‘I think that’s classed as sexual harassment in the workplace, Nicholas Castor,’ I warn as he grabs me on my way past.
‘You’re killing me, Bella Nella,’ he says in my ear.
‘And that is a shit nickname,’ I say over my shoulder, firmly removing his hands from my waist. ‘You’re not Italian and neither am I.’
‘Suits you, though,’ he says with a cheeky grin, his green eyes twinkling as he hooks his forefinger through one of the belt loops on my jeans and stops me in my tracks.
This is my fault. I should never have slept with him.
I thought I’d just get it over and done with and he’d leave me alone, but to my near-constant surprise, it’s had the opposite effect.
God knows how he found it so memorable – I barely recall the details, I was so drunk at the time.
‘You’ve got customers.’ I nod at a couple of attractive young women who have walked in.
He sighs and lets me go.
I’ve been working at The Boatman for fifteen months now and it still seems unreal. After graduating from university with a 2:1, I moved to London, getting a night job at a bar so I could afford to do unpaid work experience at magazines during the day. I hoped that the contacts I was making would one day result in a job offer being made, but my whole world came crashing down when Dad got cancer. I put all of my plans on hold and moved straight back home to look after him. It’s been two horribly hard years, but he’s in remission now and for that I am immensely grateful.
At some point, I’ll get my arse into gear and go back to London, but right now, I can’t imagine leaving him. He’s still so frail. Anyway, the pub is a friendly, sociable place and Nick’s parents, Christopher and Theresa, are lovely and easy to please. Nick less so. He’s stepped up into more of a managerial role and is a bit of a taskmaster.
‘Oi, Nell,’ he calls from further down the bar, delving into his pocket. ‘Can you go upstairs and get the indie mixtape by my stereo?’ He throws me his keys.
‘Can’t you get it yourself?’ I ask with a frown, catching them.
‘I’m busy.’ He slams the till shut and gives me a pointed look.
‘Dad’s going to be here any minute,’ I complain.
It’s my birthday and we’re going out to dinner.
‘You’d better be quick, then,’ he replies firmly.
I huff as I stalk out from behind the bar – see what I mean? Taskmaster.
Nick and Drew grew up in the cottage across the road, but now Nick lives by himself in the apartment above the pub. It’s a right shag-pad – God knows how many women have been up there. I can’t believe I can now count myself amongst them.
I don’t know how it happened. I’d stuck around after closing time last Saturday to have a few drinks. I guess I was bored, lonely and horny, and Nick had been flirting with me for ages. I’ll admit, I kind of liked the attention. Plus, it’s not as if I was in love with him, so I knew I’d be able to handle it when he moved on to the next girl – as much a certainty as the sun rising each morning. Still, I’m a little surprised at myself.
My walk up the stairs triggers a flashback. We were kissing, right here. I was lying down and Nick was on top of me, and he pulled my jeans off, and then my knickers, and then he… Oh my God. My face is burning as I hurry to the top and unlock his door.
Inside his apartment, the flashbacks are even stronger. The door to his bedroom is open and, as I glance in at his unmade double bed, I’m struck with another memory of him hovering over me, staring straight into my eyes, his face framed by his glorious golden curls.
His body was ripped – like, seriously. Lean and sexy and muscled – a real surfer’s body.
And, oh shit. I scratched my nails down his back as I came.
And I did come. Twice. Once on the stairs and – no, hang on, it was three times, total.
I press my palms to my burning cheeks to try to cool them down.
Nick Castor was good in bed.
Well, he’s had enough practice, I think to myself wryly. Now where the hell is that mixtape?
As I lock up again and walk downstairs, absent-mindedly tapping the cassette against my palm, something seems off. I poke my head around the corner with a frown and almost jump out of my skin. All of the staff from the kitchen, bar and restaurant, plus a few regular customers, and even my dad, are standing in the middle of the room. They collectively launch into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, and then Nick emerges from the kitchen with a huge, chocolate-frosted birthday cake, topped with lit candles.
I beam from ear to ear as he comes to a stop in front of me, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. Everyone claps and cheers. I blow out the candles, then Nick holds the cake to one side and leans in to kiss me – right on the lips.
I’m used to him being tactile, but when he withdraws, I find it hard to meet his eyes.
Nick’s mum, Theresa, interrupts our ‘moment’.
‘Happy birthday, Nell, sweetie,’ she says, giving me a hug.
‘Thank you.’ I’m so touched.
‘Nick’s idea.’ She fondly nods at her son, who’s plucking the candles out of the cake at a nearby table. Dad comes over and Theresa greets him warmly, too. ‘Now, I know you two are heading straight out for dinner, but can you squeeze in a tiny piece of cake before you go?’
‘I think we can manage that, don’t you, Nell?’ Dad asks with a smile.
‘Absolutely,’ I agree.
Aimee, one of the waitresses, appears with a stack of plates, and Tristan, the chef, comes out of the kitchen with a knife. He hands it to Nick, but Nick passes it straight to me.
‘Make a wish,’ he says with a smile.
I take the knife and slice into the cake, closing my eyes briefly to silently ask that Dad’s cancer never comes back.
When I open them again, Nick is still smiling at me.
Dad and I catch the ferry to the pub on the other side of the river. It’s more of a boat taxi, really, holding only a few passengers at any one time. But it’s a lovely crossing, and when the sun is setting, like now, it’s absolutely gorgeous. It feels a bit strange to be going from one pub to another – especially when the second is a competitor – but they both do exceptional food and it’s nice to have a change of scenery.
It’s chilly out on the deck so we go straight to the table that we’d reserved by the window. Dad orders a bottle of champagne.
‘It’s not every day your daughter turns twenty-five,’ he says.
I laugh and he smiles at me.
‘How was your day?’ I ask.
‘How was yours?’
