Lucy in the Sky

insistent.
    Molly’s mum looks like an older, shorter, fatter version of Molly. They even have the exact same head of hair. Molly’s dad, Bruce–yes, really–is a university lecturer, while Sheila teaches at Manly Village Public School, where Sam, Molly and I first met, aged five.
    ‘Have you spoken to James recently?’ Molly asks me, diamond bracelet glinting in the late afternoon sun. Sam gave it to her in a private moment just before we left. Not surprisingly, she loves it.
    ‘Yeah, he called me last night.’
    James rang while I was reading in bed, to wish me good luck with my bridesmaid duties, knowing we probably wouldn’t get to chat tonight at Molly’s parents’ place. He’d just got off the tube on his way into work and was calling from his mobile, but his voice kept cutting out so we didn’t speak for long. He jokingly warned me not to step on Molly’s train and passed on his best wishes to the bride and groom. I tell her this, now.
    ‘Ah, that’s nice.’ She smiles. ‘Things alright between you?’
    I shrug my shoulders and sigh.
    ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.’
    I’m not sure I want us to be okay. She misreads my expression.
    ‘It’s probably just the time difference,’ she says. ‘It must be weird speaking to him when he’s getting ready for his day ahead and you’ve just had a glass of wine with us. You wouldn’t be on the same wavelength.’
    ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
    ‘Have you talked about the whole text message incident again?’
    ‘No, not really. It’s just too hard. We’re so far apart from each other. To be honest, I’ve just been getting through the days and I’ll deal with it when I get back.’
    ‘That’s probably not such a bad idea.’
    I glance over at my friend and feel a rush of affection. Why can’t I tell her the truth? I’m not lying about James–I really will have to sort this out when I get back. But I can’t tell her what I’m going through about Nathan. I still think she’d disapprove. Or laugh. Either way, I don’t think she’d take me seriously.
    And to be honest, I’m not sure who would. My friends in England all think the world of James. He’s popular, funny, good-looking, has a fantastic job…When you weigh it up on paper, no one in their right mind would understand why I’m falling for a jobless surfer who is two years my junior. It’s madness. Yet I can’t help the way I feel. And I don’t know who I can talk to about it.
    Maybe I should tell Molly. Maybe she would understand.
    No. I can’t. She wouldn’t.
    ‘Molly! Lucy! Dinner’s ready!’
    We pick up our glasses and head back inside.
    Later that night, after we’ve successfully managed to turn down second helpings of Sheila’s lamb roast without offending her–no mean feat–we leave Molly’s parents to their TV viewing and head upstairs for an early night. Molly is sleeping in her old bedroom and I’ve been given the spare room down the corridor, but after we’ve brushed our teeth and taken off our make-up, I head into her room and climb onto her small single bed with her.
    ‘I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow.’
    ‘Neither can I.’
    ‘And to Sam!’
    She looks at me and smiles. ‘It’s mental, isn’t it? After all these years.’
    ‘It’s amazing.’ It’s been bothering me since the hen night that she might still think I hold a torch for him but I haven’t felt comfortable bringing it up again. Now I find myself saying, ‘I am over him, you know.’
    ‘I know.’ It’s evident she means it. ‘It’s funny,’ she adds, ‘I always thought you and Sam would end up together.’
    ‘No!’
    ‘Really,’ she says, smiling.
    ‘That’s mad.’
    ‘Not really. You guys always seemed much better suited to each other than he and I were.’
    ‘Well, opposites obviously attract!’
    She laughs. ‘It certainly seems that way.’
    Again I consider telling her about Nathan. But something holds me back. What would be the point? I’ll be gone on Sunday and it will all be over.
    Molly goes quiet for a moment and then asks me suddenly, ‘Do you remember your last night in Sydney?’
    ‘What, nine years ago?’
    ‘Yes.’
    How could I forget? It was Australia Day, 26 January 1998. Princess Diana and Michael Hutchence had died the previous year and the fireworks on the Harbour Bridge paid tribute to them. Red, white and blue, gold, pink, purple and green sparks showered down from the bridge and fired up over the harbour. It was one