Lucy in the Sky

Hang on, isn’t it only about nine thirty there?’
    ‘Yeah, but I’m tired. Still jet-lagged.’
    ‘Oh, okay.’ A pause. ‘Sorry.’
    I feel bad but I don’t know what to say.
    ‘What’s wrong? You sound different.’
    ‘Well, I’m a long way away. Sorry,’ I say, forcing myself to perk up. ‘Where are you? Shouldn’t you be at work?’
    ‘I am at work, Lucy.’
    ‘Oh. Are you calling from your work phone?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Won’t that get you into trouble?’
    ‘I don’t think anyone in the company is going to notice.’ He’s sounding a tad frustrated now with my questions. ‘I bought something for you yesterday,’ he says, cheering up.
    ‘Really? What?’
    ‘I’m not telling you,’ he replies, with a jovial note of secrecy.
    I don’t really know what to say to that.
    ‘James, are you coming to this meeting or not?’ I hear a woman’s voice speak in the background.
    ‘I’ll be right there.’ James’s voice sounds muffled. He’s obviously covering the receiver.
    ‘Sorry,’ he says to me. ‘I should let you sleep. Love you.’
    ‘You too,’ I answer mechanically.
    I can’t get back to sleep afterwards. I feel naughty but when thoughts of James sift softly out of my mind and Nathan floats back in, I don’t fight it.
    In what feels like the early hours of the morning, I jerk awake, feeling hot and feverish. I was dreaming about Nathan kissing my lips and scuffing my skin with his dark stubble. For a moment I blame Bert the bat for interrupting my fantasy, but then I realise my phone is buzzing. Oh, James …I think crossly, and press the green button.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Lucy.’
    ‘Yes?’ I ask sleepily.
    ‘It’s Nathan.’
    I sit bolt upright. ‘Nathan! What time is it?’
    ‘It’s just after six in the morning,’ he answers brightly. ‘We said we’d go surfing tomorrow, right? Well, it is tomorrow. Just over twenty-four hours. Sorry, I’m a bit late.’
    I’m a little lost for words.
    ‘Too early?’ he continues. ‘Would you rather go back to sleep?’
    ‘No!’ I practically shout. ‘I’m awake; let’s get going.’
    ‘Cool. Do you have a wetsuit?’
    ‘No. Do I need one?’
    ‘Yeah, you’ll be freezing. Don’t worry, you can borrow Amy’s.’
    I don’t like that thought. At all. Are we even the same size? ‘I’ll be alright without one, won’t I?’
    ‘No, honestly, you’ll need it. She won’t mind.’
    If she knew the dirty thoughts I’d been having about her boyfriend, or whatever he is, I think she might.
    ‘Right, I’ll see you in ten.’
    Ten minutes? Ten bloody minutes? That gets me out of bed. I’m out of the shower within three, feeling surprisingly awake (thank you, jet lag). I put on my green bikini–I don’t have a more suitable one-piece–followed by a skirt and T-shirt and then I have a dilemma about make-up. I smear on some lipgloss and immediately wipe it off because it looks like I’m trying too hard. I toy with the idea of waterproof mascara but in the end I go without. I’m lucky because my lashes are long and dark anyway and frame my hazel-coloured eyes quite nicely. I decide to plait my hair so at least I won’t look too much like a drowned rat in the surf.
    I scribble a note for Sam and Molly, wondering what they’ll make of all this, and then go outside, quietly closing the front door behind me. I perch on the hammock on the porch and gently swing back and forth while I wait.
    Nathan’s beat-up station wagon turns up right on cue, headlights still on in the darkness. I pause for a second and watch him get out. He looks different to the image I had of him in my mind. But in that image he was barely dressed and doing things to methat right now are making me blush. I compose myself and stand up.
    For a split second it’s awkward because we don’t know how to greet each other. He smiles and says hello before opening the car door for me. I climb in and hope the butterflies swarming around inside me will settle down.
    The floor of his car is sandy and my Birkenstocks grate over it. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he apologises when he’s safely settled in the driver’s seat.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ I tell him. He’s wearing a faded brown T-shirt with a pink emblem on the front and long dark swimming trunks. I glimpse down to see if I was right about his footwear: yep, flip-flops.
    He turns the key in the ignition and The Kaiser Chiefs’ ‘Oh My God’ blares out of the stereo. Apologising again, he turns the