Lucy in the Sky

phone for twenty minutes. I’m in the bedroom because James is in the living room, watching the cricket. The rugby and football season is over and now we’re onto tennis and cricket. Whoopie-doo.
    To say I’ve been preoccupied wondering when Nathan would call me again is an understatement. I totally forgot to ask him for his mobile number when he rang me the first time so it was a huge relief to hear his voice when I picked up the phone this morning. It’s Saturday evening in Australia and he’s at home–the renovations are finished now, and he’s had a few estate agents in to value the house today. He’ll be sad to leave it, he says, but he’s already put an offer in on the next one, a couple of streets away.
    It’s the weekend after my theatre trip and Nathan is pleased to hear I went.
    ‘Did your boyfriend go to Henley with Edward and whatsher-name?’ he asks.
    ‘Susannah? Yes.’
    James came home late on Sunday afternoon, looking tired and hung-over. They’d all been up drinking red wine until the early hours.
    ‘Give me your number this time,’ I say after a while.
    ‘Shit, sorry, we forgot last time,’ Nathan says.
    ‘I know. I’m glad you called again. Where did you get my home number, by the way?’
    ‘Molly’s address book again. It’s handy that, I now have a plumber, an electrician and a hairdresser!’
    I laugh. ‘You’re not going to cut your hair too much, are you?’
    ‘Nah. But it does need a trim now that Amy’s off the scene. She used to cut it for me,’ he explains, and my heart sinks slightly. I do still wonder what went on between them. Was it more or less than either of them made out? Not that it’s relevant anymore, apart from satisfying my warped curiosity.
    ‘Does Molly know you’ve called me?’ I ask.
    ‘Nah, she’d only give me stick.’
    ‘Do you think so?’
    ‘Well, don’t you?’ He turns the tables.
    ‘Erm, maybe. I don’t know.’ I didn’t mention it either when I called her a couple of weeks ago to thank her for the photos.
    ‘So,’ he says, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence, ‘do you have a pen handy?’
    ‘Was that that bloke again?’ James asks, when I walk back into the living room.
    ‘Sam’s brother? Yes.’
    ‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Him calling you all the time?’
    ‘It’s hardly all the time,’ I retort. ‘He’s only called me once before. And anyway, he’s a friend.’
    ‘I thought Sam and Molly were your friends,’ he grumbles.
    ‘They are,’ I say firmly. ‘But they’ve just got married and they’re bound to be more caught up with each other. Besides now I’m friends with Nathan too. Do you want a cup of tea?’ I head into the kitchen.
    ‘Er, no, thanks. I think I’ll have a beer in a minute.’
    It’s only 11.30 in the morning. I switch the kettle on and take down a mug, smiling as I make tea Nathan’s way.
    I’m thrilled that we’re back in touch, but waiting for his call over the last three weeks has been driving me stir-crazy. I almost cracked and rang Molly to get his number last Sunday, but managed to control myself.
    I hate to admit it to myself but, deep down, I know this thing with Nathan is going to kill me all over again.
    ‘So tell me more about this holiday, then?’
    James has booked five days off to go to Malaga in Spain with a bunch of friends from work and is flying out next Friday–back Sunday night, just over a week later.
    ‘You know I want you to come too,’ he’s saying.
    ‘How can I?’ I frown. ‘Mandy won’t give me a week off at the drop of a hat. And we’ve got the Luigi bar launch on Friday.’
    ‘Shit, that totally slipped my mind.’
    ‘I thought you were going to come with me?’ My tone is sulky.
    ‘Lucy, sorry, I was, but this is just too good an opportunity to pass up. You know I haven’t been on holiday for ages and Jeremy’s got this flash pad through one of his clients so it just works out. Come down for a long weekend,’ he suggests.
    ‘Alright, I’ll ask Mandy on Monday. I just don’t understand,though, how you managed to get a week off like this at the last minute when you couldn’t even come to Sam and Molly’s wedding, with several months’ notice.’
    ‘Lucy,’ he turns to me, infuriated, ‘you know that was because I’d just been promoted. Don’t you think I work hard enough that I deserve a holiday?’
    ‘Of course you do.’ I relax slightly.
    ‘And I’d really like you to come,’ he says, looking at me