Pictures of Lily

talking to him, but I do as he says.
    I follow him out of the room and down the corridor. He opens up the first door on the left and switches on the light. A double bed on towering bedposts dominates the room. It’s covered with a pretty floral bedspread and I wonder if that, too, belonged to his nan.
    ‘I think I’ve got a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,’ he says. ‘I’ll just go grab it.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I say when he returns.
    ‘Wake me up if the crying gets too much for you,’ he tells me.
    ‘Do you think she’ll cry?’ I ask worriedly, and he nods his head. The solemn look on his face makes me want to cry.
    ‘It’s okay,’ he says softly. ‘She’s going to be fine.’
    ‘I hope so,’ I reply. ‘I really hope so.’
    The joey keeps me awake on and off throughout the night. I don’t rouse Ben. I can’t bear to ask any more of him, but I’m shattered by the time the morning light seeps under the curtains. I lie in bed for a moment, the koala thankfully asleep.
    I dreamed about Ben most of last night. It was the strangest thing. I dreamed about kissing him, about him holding me, about him listening to me and being protective of me. But in the cold light of day, do I still fancy him?
    Yes, I definitely do. For God’s sake, Lily . What’s the big deal? It’s only a crush. I have a crush on an older man! Whoopeedoo. It’s not as if it’s anything serious. It’s not as if anything is actually going to happen, is it? I laugh out loud at the thought. He’d be embarrassed for me if he knew. I shiver with horror.
    The shower turns on in the bathroom. Ooh, I really need a wee. I climb out of bed and grab my clothes, leaving the joey sleeping while I go off in search of a toilet. The door across the corridor is open and I can see into what I assume is Ben’s room. The double bed is still unmade and there are a few clothes draped over a wooden chair next to the closet. I don’t want to pry so I move on to the room next to mine. It’s the second spare room: two single beds, neatly made. The kitchen is at the back of the house with a door that leads out to the garden. There’s another door to the left and I open it, hoping to spy the toilet because I’m getting a bit desperate now, but it’s just a larder. Bollocks. The door to the bathroom opens and Ben appears, along with a cloud of steam.
    ‘Hey!’ he says, surprised to see me.
    ‘Don’t you have a second loo?’ I ask, trying not to look at his really bloody gorgeous chest which is still damp from the shower.
    ‘Sorry.’ He shakes his head, grinning. ‘Bathroom’s free now.’
    He turns and heads back into his bedroom while I hurry to the bathroom, my eyes on his glistening back and my heart fiercely pounding.
    A minute after I get back to my bedroom, Ben knocks on the door.
    ‘How is she?’
    He’s wearing his work clothes. I’ve never noticed how nice his legs are before . For Christ’s sake!
    ‘Did she cry much?’ he prompts when I don’t immediately answer.
    ‘No. Yes. No. Well, a little bit,’ I stutter.
    ‘You’re tired,’ he comments. ‘You’re not at work today, are you?’
    ‘No, not until tomorrow.’
    ‘You’ll be able to catch some sleep when you get home. Do you still want to drive?’
    I smile. ‘You haven’t forgotten?’
    Twenty minutes later I’m attempting to reverse up the steep incline of Ben’s driveway. The koala is safe in a holding cage on the back seat.
    ‘Are you sure you don’t want to do this part?’ I ask as the car judders violently and stalls for the third time.
    ‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘You can do it.’ The emphasis is on the ‘can’.
    ‘Okay,’ I sigh. I put the handbrake on, the gearstick into neutral and turn the key in the ignition. ‘Your car is so much bigger than my Ford Fiesta.’ He drives a white Holden Commodore station wagon.
    ‘You’ll be fine.’
    The car judders again, but I eventually manage the manoeuvre.
    ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Straight ahead, left at the T-junction.’
    Michael lives less than ten minutes away so it’s a short lesson, but I’m pleased that Ben makes a much better driving instructor than Josh.
    ‘Thanks, Mr . . . Actually, what is your surname?’ I ask, my joke about him being my new teacher falling flat.
    ‘Whiting,’ he replies. ‘Like the fish.’
    ‘Fish?’
    ‘Yeah, whiting,’ he says again.
    ‘Never heard of it.’
    ‘I will have to take you fishing sometime.’
    ‘You fish ?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘A man of