‘I asked you first.’
He shrugs. ‘I finally got around to planting that crab-apple tree for you.’
‘Aw, thanks, Dad. I hope you didn’t wear yourself out.’
‘I feel fit as a fiddle,’ he insists.
Dad never went back to work after his illness, but I know he misses the gardens. Sometimes we’ll go and hang out at Glendurgan or Trelissick so he can catch up with his old friends and colleagues. He’s also taken to going to flower shows – we went to London together for the RHS Hampton Court Palace one back in July and came back with a tray full of brightly coloured begonias. The cottage garden has never looked prettier.
Dad waits until the waitress has poured our champagne before passing me an envelope. ‘Another birthday present for you,’ he says. ‘Oh, and it’s also an early Christmas one for me,’ he adds cryptically.
Intrigued, I carefully open the envelope and pull out several pieces of white card. I turn them over and freeze at the sight of the red QANTAS logo in the corner. Tickets. To Australia.
‘What are these?’ I’m still not really sure what I’m seeing.
‘I’ve never been to Australia,’ he says. ‘I’ve always wanted to go. If the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that life is too short. I’d like to do these things while I’m young enough to enjoy them and there’s no one I would rather go with than my beloved daughter.’ His eyes are shining as he covers my hand with his, prompting my throat to swell.
I look down at the tickets again and notice the date. ‘Is that the first of this November?’ I ask with alarm. ‘As in, a fortnight away?’
‘Yes. I know you’ll need to take time off work, but I did run it past Christopher and Theresa first. They said it won’t be a problem – they’re happy for you to go.’
I wonder if Nick knows…
‘I’m paying for everything,’ Dad states adamantly as I shake my head in protest. ‘No, Nelly, I won’t hear of it,’ he cuts me off. ‘This is my treat. I’ve got it all planned. Van has helped me. We’re going to fly into Sydney and spend a few days there…’
He continues to elaborate, but my head is stuck at Van.
‘…visit Van at Uluru…’
‘Sorry?’ I interrupt as I hear this last part. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said we’ll go and visit Van at Uluru. You know, Ayers Rock, where he’s working now. Then he’ll come with us to Adelaide and on to Port Lincoln where we’ll spend some time with his dad. It’ll be good to get to know John properly,’ Dad says. ‘I wasn’t really with it when he came over fifteen years ago.’
That was the last – and only – time we met Van’s dad, when he flew over after Ruth’s death to take Van home with him.
‘So what do you think?’ he asks. ‘Will you come?’
This is clearly something he’s wanted to do for a long time.
I place my hands on his shoulders. ‘Are you kidding, Dad? Of course I’ll come. I can’t wait.’ I lean in to give him a hug, hoping that some of the peace and happiness emanating from him will rub off on me.
‘What is Van up to these days?’ Nick asks the next day at work. He did know about the trip, as it turns out. He struggled to shut up about it.
‘He works at a resort in Uluru. He’s just a bartender—’
‘Just a bartender?’ Nick interrupts. ‘Is there anything wrong with just being a bartender?’ He waves his hands to denote the area he’s standing behind. I’m perched on a stool in front of him. It’s too early for the lunch crowd so we’ve got time for a chat.
‘You know what I mean. Anyway, you’re not just a bartender. You practically run this place.’
‘I won’t tell my parents you said that.’
My eyebrows jump up. ‘No, don’t.’
He smirks at me and turns on the coffee machine. ‘You want one?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Yeah, so Van…’ he prompts.
‘He’s a bartender – no “justs” about it,’ I chirp. ‘His girlfriend, Sam, works at the rock’s cultural centre with the aboriginal artists. She’s an artist herself.’
Van and I email each other occasionally. I sent him one a couple of days ago to wish him a happy birthday.
Nick places a latte in front of me.
‘Thanks.’ My favourite. ‘It was Sam’s idea to go,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I get the feeling Van is smitten with this one. I think he’d follow her pretty much anywhere.’
I might sound indifferent, but it’s only because I’ve learned to ignore the sting. And I’ve come to accept that it will probably always sting. I doubt I’ll ever stop feeling a bit sore where Van’s concerned, but the pain is manageable.
It was Dad’s illness that brought Van and me back together. I had to call Van to tell him that Dad had cancer and I think it put things into perspective for both of us. We never talked about what happened – neither when we were fifteen nor twenty – but we both seemed to make a decision to put the past behind us and move on. As Dad said, life is too short. It was time to try to be friends, like we’d said we would. We’ve been okay ever since.
‘You wanna come and see Fight Club tonight at the cinema?’ Nick asks casually. It’s Friday night, and by a rare miracle, neither of us is working.
‘Brad Pitt?’ I grin. ‘Hell, yeah! Wait. Is this a date?’ I ask warily.
‘Would it matter if it was?’
‘I thought you didn’t do dates, Nicholas Castor.’
He clutches his chest and turns away, shaking his head. ‘It’s the way you say my name,’ he mutters melodramatically.
I can’t help but laugh and he flashes me a grin, turning back to lean over the counter, his elbows propped on top. ‘So? Wanna come?’
‘Only because it’s Brad,’ I state. ‘Not because it’s you.’
I call Dad to let him know I won’t be needing a lift. Now that he’s not working, he’s sort of enlisted himself as my personal driver – we only have the one car between us and he seems to like ferrying me around. I already feel a bit weird, living with my dad at my age, so having him drive me, too, makes me feel even more of a teenager. But, hey ho, it makes him happy.
‘How many girls do you reckon you’ve shagged?’ I ask Nick when we’re comfortably seated in the cinema.
‘What?’ He coughs up a kernel of popcorn.
‘You heard.’
‘How many girls have I shagged?’ He repeats my question with disbelief.
