watching some telly.’

  ‘What are you watching?’

  ‘A wildlife doc.’ He chuckles. ‘You think I’m such a saddo, don’t you?’

  I laugh too and my nerves die away. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Did you have a good day with your family?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We went shopping and for a wander round the Rocks and the Opera House. The usual stuff. Botanic Gardens, as well. Did you get home alright last night?’

  ‘Yeah, no trouble. I should be asking you that.’

  ‘Why should you be asking me that?’

  He yawns and I picture him stretching. ‘It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.’

  I know he’s grinning and I can’t help but giggle. ‘So what do you want to do tomorrow?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m easy. Are you sure your dad won’t mind you ducking out of family commitments?’

  ‘No, he won’t mind.’

  ‘Well, tell him I won’t take his daughter away for too long.’

  I’ll be telling him no such thing. As if things aren’t complicated enough without having to explain your existence. Imagine if Dad mentioned Ben to Richard. I shudder at the thought.

  ‘They won’t miss me for an hour or two,’ I say without even thinking. That’s nowhere near enough time! ‘Or longer,’ I blurt out, feeling panicky again. ‘I can get away for the day if you like?’ But it’s his day off. Why would he want to spend his whole day off with me? ‘Sorry, I bet you’ve got stuff to do.’

  ‘No, not really. But I’ll feel bad if I take you away from your family. You haven’t seen them for two years.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you for ten,’ I can’t help but say.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Ar
e you sure about that?’

  He repeats himself, but softly this time. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Lily.’ The sound of my name on his tongue fills me up with contentment. I close my eyes. If I listen hard enough, I can make out the sound of him breathing.

  I can’t lose you again.

  Stop it.

  ‘So what shall we do?’ I ask. ‘One of us is going to have to make a decision.’

  ‘Fishing?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Fishing.’

  ‘You have a boat?’

  ‘A yacht, yes.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You’re finally going to make good on your promise?’

  He chuckles. ‘It would seem so. If you’re up for it.’

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  He moors his yacht in Middle Harbour, which is less than a twenty-minute drive from Manly. He offers to collect me because he’s got a car, but I don’t want him coming to the house, so I insist on catching a bus. I call him when I’m ten minutes away so he’s already waiting by the bus stop with the engine turned on as I climb off the bus. He’s driving a dark-grey Audi Allroad, which is a bit of a change from the white Holden Commodore he used to drive back in Adelaide.

  ‘Nice car,’ I comment as I climb in.

  ‘I got a good deal on a second-hand one,’ he explains as he pulls out quickly into traffic.

  ‘I don’t remember you driving this fast ten years ago,’ I say after a while.

  He laughs. ‘I guess I was more responsible back then.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  I give him a meaningful look and he waves me away. ‘Don’t answer that. Anyway, I should be letting you drive – see if those lessons paid off.’

  ‘I hardly ever drive these days. I miss driving, actually. R—’ Shit! I almost said ‘Richard drives a truck’!

  ‘Sorry?’ He glances across at me, suspecting I cut a sentence short.

  ‘I just miss it.’

  ‘You always were a natural at it.’

  I shift in my seat at the compliment.

  We arrive at the harbour where he moors his yacht and he parks the car and grabs his fishing equipment, a cool box – or Esky, as they call them here – and a small hamper from the boot. ‘Lunch.’

  ‘You packed a picnic?’ I tease.

  ‘What, you were thinking you’d indulge in some sushi?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’

  Our feet crunch across the gravel as we walk towards a fish tackle shop next to a boat ramp.

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting anything too impressive. I’ve had this yacht for fifteen years.’

  ‘I didn’t know you actually owned a boat in Adelaide?’ I say, surprised.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you brought it here?’

  ‘Sailed it over.’

  ‘Wow! How long did that take?’

  ‘About two weeks.’

  ‘So that was another thing you didn’t sell when you moved to England.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Ben, why the hell did you leave Australia if your heart wasn’t in it?’

  He shrugs, and for a split-second he looks like a lost little boy. I don’t press him further.

  He goes into the shop to buy some bait and then we head to his boat. It’s a yacht of about ten metres long with a white deck and a dark-blue hull. Ben jumps on and dumps his gear before turning around to grab my bag and coat. He takes my hands to help me into the cockpit and it’s like a flashback to ten years ago as a jolt of electricity shoots through me. I don’t meet his eyes so hopefully he doesn’t see my face heat up.

  He starts up the engine and I grasp the ropes while he unmoors the yacht, then he jumps on again and pushes us away from the jetty. Ben sits on one side and quickly takes the helm at the stern. I sit opposite, facing him.

  We move at a leisurely pace past numerous pretty bays and through The Spit, where hundreds of multi-coloured apartments and houses step down from the hillside and clamber for views of the water. The Spit Bridge is being raised as we approach and once we’re through, Ben climbs onto the deck and goes to the mast to raise the sails. I watch, full of admiration and respect as two lime-green sails billow out. There’s something very sexy about seeing him in this context. The wind picks up and I laugh as my hair whips around my face. Ben returns to the stern and cuts the engine. I look across at him, feeling jittery.

