Pictures of Lily

won’t take his daughter away for too long.’
    I’ll be telling him no such thing. As if things aren’t complicated enough without having to explain your existence. Imagine if Dad mentioned Ben to Richard. I shudder at the thought.
    ‘They won’t miss me for an hour or two,’ I say without even thinking. That’s nowhere near enough time! ‘Or longer,’ I blurt out, feeling panicky again. ‘I can get away for the day if you like?’ But it’s his day off. Why would he want to spend his whole day off with me? ‘Sorry, I bet you’ve got stuff to do.’
    ‘No, not really. But I’ll feel bad if I take you away from your family. You haven’t seen them for two years.’
    ‘I haven’t seen you for ten,’ I can’t help but say.
    ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
    ‘Are you sure about that?’
    He repeats himself, but softly this time. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Lily.’ The sound of my name on his tongue fills me up with contentment. I close my eyes. If I listen hard enough, I can make out the sound of him breathing.
    I can’t lose you again.
    Stop it.
    ‘So what shall we do?’ I ask. ‘One of us is going to have to make a decision.’
    ‘Fishing?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Fishing.’
    ‘You have a boat?’
    ‘A yacht, yes.’
    ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘You’re finally going to make good on your promise?’
    He chuckles. ‘It would seem so. If you’re up for it.’
    ‘Hell, yeah.’
    He moors his yacht in Middle Harbour, which is less than a twenty-minute drive from Manly. He offers to collect me because he’s got a car, but I don’t want him coming to the house, so I insist on catching a bus. I call him when I’m ten minutes away so he’s already waiting by the bus stop with the engine turned on as I climb off the bus. He’s driving a dark-grey Audi Allroad, which is a bit of a change from the white Holden Commodore he used to drive back in Adelaide.
    ‘Nice car,’ I comment as I climb in.
    ‘I got a good deal on a second-hand one,’ he explains as he pulls out quickly into traffic.
    ‘I don’t remember you driving this fast ten years ago,’ I say after a while.
    He laughs. ‘I guess I was more responsible back then.’
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    I give him a meaningful look and he waves me away. ‘Don’t answer that. Anyway, I should be letting you drive – see if those lessons paid off.’
    ‘I hardly ever drive these days. I miss driving, actually. R—’ Shit! I almost said ‘Richard drives a truck’!
    ‘Sorry?’ He glances across at me, suspecting I cut a sentence short.
    ‘I just miss it.’
    ‘You always were a natural at it.’
    I shift in my seat at the compliment.
    We arrive at the harbour where he moors his yacht and he parks the car and grabs his fishing equipment, a cool box – or Esky, as they call them here – and a small hamper from the boot. ‘Lunch.’
    ‘You packed a picnic?’ I tease.
    ‘What, you were thinking you’d indulge in some sushi?’
    ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’
    Our feet crunch across the gravel as we walk towards a fish tackle shop next to a boat ramp.
    ‘I hope you’re not expecting anything too impressive. I’ve had this yacht for fifteen years.’
    ‘I didn’t know you actually owned a boat in Adelaide?’ I say, surprised.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘And you brought it here?’
    ‘Sailed it over.’
    ‘Wow! How long did that take?’
    ‘About two weeks.’
    ‘So that was another thing you didn’t sell when you moved to England.’
    ‘Mmm.’
    ‘Ben, why the hell did you leave Australia if your heart wasn’t in it?’
    He shrugs, and for a split-second he looks like a lost little boy. I don’t press him further.
    He goes into the shop to buy some bait and then we head to his boat. It’s a yacht of about ten metres long with a white deck and a dark-blue hull. Ben jumps on and dumps his gear before turning around to grab my bag and coat. He takes my hands to help me into the cockpit and it’s like a flashback to ten years ago as a jolt of electricity shoots through me. I don’t meet his eyes so hopefully he doesn’t see my face heat up.
    He starts up the engine and I grasp the ropes while he unmoors the yacht, then he jumps on again and pushes us away from the jetty. Ben sits on one side and quickly takes the helm at the stern. I sit opposite, facing him.
    We move at a leisurely pace past numerous pretty bays and through The Spit, where hundreds of multi-coloured apartments and houses step down