‘Yeah. I don’t care, I’m just interested.’ I cast him a sideways look and snigger at how uncomfortable he looks. ‘Are you blushing?’ I ask with delight. ‘That’s hilarious. Go on, have a guess. How many? Fifty, sixty, a hundred?’
‘Bloody hell!’ he erupts. ‘How much of a slag do you think I am?’
I’m taken aback. ‘What? Not that many?’
‘Nowhere near that many!’ he exclaims.
‘But you’re always on the pull!’
‘I haven’t pulled a girl in weeks! Months!’
‘Haven’t you?’ I’m surprised.
‘No! Jesus,’ he mutters.
The room goes dark and a hush falls over the audience.
I lean in closer, curious. ‘But all those girls on holiday?’ I whisper.
He frowns. ‘What are you going on about?’
‘Every summer, you used to have a different girl. Your relationships would never last longer than two or three weeks, depending on how long they were here for. Drew told me—’
‘Drew?’ he snorts. ‘Cheeky sod. What did he tell you?’
‘About the holiday flings. About what a commitment-phobe you were when it came to anything lasting.’
‘He was only trying to put you off me.’
‘Eh?’ I frown at him. ‘Why?’
‘He had the major hots for you. You must’ve known that.’
‘Yeah, I did. Kind of.’ I shrug. ‘But he got over it long before he started going out with Deborah.’
‘That’s right.’ He nods, remembering Drew’s girlfriend from years past. He’s still with Charli, the girl he met at university.
‘What went on with you and Drew?’ Nick sounds confused. ‘I thought you liked him, too, at one point.’
‘I did,’ I reply carefully.
‘He thought he’d screwed up that time you and Van came surfing with us and you were stressed about Van getting hurt. He was sure you blamed him for it.’
I shake my head. ‘No, it wasn’t that.’
‘Actually,’ he says with a grin, ‘that was the day he also started thinking that you might have a crush on me. He banned me from hitting on you after that.’
‘Did he?’ I giggle. ‘That’s so funny. Have you told him you’ve since dragged me up to your man-cave and had your wicked way with me?’
Nick cracks up laughing and the people in front of us turn around to glare.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper an apology.
‘It’s only the trailers,’ he chides, but he does lower his voice when he answers me. ‘No, I haven’t. He’s back at Christmas. Maybe I’ll break it to him, then.’
‘Why bother? It ain’t happening again,’ I say facetiously.
That’s the last thing that gets said before the film starts.
Nick is not at work the next day – he’s gone surfing with Max – and I find myself missing his banter. He was quiet when he dropped me home last night – like, weirdly quiet. Not on a Dad or Van level, but for Nick it was definitely out of the ordinary.
Theresa comes over for a chat after the lunchtime rush has passed, before the early birds appear for dinner.
‘How was the film?’ she asks with a smile.
She’s lovely, Theresa. I’ve always liked her. We’re about the same height – her boys tower over both of us – but she’s quite voluptuous, with long, dark hair that she usually wears down. She’s glamorous, but warm with it, not aloof or in any way full of herself. And she has her sons’ eyes: Castor bottle-green.
‘Brilliant,’ I answer her question. ‘Very entertaining. You can’t really go wrong when it comes to Brad Pitt with his top off.’
‘Did Nick enjoy it?’ she asks.
‘I think so. Not for the same reasons as me, though.’
She gives me an appraising look and I’m curious to know what she’s thinking.
‘I shouldn’t interfere,’ she starts to say, and that little voice inside my head goes, Uh-oh. ‘But you do know that boy is smitten with you?’ she finishes.
I stare at her, agog.
‘I haven’t seen him like this before,’ she divulges, clearly in two minds about whether or not to say anything. ‘He’s a different person on the days you’re not working.’
‘In what way?’ I ask warily.
‘He’s like a bear with a sore head,’ she reveals.
‘You mean he’s even worse when I’m not working?’ I say with alarm. Jesus. The poor staff.
‘Oh, sweetie.’ She gives me an indulgent smile. ‘He only gives you a hard time because he’s trying to get your attention. Maybe “Bear” is the wrong analogy. Meek as a mouse might be more apt.’ She gives me a helpless shrug. ‘I know I’m his mum and I should stay out of it, but I’ve known you for a long time, Nell, and I love you to bits. You’re such a good girl. He’d kill me if he knew we were having this conversation, but I hope you don’t write him off. He’s done a lot of silly things over the years, but if you could find it in your heart to give him a chance, I think he might surprise you.’
I don’t even know what to say once she’s finished spilling her son’s secrets.
She pats my shoulder and leaves me to ponder her words. And ponder them I do.
‘What happened?’ I hear Theresa cry later that afternoon.
I look over to see Nick hobbling through the door on Max’s arm.
‘Wiped out on the reef at Porthleven,’ Nick mutters miserably as I hurry out from behind the bar. ‘It was so fricking stupid. I wasn’t concentrating.’
His right foot is swollen and his face is very pale, his hair still damp from the ocean.
‘Can you help him upstairs, Max?’ I ask. ‘I’ll go and ask Tristan for some frozen peas.’
Nick is on the sofa when I enter his apartment, his foot propped up on the coffee table in front of him.
‘It’s all right, mate, you go,’ Nick urges Max.
‘I’m late for work,’ Max tells me with regret. He’s a fireman.
When Max has gone, I grab a cushion from the sofa and carefully place it and a bag of frozen peas beneath Nick’s foot. I lie another bag across his ankle.
His face creases with agony as he thanks me.
‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask sympathetically. ‘A cup of tea?’
‘That would be great, actually.’
I go into his kitchen. It’s clean and tidy, save for a mug and a dirty bowl in the sink, with cereal bits glued to its side. There’s a tiny window looking right out across the thatched rooftops of neighbouring cottages to the river in the distance. The view from his living room is even lovelier, stretching past the moored sailing boats in the water to the bank on the other side.
