Lucy in the Sky

of bright stars in the Milky Way. I’ve almost bled the second lot of batteries from my newly-purchased cassette player dry, listening to Nathan’s tape incessantly since Singapore. I’ve barely slept.
    I look out of the window again trying to spot the saucepan. I’ve been searching for it sporadically for the last few hours but now I give up. It must be on the other side of the plane.
    We land at around half past five on Monday morning. James might’ve already left for work by the time I get home.
    An hour and a quarter later I’m struggling to haul my suitcase onto the Heathrow Express to Paddington and no one is offering to help. It makes me remember Sam, heaving my bag up onto his truck to lie amongst his plants when I arrived in Sydney. It seems so long ago, but it’s only been two weeks.
    He and Molly will be on their honeymoon now. It’s nearly six o’clock in the evening in Sydney. I wonder what Nathan’s doing.I still haven’t changed my watch back to UK time and I’m not sure when I will.
    At Paddington Station I drag my suitcase out of the carriage and wheel it back along the platform, lagging behind all the other travellers. The air looks brown because the glass in the domed ceiling above is so dirty but, through a broken pane, a shaft of light floods in. It’s a beautiful winter day. Actually, I realise, we’re well into March now and it’s technically spring.
    I lie my suitcase down on the platform for a moment and unzip it, pulling out my black, knee-length woollen winter coat. Then I head away from the hum of engines and the shrieking blow of conductors’ whistles in the direction of the taxi rank. We live only a five-minute drive from here and all I want right now is to get home and have a nice cup of tea.
    That sense of anticipation is short-lived. There’s a long queue of people waiting in line for the black cabs, a disadvantage of arriving in rush hour. Maybe I could walk it? A blue sign up ahead tells me Marylebone is three-quarters of a mile away. Easy. I head past the Hilton with its lanky doorman in top hat and tails, and into a square full of tall trees. My suitcase clunks noisily on the uneven pavement.
    The sun up ahead pierces my eyes as it comes into view and I’m practically blinded. I cross the road and a scooter zooms around the corner, just missing me and giving me a fright. It’s ironic how I need my sunglasses more here at this time of year than I even did in Sydney last week.
    By now my hands are practically purple and I wish I’d packed some gloves. The cold air is painful in my nostrils so I breathe in and out of my mouth instead, producing cloudy puffs of carbon dioxide. I’m starting to think this walk wasn’t such a good idea.I look around for a taxi but can’t see one. A plane flies above a red-brick building, climbing up into the sky. I suddenly feel desperate.
    I wonder if James will be home. It all depends on whether he’s got an early meeting at work. In some ways I hope he will have already left to give me time to gather my thoughts. I’m not sure I’m ready to see him yet. Or speak to him. I should have called to let him know I’ve landed; as it is, I haven’t even switched my phone back on.
    It briefly occurs to me that Nathan might have left me a message. I halt on the pavement and take a minute to check, tapping my foot impatiently while the operator tells me I have one voicemail. But it’s just James asking me to hurry home so he can see me before he leaves. I put my phone away, feeling dejected.
    Finally I’m on Marylebone Road. I wait at the pedestrian crossing until the traffic comes to a standstill, then I cross over and head around the back past old Marylebone Station towards Dorset Square. The square always looks pretty, even in winter, with its naked tree trunks, while in summer it’s heavenly: full of leafy trees and hedges, the greenest grass and a few welcome park benches. Unfortunately it’s a private square and we don’t have a key. A memory comes back to me of last summer and James bringing me here.
    We’d just bought our flat and, both of us having rented for years, were so excited to finally own our own home. Even if James’s parents helped quite a lot financially and Terry and Mum gave me my deposit, it still felt like it was ours alone. It was only a small, one-bedroom place in a bit of a state when we moved in, but we dreamt about turning it into something special. We completed the sale on a Wednesday and