Pictures of Lily

start.’
    ‘We should do some research on the internet. Go camera shopping.’
    I love his use of the term ‘we’.
    ‘That’s a good idea.’
    ‘So what made you want to start taking pictures again?’
    I don’t answer immediately, then I shrug. ‘Not sure.’
    I’m not about to tell him it was because my boyfriend proposed and it made Ben seem even more lost to me than he already was. I had to do something to bring him back.
    And now he’s here. Literally – and not just metaphorically.
    What if I hadn’t gone to the zoo? It’s inconceivable that I could have continued living in this city oblivious of his existence. Where would my life have taken me? At least I’m not already married. If I think being engaged is bad, marriage would have been much, much worse.
    ‘What are you thinking?’ Ben asks. I’m still staring down at the camera in my hands. I impulsively put the viewfinder to my eye and click off a shot of him.
    ‘You could have warned me first!’ he jokes irately.
    ‘What would you have done – nipped below to check your hair?’ I tease. I lean up against the side of the boat and rest the camera on my lap. ‘You know, I never got a photo of you before. It made me sad when you left,’ I tell him honestly. ‘Do you still have the photo of me?’
    He nods. ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Did you take it to England with you?’
    He gives me a sardonic look. ‘No.’
    ‘That would have been a bit shitty of you,’ I agree.
    ‘I put it in the loft at Nan’s house with some other things,’ he tells me. ‘It’s still there.’
    I’m sort of disappointed he hasn’t got it out again. He must be able to read this on my face because he says quietly, ‘I had to try to forget you, Lily.’
    ‘Even when you came back?’
    ‘Even when I came back.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You would have moved on.’
    ‘What if I hadn’t?’
    He doesn’t answer, staring across at me with a grave expression on his features. His jaw is set into a hard line, day-old stubble making him look even sexier than usual. My mind flicks to the bed inside the cabin and the desire to have him make love to me there is suddenly overwhelming.
    Richard, Richard, Richard ! For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to remind you?
    Oh, but maybe if we had sex I’d be able to put him out of my mind once and for all.
    That is a crock of shit, and you know it.
    Spoilsport.
    I pull myself together and say, ‘Did I spy some crisps in that hamper?’
    Ben comes back to life, the atmosphere reverting to normal. ‘Yep. What do you want, salt and vinegar, chicken or plain?’
    ‘Salt and vinegar, please. Who would ever opt for boring old plain, hey?’
    ‘You’re right. I should have known you’d have no interest in them whatsoever.’
    ‘Why, because I’m a fussy cow?’
    He laughs. ‘No, because you’re anything but boring.’
    Stop saying things like that to me. It’s making me think of the bed again.
    ‘Are you going to catch me a fish, or what?’ I say rather huskily.
    ‘You can catch one yourself,’ he replies with a smile.
    Twenty minutes later, I feel a tug at the end of my line. We’re using handlines, not fishing rods. I’m holding onto the line itself and I can actually feel when a fish takes the bait.
    ‘Wind it in,’ Ben insists excitedly.
    A fish of about a foot long flaps and flutters as I drag it out of the water.
    ‘You caught a whiting!’ he exclaims, taking the wriggling fish off the line.
    ‘Your namesake,’ I laugh as he throws it in the Esky. ‘That was easy. What was all this business about a four o’clock start?’
    ‘Hey?’ He baits up my hook with another wriggling worm.
    ‘Back in Adelaide, you said I had to get up early. We’re catching fish now, aren’t we? What’s the point in getting up before it’s even light if you can catch fish in the middle of the day?’
    ‘If we were sitting out here in the midday sun during a hot Australian summer, you’d know.’
    ‘Fair enough.’
    We catch one more whiting, a flathead and two ‘shitties’ as Ben calls the inedible fish, before we set off back to Middle Harbour again. He throws the latter back, but promises to cook me a fry-up sometime. ‘Maybe you could bring your family over to mine for dinner later this week?’ he suggests. ‘These won’t go far, but I can come back out here and get some more before then.’
    ‘Oh.’ I feel jumpy, can’t think what to say. ‘I doubt that will be possible.’
    ‘Oh, right. Sure.’ He looks