‘Have you eaten?’ I call through to him.
‘No, but don’t trouble yourself.’
‘It’ll take me two secs.’ I open his fridge and peer in, grabbing cheese, ham, butter and pickle. I whip him up a quick toastie, then carry it through with his cup of tea.
His eyes are closed, but he opens them when he hears my footsteps. ‘Thanks, Nell,’ he murmurs as I pass him a couple of painkillers I found in his kitchen drawer.
‘Is there anything else I can do?’ I ask with concern.
‘Can you call Jack and see if he can cover me tonight and tomorrow?’
‘I can cover you,’ I say. ‘I need the extra spending money for Australia.’
‘Are you sure? You’ve been here all day.’
‘Yes, totally sure. Anything else?’
‘Come check on me later?’
‘That goes without saying.’
I pop in a couple of times, and at the end of the night, I find him fast asleep on the sofa. He stirs and opens his eyes. ‘Hey.’
‘Want some help getting to bed?’
He smirks at me.
‘I’m glad to see you’ve still got a sense of humour.’
‘Actually, I need the loo first.’ He holds his hand out to me and I help him to his feet. We start hobbling together towards the bathroom, but then he stops short, breathing in sharply and wincing, his hand clutching his side. I stare at him with alarm and then lift his T-shirt – his ribs are black and blue!
‘Jesus, Nick! What the hell?’
He ignores me, recommencing his journey.
‘You should see a doctor.’
‘It’s fine. I just need a couple of days to rest up.’
‘Bloody surfers,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t know why you take the risk.’
‘We’re all a bunch of junkies.’
‘Yeah, I know it’s addictive.’ I shake my head despairingly and leave him at the bathroom door. When he comes out, I help him to bed. Will he manage with his jeans?
He sees me dithering. ‘I’ll be fine, Nell. Get home, you must be knackered.’
‘Okay.’ I hesitate. ‘You sure you’re going to be all right in the night?’
‘Why, you offering to stay?’
His eyebrows lift with surprise when I don’t immediately answer.
‘Do you want me to? I could kip on the sofa. I’ve got to be back here in the morning, anyway.’
‘Are you serious?’
I shrug, uncertainly. He stares at me for a long moment, then jerks his chin towards the empty space beside him. ‘Sleep next to me.’
I narrow my eyes at him.
‘I promise I’ll keep my hands off,’ he says. ‘Unless you don’t want me to,’ he adds with a playful grin.
I roll my eyes and send Dad a text, explaining why I won’t be home tonight.
Sunlight is streaming through the tiny picture window in the eaves of Nick’s bedroom when I wake up. He’s asleep beside me and I stare at him for a moment, studying the fan-shape made by his eyelashes. They’re darker than the rest of his hair – more brown, less golden. The stubble coming through on his jaw is dark-blond, and I have a weird inclination to run my fingertips over it. He really is a very attractive guy.
I slept surprisingly well, considering I’m in a strange bed. I must’ve been exhausted after the double shift.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table. It’s a text from Dad: ‘You be careful.’
‘What’s so funny?’ Nick murmurs from beside me.
I glance at him. ‘Dad, warning me to be wary of big, bad men.’
‘Does he place me in that class?’ He sounds startled, his voice thick with sleep.
‘He’s always placed you in that class. Your reputation precedes you, Nicholas Castor.’
I’m smiling, but he isn’t.
‘Okay, I’ve changed my mind. I actually don’t like it when you say my name like that.’ He turns his face towards the ceiling in a sulk.
‘I’m just kidding.’ I think I’ve hurt his feelings. ‘I’ll make you some breakfast and then I’ll go home for a quick shower.’ I swing my legs off his bed. ‘Don’t want any of the staff to think I’ve been shagging you again.’
‘God forbid,’ he replies drily.
A couple of days later, I come into work early to find Nick sitting at a table by the window, paperwork surrounding him. He’s staring out of the glass at the view. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I’m stumped by the look on his face. He seems so desperately sad.
‘Morning,’ I say at last, trying to inject some cheer.
He looks my way, his lips turning up at the corners, but the sadness lingering in his eyes.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘Yep.’ He glances down at his paperwork. ‘Catching up on some stuff.’
‘You need anything?’
‘No, I’m all right, thanks,’ he replies in a subdued tone.
My brow furrows as I leave him to it.
Max comes in with his girlfriend, Dawn, on Friday night. We’re crazy busy, but they head to the bar area after their meal and, once things have calmed down, I go over to say hi.
I like Dawn – she has a heart of gold and the most raucous cackle of a laugh. She works at the pub across the river and Nick accuses her of being a spy every time she comes in here. It’s all in jest – he adores her, really. His mate has been seeing her for about a year now and Nick is convinced she’s the one.
‘Is Nick all right?’ I ask Max when Dawn has gone to the bathroom.
‘In what way?’ He’s shorter and stockier than Nick, a bit more average-looking, but when he grins, his whole face transforms. He’s not grinning now.
‘He’s seemed kind of down this week,’ I disclose. ‘Not only about his injuries.’
He shifts uncomfortably.
‘What?’ I persist. ‘He’s not properly ill or anything, is he?’
‘No.’ He waves me away, then looks across the room to where Nick is collecting empties. Nick walks out of the room in the direction of the kitchen and Max turns back to me.
‘He told me about your conversation at the movies,’ he reveals.
‘Which part?’ I’m confused.
‘About all the girls you think he’s slept with.’
‘Oh, that.’ I tut jokily.
‘You know he mainly just fools around.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘I bet you could count the girls he’s actually slept with on two hands,’ he continues.
‘That’s still quite a lot of digits.’
‘I thought you didn’t care?’
‘What about Brooke?’ I ask. ‘He shagged her.’
