Pictures of Lily

to check in?’ I ask when we’re alone. We did manage to find a hotel doing a cheap last-minute deal, which is lucky because Vickie’s studio flat would have been a squash enough with three people, let alone four.
    ‘No point. We may as well check in later. Let’s go up to the hills.’
    I stifle a sigh. ‘Really? We could check in and then go for an ice cream or something.’
    ‘Lily . . .’ Richard told me last night that he really wants to see where I spent my first few years in Australia.
    ‘Why?’ I’d asked.
    ‘This place obviously made an impact on you. And I want to understand why.’
    There’s no hope of that without Ben here. But Richard was adamant about visiting Michael’s house in Piccadilly at the very least. I reluctantly agreed.
    ‘Okay, but I’m driving,’ I insist now. If we’re going into the hills, I have to be in control.
    ‘Really?’ he says, surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever driven Richard anywhere before. I used to occasionally use Mum’s car when I lived with her in Bondi, but I could only afford public transport when I moved into a minuscule studio flat of my own. That was before I met Richard, of course, and then he had a car and I was happy to commute to work by ferry.
    ‘Yes,’ I say firmly. He’s already in the driver’s seat so we both climb out and swap places. I experience a strange little thrill about being behind the wheel again.
    He grins across at me once we’re all belted up. ‘Let’s go.’
    Hardly anyone takes the long and winding road up into the hills any more. Soon after I arrived in Australia, they finished a tunnel which cuts right through the rock and shortens the journey considerably. Our ears pop as we pass through it. The grass is greener than it would have been in high summer, and I kind of miss the creamy-yellow colour of the dry stuff. I remember complaining about it when I first moved here, but I’ve learned to appreciate it.
    I flick on the indicator and move left onto the slip-road to Crafers.
    Piccadilly Valley is as familiar to me as it always was. We drive along Piccadilly Road, past houses nestled in amongst the gums, the paddock that’s still filled with goats, and the small leafy-green vineyard. Eventually we round the corner and come across Michael’s house. I slow to a stop and stare straight ahead at the boundary fence to the conservation park. Clear as day in my mind I remember Ben vaulting himself over it in the direction of Carminow Castle and Mount Lofty. I shake myself out of my flashback.
    ‘That’s Michael’s house there,’ I say quietly, looking left out of the window.
    ‘Shall we see if he’s in?’ Richard asks.
    I shake my head. ‘His truck’s not there. He must be at work.’
    ‘You never know,’ Richard says hopefully.
    I decide to indulge him and unclick my seatbelt. He follows me up the gravel footpath to the front door. Instinctively I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it. When it opens I halt in surprise. Michael never used to lock it if he was in. I quickly and quietly close it again and then knock, nerves swirling around my stomach. I’m not prepared for this.
    Moments later, the door opens and Michael stands there, his face registering puzzlement, recognition and finally, delight.
    ‘Lily!’ he booms. ‘Is it really you?’
    I nod, smiling. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ Before I can speak the words he’s got me in a bear hug.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ He clutches my arms and beams down at me.
    ‘We came back for Kevin Stamford’s funeral. You know, Tammy and Shane’s dad?’
    ‘Aah, yes. Such a shock,’ he empathises, glancing at Richard.
    ‘This is Richard,’ I say, as he lets me go and shakes Richard’s hand.
    ‘Hello, there! I’ve heard all about you from my son. Did Josh know you were coming back?’
    ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. Is he going to the funeral?’
    ‘I imagine so. Come in, come in! Can I get you a cuppa?’
    ‘You certainly can.’ How could I refuse? ‘When I didn’t see your truck, I thought you must be at work,’ I say, once we’re seated in the kitchen around the same old table, covered with the same green plastic tablecloth.
    ‘No, Janine’s got the ute today.’
    ‘How is she?’ I ask.
    ‘She’s great.’ He smiles. ‘She’ll be sorry she missed you.’
    ‘Please give her my best.’
    ‘I will, darl.’ I don’t want to talk about the conservation park, so I’m horrified when he continues. ‘She never did understand