Lucy in the Sky

least you knelt down. Good boy! Your mother would have been proud of you.’ I immediately take a sharp intake of breath. Should I have said that?
    He smiles sadly. ‘I wish they could have been here.’
    ‘I know you do. Me too.’ I look up into his big brown eyes and see they’re filled with tears.
    ‘Bloody hell, Luce, look what you’ve gone and done now.’ He laughs, brushing them away.
    ‘I’m so sorry.’ Reaching across the table, I squeeze his hand, tears pricking my eyes.
    ‘Thanks,’ then a moment later, ‘Right! Change of subject, please!’
    So we sit there, drinking our drinks and chatting about old times until finally Sam’s due back at work. He kisses me goodbye, then embraces me in a big bear hug, rocking me sideways for a few seconds before standing back and holding me by my arms, looking down at me.
    ‘Why don’t you move back?’ he says. ‘We miss you.’
    ‘I miss you guys too.’
    ‘But seriously, why don’t you? James can come too!’ he suggests chirpily.
    ‘Nah, he can stay put.’ I giggle. ‘I’ll move back and marry your brother instead.’
    Sam throws his head back and laughs heartily. ‘See ya tonight,’ he says, turning away.
    Oh, if only he knew…
     
    Three hours later, worn out from swerving around the hoards of Japanese tourists, I return to the ferry dock, if not exactly laden down with shopping bags, with at least a few nice purchases. I found a pretty white skirt in Country Road, a funky bead necklace in Witchery and even a couple of silly boxing kangaroo pens for my work colleagues, Chloe and Gemma.
    The return Jetcat ride seems quicker than the journey over and soon I’m disembarking onto Manly Wharf. With the sun beating down, the last thing I feel like is a twenty-minute walk up thehill, but the prospect of having the house to myself for an hour and resting out in the garden on a sunlounger with my book, is too tempting. I spot a café and order a small cup of vanilla ice-cream to make the journey pass quicker, and then start the trek back to Sam and Molly’s place.
    A young mother jogs by in a navy-blue tracksuit, pushing her pram as she goes.
    A minute later I hear the footsteps of another jogger behind me and move over to the left of the pavement to let them pass.
    ‘Lucy!’
    It’s Nathan.
    ‘I thought it was you.’ He slows down to join me on the pavement. ‘Where have you been?’
    ‘I’ve just been into the city to see your big brother and do some shopping.’ My heart beats faster in my chest as I look up at him. ‘I’m not looking forward to the walk home, though.’ I motion up the steep hill with my ice-cream spoon.
    ‘Come back to my place if you like and I’ll give you a lift.’
    ‘Really?’ I feel stupidly ecstatic.
    ‘Of course.’
    We turn round and head back into town towards the beach. He walks slowly, laid-back.
    ‘Not surfing today?’ God, I fancy him.
    ‘I went out this morning. Good waves. You should’ve come,’ he answers.
    ‘I would’ve done if you’d asked me.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes.’ How can he not tell?
    We cruise along the street in his battered station wagon and up the hill towards Sam and Molly’s house. Nathan pulls up outsideand turns off the ignition, cutting short the Aussie rock song that was blaring out of the stereo.
    ‘Want to come in for a cuppa?’ I ask him hopefully.
    ‘Why not?’ He unbuckles his seat belt.
    I can barely keep the smile from my face as we go into the kitchen. I put the kettle on, while Nathan gets a couple of mugs out and pours in some milk, before chucking a couple of teabags on top.
    ‘Ew!’ I laugh. ‘You’re supposed to put the milk in afterwards.’
    ‘Try it. It’s better this way,’ he says confidently.
    ‘But the tea won’t brew properly,’ I argue.
    He reaches over and plucks out one of the teabags before tipping the milk down the sink. ‘I’ll prove it to you.’
    ‘Okay, you’re on.’
    The kettle boils and I pour water into both cups.
    ‘That looks disgusting.’ I snigger, looking over at his watery, milky concoction.
    ‘You’ll eat your words soon, Luce.’ He grins, stirring his teaspoon around.
    ‘Good colour,’ I observe, a minute later.
    ‘Especially compared to your scummy one,’ he says.
    Hmm. Mine does look a bit scummy.
    ‘Well?’ He eyes me questioningly as I take a sip from both mugs of tea.
    In response I pour the contents of mine into the sink.
    He smacks his hand down on the counter, victoriously. ‘I told