‘He never shagged Brooke!’ he scoffs. ‘They kissed!’
‘I’m sure she said she slept with him. Why are you telling me all of this, in any case?’
‘Because he’s heartbroken over you, Nell! I’ve never seen him like this! Shh, he’s coming back,’ he whispers.
‘You guys coming up to mine for a few drinks in a bit?’ Nick asks Max as I scoop my jaw up from the floor.
‘Yeah, for sure.’
Nick glances at me. ‘Nell?’
‘Um… okay.’
Really? What am I doing?
His corresponding smile is the most genuine I’ve seen all week.
An hour or so later, I’m sitting next to Nick, my shoes off and my feet tucked up on the sofa. Max is making us all laugh at an anecdote about a junior fireman at work, and the atmosphere is chilled and happy, with Blur playing on the stereo in the background.
But I feel strangely edgy. Nick’s arm is stretched out behind me on the sofa and he’s been absent-mindedly curling his finger around a lock of my hair for the last few minutes.
‘Right,’ Dawn says, slapping Max’s thigh. ‘You’d better take me home to bed before I conk out here.’
They wearily drag themselves to their feet. This is my cue to leave, too, but I hesitate. Max comes over and bends down to give me a kiss, but I get to my feet to hug Dawn.
Nick has to go downstairs to let them out of the pub. When he comes back after a couple of minutes, he seems slightly bewildered by the fact that I’m still on his sofa.
‘You want another drink?’ he asks.
‘Still got one.’ I raise my bottle of cider.
He returns to sit beside me again, twisting his body to face mine. Impulsively, he reaches out and twirls another lock of my hair around his finger. I lean into his touch and we stare at each other for a long moment.
My heart flips.
And then he very slowly leans forward and pauses. I don’t make him wait before meeting him in the middle.
The sand is pale orange, the colour of the rising sun, and the desert is flecked with shrubs, as if a giant has shaken pepper all over it. Far away in the distance, the horizon fades in the heat haze. Then we see it – the rock – and all the passengers on our side of the plane start chattering excitedly.
Uluru looks very different from above to how I’d imagined it. The photos I’ve seen made me think it’s narrow and elongated, but actually it’s a squat bulk of sandstone.
There’s nothing squat about it, however: it stands 348 metres above sea level at its tallest point – that’s higher than the Eiffel Tower.
Van collects us from the tiny airport. I’ve spent almost five years – maybe even ten – hardening my heart towards him, but it squeezes at the sight of him now.
The first thing I notice is his hair – it’s cropped short, which makes him appear more grown-up somehow. He’s wearing a yellow T-shirt and dark-grey shorts and his arms are folded, the muscles on his biceps bulging. He comes forward with a grin, embracing Dad first. They hug tightly and his face is full of emotion when he pulls away and turns to me.
I’m not sure if we’re going to do that awkward, not-touching thing again, but then I’m being crushed against his definitely-quite-a-bit broader chest and, before I can even gather my thoughts together, he’s withdrawing.
‘I am so happy to see you guys.’ He gives us a sentimental smile.
‘We’re happy to see you, too,’ Dad says in turn, grasping Van’s shoulder and shaking him affectionately.
Van wants to know all about our trip so far, but more importantly, he wants to be sure Dad is on the mend.
‘I’ve never felt better,’ Dad replies.
Van and I share a look in his rear-view mirror.
He’s driving a jeep and it suits him, the muscles on his toned, tanned arms flexing as he clutches the steering wheel and navigates us over the bumpy dirt track. He and Sam live in staff accommodation, a few minutes from the resort, but Van is taking us to our hotel so we can check in and freshen up. We’re going to watch the sun set over Uluru later – Sam will meet us there, straight from work. Van has to work tonight so we’ll no doubt be propping up the bar for a bit. At least we’re over the worst of our jet lag – I’ve never felt more out of it in my life and poor Dad was knocked for six. I don’t think we saw the best of Sydney as a result, but luckily we’re passing back through for a few days on our way home.
I don’t want to make an effort with my appearance that evening, but in the end, I can’t help myself. I’m about to meet Sam – the first girlfriend of Van’s I have ever come face to face with. I don’t know what she looks like, but I’m expecting her to be a stunner. I’m thinking: tall, slim and bronzed, like the girls in the photos from when he was fifteen. I feel as though I need warpaint to give me confidence, so I take more care than usual with my make-up, dabbing golden-brown onto my lids and sweeping a line of black kohl close to my eyelashes. With black mascara, peach blush and sheer lip-gloss, I’m ready.
The heat from the day is fading, so I take a white cardigan to throw on over my navy sundress. I’ve fastened my still-damp hair into a loose bun on top of my head.
All of the above does nothing to combat my nerves.
Dad and Van are sitting on a couple of plastic chairs outside Dad’s room when I emerge. Van’s eyes graze over me before returning to my face.
‘Ready?’ he asks with a small smile.
Half an hour later, the sun has set over Uluru, casting not only the entire rock but the surrounding desert in the most spectacular orangey-red light.
‘Here’s Sam,’ Van says, nodding at a dark-blue Honda pulling into the car park. I’ve had a glass of bubbly – Van brought a bottle on ice – and it was giving me a lovely warm buzz, but now I feel sick to my stomach.
A hand on my arm prompts me to turn sharply towards Dad, who’s gazing at me, his eyes filled with understanding. I step away from him, plastering a smile on my face as Van’s girlfriend climbs out of the car.
‘Hi!’ she calls, grinning widely as she approaches us.
For a moment, I’m struck dumb, and then I come to life. ‘Hi!’ I call back.
She is nothing like I imagined. Tall, yes, but far from skinny, with long, chunky auburn dreadlocks that tumble halfway down her back. Her skin is light-brown from exposure to the sun and her nose is pierced as well as her eyebrows, and God only knows how many rings are through her ears. She comes over and holds out her hand. I go to shake it and she laughs, pulling it away.
