Pictures of Lily

Sunday’s supposed to be hot so a group of us are going to the beach for a picnic.’
    ‘I should go and see my mum, actually,’ I state.
    ‘Has she got a new boyfriend yet?’ Nicola asks.
    ‘Not since she found out that Jeremy was banging his secretary.’
    ‘Ouch,’ Mel interjects.
    ‘Your mum has been so unlucky in love,’ Nicola comments.
    ‘On the contrary. She’s been incredibly lucky, but the good guys – like Michael – never stand a chance.’
    ‘When’s the gorgeous Josh coming over?’ Nicola asks excitedly.
    These two know everything about my life in Australia to date. Well, not everything . But like I said, gossip is practically in our job descriptions. Anyway, Josh emailed me a few weeks ago with a picture of himself standing next to a car he’d done up. Nicola almost fell off her stool when she saw him.
    ‘Easter weekend.’ I grin.
    ‘What are you planning to do with him?’ she asks.
    ‘Big night out. You can come if you like.’
    ‘Seriously?’ Nicola is already reaching for her diary.
    ‘Can I come too?’ Mel asks.
    ‘Sure!’ I’m pleasantly surprised they’d both want to. We don’t usually catch up on weekends, let alone holiday weekends. But a night out with a bunch of us would be fun. And I’d like to introduce Nicola and Mel to Molly and Lucy. Although saying that, Lucy will have just got back from her honeymoon. And Molly and Sam might not want to pay for a sitter so they can come out with me and my one-time-almost-stepbrother for the night. I’ll ask Richard what he thinks later.
    ‘I hope he looks as sexy in real life as he does in pictures,’ Nicola says wistfully.
    I give her a pointed look. ‘Can I remind you that he has a girlfriend?’
    ‘I can admire him from a distance, can’t I? And anyway, his girlfriend isn’t coming, is she?’
    ‘Now you’re sounding as bad as Mel,’ I state and she looks suitably shame-faced while Mel raises her eyebrows smugly.

Chapter 15
     
    The warm, late-summer air hits me as I step out of the cool, air-conditioned building. My heels clicking on the paving stones, I set off at a brisk pace towards Circular Quay. I’m hoping to catch the 6.10 JetCat to Manly if I get there on time and if it isn’t crammed to the brim. The streets are buzzing with people leaving work in time for the weekend. I walk past bars and pavement tables packed with people from local businesses. Mel has dragged me for the occasional after-work drink at some of these places hoping to pick up a suit, but the vibe doesn’t appeal to me – even with the presence of free olives.
    The JetCat is pulling into the port as I arrive and I run to join the hordes. I think I might be lucky and get a seat as people clamber off, ready for Friday night on the town. Salty ocean air caresses my face as I step onto the boat and make my way to the benches at the front. I always sit above deck. I don’t care about my hair in the way that Molly does. She curses me for being one of the only people she knows who doesn’t suffer from damp-air frizz. I don’t quite know how that happened, but looking back, when I was younger, my longer locks never went particularly frizzy either.
    As men in uniform pull up the platform and prepare for departure, I have a sudden urge to travel standing up, despite my luck at getting a seat. I see the eyes light up of a frazzled woman standing across from me and am pleased for her as she hurries to engage my bench space. I squeeze past crowds of people and make my way down the side to the back of the JetCat, where I manage to find a small space at the railings. I wriggle between a young guy and a Japanese tourist and look down as the water below churns up a great storm and we pull away from the harbour. Tiny ant-like figures are climbing the enormous dark structure of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I’ve been meaning to do that for years, but I’ve never made the most out of living here. Weekend tourists probably do more in Sydney than I’ve managed in years. I haven’t even been to the Sydney Opera House. I should try to take Kay, Olivia and Isabel when they arrive.
    The evening wind has picked up and the sailboats are out in force. I watch as they twist and turn and manoeuvre past each other. A boat with a red and orange sail almost collides with a blue and yellow-striped sailboat. The sun is hitting the waves between them at the very point that they pass each other, and a sparkle of light pierces my eyes. I wish I had my