  After a while we sail into the shallower waters of a secluded bay.

  ‘You don’t get seasick, do you?’ he asks.

  ‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’

  He climbs back onto the deck and drops the sails, followed by the anchor. ‘You’ll know once we rock here for a while. I’ll nip below and make us a cuppa.’ He returns to the cockpit, then jumps down into the cabin. ‘You want one?’ he calls up to me. I go to the cabin and peer inside.

  ‘Sure, that’d be great. Aah, it’s been so long since you’ve made me tea.’

  It’s only a small cabin but there’s a sink, a tiny gas-fired stove and a toilet plus a bed at the back, which I assume forms a table and bench seats when it’s not being slept on.

  ‘Do you ever sleep in here?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he says, glancing at the bed. ‘But not often. I couldn’t be bothered to turn it back into a table again.’

  ‘Typical man.’

  He raises his eyebrows in amusement. ‘Here you go.’ He hands over a mug. Milk and one sugar, just like always.

  ‘Impressive memory,’ I comment.

  ‘Do you remember how I take mine?’ he asks.

  ‘Milk, two sugars.’ He grins, then I add: ‘I just saw you do it.’ I crack up laughing and step out of his way as he pretend-barges past me on his return to the cockpit.

  I actually do remember. Of course I do. I even know that he likes two and a quarter sugars if he’s drinking his tea and eating something sweet at the same time. And you have to stir it really well, otherwise he adds more sugar anyway. But I’m not going to tell him all that. I watch as he opens the hamper.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks.

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘You’re always starving, Benjamin.’ I laugh at his face and go to sit opposite him again. ‘Is that your real name – Benjamin?’

  ‘Only my mother calls me Benjamin.’

  ‘And Marco.’

  ‘Yes, and Marco.’ He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. ‘My nan could sometimes get away with Benji.’

  ‘Cute!’

  He chuckles and gets out sandwiches. ‘We’ve got ham and mustard, cheese and pickle, tuna mayo . . . What do you feel like?’

  ‘Cheese and pickle, please.’ The boat is rocking, but I’m not feeling sick yet. I open up the aluminium foil to reveal a sandwich made on thick-cut white bread which I’m pretty sure Ben sliced himself from a loaf.

  ‘Did you make these yourself?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies, a touch defensively.

  We chat between mouthfuls. ‘Can you cook?’ I want to know.

  He shrugs. ‘A bit – when I can be bothered. It’s not much fun when you don’t have anyone to cook for.’

  ‘Did you used to cook for Charlotte?’

  ‘Sometimes. Especially if she was late back from work or something like that.’

  ‘What did she do? What does she do?’

  ‘She’s a financial analyst.’

  ‘I can never understand what that means.’

  ‘I won’t bore you by trying to explain. I’d probably get it wrong anyway.’

  ‘It sounds impressive. Is she successful?’

  ‘She’s good at what she does, yes.’

  ‘Are you still in touch with her?’

  ‘We speak now and again.’

  I put my half-eaten sandwich to one side. ‘Did you leave on bad terms?’

  ‘Not really. But we weren’t exactly the best of frie
nds, either. No point in dragging it out.’

  ‘Is she with anyone else?’

  ‘She’s had a couple of boyfriends, as far as I know. I don’t think any of them have been serious. Don’t you ever eat much?’ He nods at my sandwich.

  ‘Yeah. I do have an appetite, just not when I’m with you.’

  ‘Do I put you off your food?’

  I give him a look of pretend distaste. ‘Yeah, you do a bit.’

  ‘Huh!’ he grumbles, and I laugh. ‘Did you bring your camera today?’

  ‘I did, actually.’ I bend down and pull my bag up onto the seat, getting out my old friend.

  He smiles. ‘Have you thought about getting a smaller one?’

  ‘I should switch to digital,’ I concede. ‘But I’ve only just got back into it. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘We should do some research on the internet. Go camera shopping.’

  I love his use of the term ‘we’.

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘So what made you want to start taking pictures again?’

  I don’t answer immediately, then I shrug. ‘Not sure.’

  I’m not about to tell him it was because my boyfriend proposed and it made Ben seem even more lost to me than he already was. I had to do something to bring him back.

  And now he’s here. Literally – and not just metaphorically.

  What if I hadn’t gone to the zoo? It’s inconceivable that I could have continued living in this city oblivious of his existence. Where would my life have taken me? At least I’m not already married. If I think being engaged is bad, marriage would have been much, much worse.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Ben asks. I’m still staring down at the camera in my hands. I impulsively put the viewfinder to my eye and click off a shot of him.

  ‘You could have warned me first!’ he jokes irately.

  ‘What would you have done – nipped below to check your hair?’ I tease. I lean up against the side of the boat and rest the camera on my lap. ‘You know, I never got a photo of you before. It made me sad when you left,’ I tell him honestly. ‘Do you still have the photo of me?’

  He nods. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you take it to England with you?’

  He gives me a sardonic look. ‘No.’

  ‘That would have been a bit shitty of you,’ I agree.

  ‘I put it in the loft at Nan’s house with some other things,’ he tells me. ‘It’s still there.’