‘I’m just fucking with ya, gimme a hug.’ She engulfs me in strong arms and then moves on to Dad.
Before I came out here, I wasn’t sure what would be worse: hating her or liking her. I think I like her.
‘Fuck me, you’re pretty!’ she exclaims, returning to gawp at me. ‘Shit, I really need to stop swearing. Sorry.’ She flashes Dad a repentant look, but he smiles, unfazed.
Van isn’t fazed, either. I get the feeling he’s quite used to his girlfriend’s bad language.
There’s something wild and untamed about her. It occurs to me that I once thought the same thing about Van, but right now, he seems almost conservative in comparison.
My mind is still ticking over with these thoughts when we’re at the bar later, watching Van work. Sam went home to ‘crash out’ and Dad and I retired here to keep Van company. We chat while he takes orders, but the rest of the time I’m distracted watching him. He’s so attentive to the customers, totally focused on what they’re ordering and then scarily speedy and proficient at delivering. I’ve never seen him in a professional capacity before and it’s kind of strange.
Dad calls it a night after not too long.
‘Do you want me to walk you to your room?’ I offer.
‘I’m not that old and doddery. I’ll find my way.’ He bends down to kiss me on my forehead, then says goodnight to Van.
I swivel back in time to see Van topping up my glass with more white wine.
‘Thanks.’
He nods seriously at Dad’s departing back. ‘Is he okay?’
‘I think so. Tired. He hasn’t fully recovered from it all.’
His lips are pressed together in a thin, straight line as his eyes follow Dad out of the room. He grabs a cloth from behind the bar and proceeds to polish some wine glasses. There are no customers waiting.
‘Sam seems nice,’ I say casually.
He raises his eyebrows at me, his expression mildly entertained.
‘What? She does!’ I exclaim. ‘Why? Isn’t she nice?’ I mock.
‘It’s not the first word I’d use to describe her,’ he replies with a smirk.
I’m intrigued. ‘How would you describe her, then?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Difficult, probably.’ He grins, reaching for another glass. ‘We have a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. What about you? Anyone significant in your life?’
‘Yeah, I kind of am seeing someone.’
He glances at me, nodding for me to continue.
‘You know him. Nick.’ I take a sip of my drink.
‘Nick?’ he asks with alarm. He’s still clutching the cloth and a glass, but his hands have stilled. ‘Nick from the pub? Surfing Nick?’
‘Yes. Nicholas Castor.’
‘Are you shitting me?’
‘Nope.’
He’s reeling.
I can’t say I blame him. Dad was horrified, too, but he’s come around to the idea now.
‘How’s that working out?’ Van asks with a frown.
‘All right so far.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘Ask me again sometime.’ I shrug, but belatedly feel that I’m doing Nick – and possibly myself – a disservice. ‘I don’t know, his mum and Max seem to think it’s the real deal. They encouraged me to give him a go after getting sick of seeing him moping around.’ I’m aiming for flippancy and hope I haven’t come across as conceited.
There’s a woman waiting down the bar that Van hasn’t even looked at as he’s been so focused on what I’ve been saying. I nod towards her pointedly.
Van comes out of his stupor and throws his cloth over his shoulder, going to attend to the customer. She’s ordering cocktails for a table of six, so while he gets to work mixing them, I take out my phone to reply to a message I saw earlier from Ellie. She still lives in Newcastle where she and her boyfriend, Liam, went to university. We stay in regular touch by email and text – she wants to know how it’s going in Australia.
As I’m typing out a message to her, another one comes through. It’s from Nick. I finish replying to Ellie before reading it.
All it says is: ‘Missing you.’
Aw. I write back: ‘You getting all sentimental on me, Nicholas Castor?’
He replies: ‘Might be. What you doing?’
‘Sitting at the hotel bar, chatting to Van.’
‘Say hi from me.’
‘Will do.’
‘Nell?’
‘Yes? You do realise it costs money every time you send me a text? Make this one good…’ I tease.
I wait for his reply, but it doesn’t come. I frown and put the phone down, looking up to see Van standing in front of me. He’s polishing another glass, his expression blank. He nods at my phone. ‘Nick?
‘Yeah. He says to say hi.’
My phone buzzes again. I pick it up and my eyes widen as I read what it says.
‘Feeling a lot of love for you right now. Wanted to tell you that in person before you left but didn’t want to freak you out. Don’t suppose you can talk?’
‘What’s he saying?’ Van asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
I ignore him and type out a reply, trying to concentrate. He has caught me by surprise, but that’s probably not helped by the company I’m in.
‘Can’t at the mo but maybe later?’
‘I have freaked you out, haven’t I? Shit.’
‘No, you haven’t at all.’ It’s a white lie, but I don’t want to hurt him. I do care for him. Quite a lot, as it turns out. I still have my doubts, of course – a leopard can’t change his spots overnight and all that. But I do like his company, he does make me laugh, and he is stupidly good in bed. That’s three good reasons right there to give it a shot.
‘Van standing in front of me,’ I add.
‘Ask him what the hell he’s doing so far from the surf?’
I show Van the message and he grins. ‘Tell him I need to get my head read.’
I sign off my reply with a kiss and a promise that I’ll ring him later. God only knows how much that phone call will cost.
‘So… Nick Castor, eh?’ Van says drily, folding his arms across his chest. The action makes his biceps strain against the fabric of his long-sleeve white shirt uniform. ‘Who would’ve thought?’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ I reply with a smile.
Closing time is upon us before we know it, so I gather my things together and wait out by the swimming pool while Van finishes up and says goodnight to his boss.
‘Will you come for a drive with me?’ he asks when he appears. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘Sure.’
