Pictures of Lily

in my heart starts to return. I can’t believe he’s going to the other side of the world to get married to someone else. I must try harder not to think about it.
    ‘What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?’ Ben asks as we wander back to the staffroom at five o’clock.
    ‘I don’t know yet. Josh and his mates are going to a club in Adelaide, but I don’t want to risk getting asked for ID. They’re a bit tighter on that down in the city.’
    ‘Mmm, they are.’
    I wonder how old his girlfriend is?
    ‘What about you?’ I ask.
    ‘I don’t know yet either, which is a bit crap considering this is the Millennium. My mates have all had their plans sorted for about a year, but I don’t know . . . I hate clubs.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘Yeah. They’re too smoky and crowded. Full of pricks,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean Josh,’ he adds.
    ‘Yeah, you do.’
    He smirks. Then tells me: ‘I’ll probably just climb up to Mount Lofty and watch the fireworks from there.’
    ‘On your own?’ I ask in disbelief.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘On New Year’s Eve? To see in the year 2000? You can’t do that!’ I exclaim.
    ‘Yes, I can.’
    ‘Saddo.’
    ‘Maybe I’ll take Olivia with me.’
    ‘That’s even sadder.’
    ‘Oh, well.’ He shrugs.
    We get through the next two days like this and before I know it, it’s Friday night and New Year’s Eve. I’ve reluctantly given up on the clubbing idea, and therefore I have to forgo seeing in the new millennium with people roughly my own age. The only option I have left is offered by Michael. He has some friends who live in the city, so the plan is to crash at theirs for the night so he and Mum can drink themselves silly, and then we’ll all wander over to the park to watch the fireworks at midnight. I can’t quite believe I’m going to spend the last night of 1999 with my mum, but I’m hardly going to climb up to Mount Lofty like some sad stalker in pursuit of Ben. However much I’d like to.
    Michael’s friends, Pete and Gwen, turn out to be great fun. They live in College Park, not far from the Botanic Gardens, and their house is party central. The front and back gardens are lit with thousands of fairy lights and Pete has the cocktails going from the get-go while Gwen dishes out a vast array of mouthwatering canapés. The time flies by as I chat to all manner of wacky and wonderful people, and pretty soon Pete’s leading a gang of us out of the house and down the street and I’m being caught up in the moment as I sing along drunkenly with the rest of them.
    The park is packed – there’s barely space to put down a tissue, let alone a picnic blanket – so we stand where we can and look up as multi-coloured explosions light up the sky above us. When it’s over and everyone has given up hugging and kissing perfect strangers and has taken to dancing on the streets instead, I find myself in the middle of the throng, looking back up at the hills and thinking of Ben. I’d give anything to be with him right now. An ache starts up deep in the pit of my stomach and I look around for Pete to see if I can nab a swig of his vodka.
    The next morning the whole house is dead to the world. These adults are unbelievable – they party harder than any teenager I’ve ever known. I make my way down the streamer-strewn corridor to the living room at the back of the house and turn on the television, keeping the sound down low so as not to bother the sleeping bodies of people who didn’t quite manage to make it home last night. My head is pounding as I collapse on the sofa and dig into a bowl of leftover peanuts. It’s almost midnight in England and I want to see what I missed out on. Fireworks burst off dozens of boats lined up along the River Thames, and the London Eye is lit up with explosion after glittering explosion. The banks of the river and bridges are absolutely heaving with hundreds of thousands of revellers.
    It’s bizarre – but strangely addictive – to see people celebrating when we did all of that last night. I’m glued to the television as more countries see in the year 2000 and eventually the sleeping bodies around me begin to stir.
    Later that morning I leave the hungover crowd on the sofas and take a walk through the park with my camera. I snap away as attendants clear up the mess from the night and I take close-ups of foil confetti sparkling in the hot sun. Eventually I find myself in the Botanic Gardens at the lily pond.
    I haven’t