Lucy in the Sky

a small group of them veer dangerously close. One cuts in front of us and the three teenage kids on board laugh. Molly rubs Sam’s lower back gently as he looks away from the sailboat, back to the Opera House. I peek at Nathan, but his face gives nothing away.
    We pass Fort Denison on our left–the old penal colony where prisoners were once kept, as I definitely remember learning at high school. Surely even Nathan would know that one. I’m not about to ask, though.
    ‘There’s the Botanic Gardens.’ Molly nudges me and points. ‘Look, Sam, there’s another function going on.’ We can see a white marquee on the lawn. ‘That’s where we’ll be having ours,’ she says as she turns to me.
    ‘It’s going to be incredible,’ I gasp in amazement.
    ‘Isn’t it?’ Molly beams.
    We pull past the Opera House and clearly see the two structures. It actually comprises three separate buildings; the small one is around the other side. Many people think the Opera House is made of one big structure.
    I glance up and see a white jumbo jet flying above the city. That’s where I’ll be next week, I think, and my heart sinks as the plane soars higher into the cloudless sky.
    The ferry pulls into Circular Quay and we follow the hoards of passengers as we walk through the terminal.
    ‘See you later, then,’ Amy says to Molly.
    ‘Okay, love.’ Molly gives her a quick hug, before Amy hurries off, shouting bye to the rest of us over her shoulder.
    ‘What’s up with her?’ Sam asks.
    ‘The usual.’ Molly smiles sardonically. ‘Boys!’ She looks at Nathan. He just shrugs.
    Outside again in the warm sunshine Molly looks at her watch and turns to the guys. ‘We’re early too. Do you fancy grabbing a quick drink together first?’
    ‘I don’t know if that would be allowed, would it, Nathan?’ Sam teases. ‘Drinking with the missus on my last proper night of freedom, and scaring all those single girls off?’
    Molly kicks him up the backside and he laughs, pulling her in for a hug. It’s lovely seeing how well they get on these days, compared to when we were younger and jokey comments like that would incite the other’s insecurities. I wonder if I would find it quite so lovely if Nathan wasn’t around. Would I feel a little left out, resentful even? I shouldn’t do, knowing I have a boyfriend back in London. But that’s hardly the most soothing thought right now, is it?
    ‘Shall we just go round to the Opera Bar or somewhere?’ Sam suggests.
    The bars are already heaving. It’s a warm late afternoon.
    ‘What’s that up there?’ I ask, looking up at a first-floor window. We can just make out people wearing big puffa jackets and hoods behind what looks like a window made of thick, solid ice.
    ‘minus5°,’ Sam says. ‘It’s an ice bar. Literally. Everything’s made out of ice.’
    ‘Can we go there for a drink?’ I turn to the others excitedly.
    ‘You are such a tourist.’ Sam laughs.
    ‘Yeah, and?’
    ‘Oh, come on,’ Molly urges. ‘It’ll be memorable if nothing else.’
    We make our way through the busy downstairs bar and head up the stairs. It’s $30 to go in for half an hour–about £12–and for that you get a cocktail. Or you can pay an extra $10 and get two cocktails.
    ‘Thirty bucks!’ Nathan scoffs. ‘What a rip-off.’
    ‘Do you not want to go in?’ I feel myself losing enthusiasm.
    ‘Oh, come on, what else do you spend your money on?’ Molly laughs.
    We look at the cocktail list and see they’re all vodka based. Nathan and I grin naughtily at each other.
    We pay up and the receptionist hands each of us long furry coats and pagers which we hang around our necks. ‘When the first beep goes, you have five minutes. When the next beep goes, you have to come out,’ she explains, then ushers us forward to the next door.
    We stand behind a rope while a short bleached-blonde girlhands us each two sets of gloves. ‘These ones are for warmth and these ones are waterproof,’ she says. ‘The glasses are made of ice and they’re your glasses for the duration, so if you choose to buy another drink, make sure you hang on to them. There’s a water sculpture inside but it’s made with antifreeze, so don’t drink it,’ she cautions.
    Sam rolls his eyes good-humouredly. ‘What a rigmarole,’ he whispers as we’re ushered through into another room where a man gives Molly and me sheepskin boots to put on in place of our heels. I’m beginning to think this is a bad idea. I’m