His jeep is parked at a place called Yulara, where the 750 staff members live, and as we walk there, he tells me about life at the ‘Gregory’s’ – the name for the dorm-room accommodation that he and Sam share with two other girls. They each only have a single bed with one tiny bathroom and kitchen between them, so things can be a bit fraught at times, especially between Sam and one of their roommates. The staff aren’t allowed to hang out in the tourist areas, but they have their own swimming pools, plus the ‘ressies’ – residents club – where a big chunk of their earnings is spent on booze. It doesn’t sound like there’s a lot to do out of hours, aside from playing pool and drinking, but his co-workers are a young, fun crowd and Van says he’s made a few friends.
After about twenty minutes on the road, we pull off the asphalt onto a bumpy dirt track. Five minutes later, Van cuts the engine and hops out. ‘Come on,’ he says, getting something from the back seat.
I climb out of the jeep into pitch-blackness. ‘Van?’
‘Up here.’
Is he on the roof? He taps the side of the vehicle to orientate me and I follow the noise, coming to what feels like a ladder at the back. I climb up one rung and then a warm, strong hand fixes around my arm and helps me the rest of the way. He’s brought cushions and blankets and we spend a short while getting comfortable, before…
‘Look up,’ he says.
I tilt my face up to the sky and billions of stars blink back at me. It’s the biggest, brightest night sky I have ever seen.
‘Wow,’ I whisper reverently.
We lie down, so close that our arms are touching. ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asks.
‘Yes, fine.’ Forget the blankets, he’s like a radiator, with the body heat coming off him.
‘One thing I noticed after a few days of living here is how alive the desert is, despite seeming dormant at first,’ he tells me. ‘You won’t notice it where you are at the resort because there’s always someone to sweep the paths and stuff, but where we live, the sands are always there.’
‘Have you seen many spiders?’
‘Oh, yeah. Mostly huntsmans.’
I shudder and edge closer.
He chuckles. ‘They’re huge, but harmless, apart from giving you a heart attack. The best thing I’ve seen has been a thorny devil.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A lizard. They have spines all over their bodies and they drink with their feet.’
‘What? How?’
‘Apparently, they stand in a puddle and the water moves up by capillary action along grooves to the corner of their mouths. I saw this little guy on my way home from work one day and he looked up at me – he was so inquisitive, a real character. If you didn’t need a licence to own one, I would’ve been tempted to take him back to my dorm.’
I smile. ‘So you like working here?’
‘Yeah, it’s all right. It’s a change from tuna fishing. I’d been doing that for a few years so it was getting a bit tired.’
‘I still remember you telling us about it when we were at the pub that time. I was so angry with Joel that night.’
‘Yeah, he was a bit of a dick.’
I snort with amusement.
‘You guys broke up soon after, right?’
I tense, remembering the guilt I’d felt that contributed to me ending it. If you really like someone, you don’t kiss somebody else. ‘Yeah.’
‘I’m sorry.’
What for? For causing the guilt? I decide not to ask.
It’s the last thing either of us says for a while.
‘How’s your mum these days?’ His voice punctuates the darkness.
‘Hmm.’ My response is dry. ‘I haven’t seen her in a couple of years.’
‘Seriously?’ He sounds surprised.
‘We fell out when Dad was having his treatment,’ I reveal.
‘I didn’t know that.’ He sounds concerned.
‘It’s not like we were close before, but she was so unsupportive. She could’ve called to check on how Dad was doing, or how I was doing, but I was always the one to make contact. One day I stopped ringing her. I guess her selfishness finally got to me. We hardly ever speak now. I don’t feel compelled to go and visit her in New York and she sure isn’t bothered about coming to see me.’
‘That sucks,’ he murmurs.
‘It’s just the way it is.’
‘Is she still with the guy who sells yachts?’
‘Robert. Yeah, they’re still married, thankfully. At least I know she’s being looked after.’
The longer we stare at the sky, the more stars we see. Now it almost seems milky-white with them, countless tiny galaxies bursting through the inky blackness.
‘Do you want kids?’ Van asks out of the blue.
‘Um, yes. I mean, definitely, one day, with the right person. I’ve always wanted a big family. I was kind of lonely until you came along, so I’d prefer not to have an only child if I can help it. What about you?’
‘Yeah. Same.’
Before I can find out why he wanted to know, he asks another question. ‘Has your dad ever had another girlfriend?’
‘No, he never moved on from your mum. At one stage, I tried to encourage him to get out more, but he wasn’t having any of it. She was the one true love of his life and nobody could replace her. It’s kind of tragic.’
‘What do they say?’ he asks. ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?’
‘Yeah.’
I reflect on that statement. Would Dad have chosen a stable, uniform life rather than the five wonderful years he had with Ruth, followed by the crushing pain of losing her?
No way.
He would have taken one year, if that’s all he’d been offered. He probably would have settled for a month.
Sometimes I wonder, if Ruth hadn’t died, if she and Dad had stayed together, if I didn’t have to worry about his health – all of it resting on my shoulders – would I still be in London, working at a magazine and pursuing my dreams?
Would Van and I have ever felt an attraction if we’d grown up together from the ages of five to now?
You could do your head in, thinking about it.
I take a deep breath. ‘Dad once said to me, “Five years from now, you’ll look back and understand why this happened”.’
‘When did he say that?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you because it reminded me that we overheard your mum saying a similar thing.’
I don’t know if he recalls it himself or if he’s waiting for me to fill in the gaps, but he listens as I continue.
‘We were five years old and we were eavesdropping at the top of the stairs. Your mum was talking about how scared she was when she found out she was pregnant with you and had to go back and live with her mother. She said she thought her life was over.’ Van tenses and I instinctively reach for his little finger and hook it, protectively, just as I did all those years ago. My voice sounds choked as I continue. ‘But then she said, if she had known where she’d be in five years’ time, she never would have worried. She was so happy with Dad, with us. She loved you to the stars and back.’
He tightens his grip on my finger.
‘You should call your mum,’ he whispers. ‘She might be shit, but she’s still your mum.’
Van isn’t working the next day so he takes us on a tour of Uluru. The heat when we stepped off the plane came as a bit of a shock, and today it’s the same when we climb out of his air-conditioned jeep.
I’ll be honest, I was a bit underwhelmed at the thought of visiting a big rock in the middle of nowhere, but last night I was blown away by the sight of this huge mass drenched in light from the setting sun. Even more surprising is how breathtaking it is up close. You can’t get a sense of the size and shape of it when it’s towering above you – it’s absolutely enormous.
Uluru is sacred to the Pitjantjatjara Anangu, the Aboriginal people of the area, and it’s considered disrespectful to climb the rock. That doesn’t mean people don’t still do it, though – it’s not illegal, unbelievably – and I’m disgusted at the sight of dozens of tourists trudging their grubby feet up the side. One heavily overweight man is practically on his knees as he hauls himself up by the rope and, astonishingly, there are children climbing it, too. Dozens of people have died doing this trek since the 1950s.
‘Are they completely stupid as well as ignorant and disrespectful?’ I mutter.
Van clenches his jaw. ‘Yeah, it bothers me, too. Don’t get Sam started, though, you’ll never hear the end of it.’
We wander along a path, under the shade of a surprising number of trees. Elsewhere, everything seems so dry and arid, but here the grass is green rather than yellow.
‘You should see it in a storm,’ Van says. ‘The water cascades down in dozens of waterfalls.’
Dad is loitering by a cave, staring in at some Aboriginal paintings.
‘It’s so beautiful up close like this,’ I murmur, trying to take it all in. ‘The sandstone glitters under the sun.’ Shards of rock have slid off the surface, leaving behind speckled patches of grey-black which contrast with the orangey-red. ‘It’s almost like a living, breathing thing, shedding scales,’ I say.
Van stares at me for a long moment, then he asks, ‘Do you still write?’
I shake my head and pull a face. ‘I haven’t felt very inspired lately.’
I try to ignore his look of disappointment and glance over my shoulder to check where Dad is. We’re only walking slowly, but he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to catch us up.
‘Did you get hold of Nick last night?’ Van asks.
‘No.’ I remembered when Van dropped me back to the hotel that I’d promised to call him. ‘He’d already gone downstairs to work, so I left a message. The mobile reception at the pub is terrible.’
‘I can’t believe you work at The Boatman.’ His tone is as arid as the sand we’re walking on.
‘Why?’ My hackles go up. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, if you’re me. Forget it,’ he says before I can get to the bottom of his comment. ‘I know you’ve had a lot of shit to deal with. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.’
‘It’s all right. He’s my dad.’
‘I care about him a lot, too.’
‘I know you do.’
We walk on in silence.
‘I love this cave here,’ Van says, coming to a stop. ‘It reminds me of a wave.’
It’s big – three times the height of Van – and it curves way up behind us and right over our heads as we walk inside. I can almost imagine Van surfing the face of it before he disappears from view into a barrel.
‘I can’t wait to go surfing again,’ he says.
‘Not long now. Sam isn’t coming with us, is she?’ I double-check.
‘Nah, she didn’t want to take the time off work. We’re going home for a break at the end of January.’
‘Not for Christmas?’
‘No. It’s one of our busiest times of year.’
I nod, turning to smile at Dad as he appears.
We end up back at the cultural centre, where Sam works. It’s interesting, reading about Tjukurpa, the traditional law that guides Anangu daily life, and I love the Dreamtime stories that claim to tell how Uluru came to be.
Sam is serving a customer when we go into the shop that sells Aboriginal arts and crafts. Two Anangu women are sitting on the floor, painting, and I stand nearby and watch, captivated, as they dab tiny, perfect dots onto a canvas to create a colourful picture. They don’t so much as look at me as they continue to work, chatting to each other the entire time.
‘How was the rock?’ Sam asks when I go over to say hi.
‘Incredible. So much prettier up close than I thought it’d be.’
‘Did you climb it?’ From the judgemental look in her eyes, I’m very glad to be answering no to that question.
‘So you’re an artist, too?’ I glance over at the Aboriginal women again.
‘I dabble,’ Sam replies.
‘Have you ever tried to get Van back into painting?’
She frowns. ‘It was his mum who could paint, not him.’
‘No, he could paint, too. He was really good when he was younger.’
She gives me a funny look before coming out from behind the counter and going to the other side of the shop where Van is talking to Dad. ‘Oi,’ she says, whacking him on his arm.
He spins around. ‘What?’ he snaps.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you could paint?’ She sounds accusatory, but I’m not sure if she’s being serious or jesting.
His eyes dart towards me and then he frowns at her, displeased. ‘I can’t paint.’ He looks over at me again. ‘I was ten, Nell. I was only messing around.’
‘No, you were good,’ I hear Dad say. ‘You won a competition.’
Van rolls his eyes and turns away. A moment later, he places his hand on Dad’s shoulder and continues to chat as though they were never interrupted.
Sam returns to me with a shrug and a grin, totally unfazed.
But I feel snubbed.
That night, Dad and I end up back at the bar while Van works. Once more, Sam declined to join us and I’m a little relieved. I’m not proud admitting it, but I’m glad she’s not coming with us to Adelaide and Port Lincoln. I don’t feel at all relaxed in her company.
I still feel stung about earlier, so when Dad starts making noises about going to bed, I force myself to leave, too. Van seems surprised as I make my excuses and hop down from the stool.
‘I haven’t got hold of Nick yet,’ I tell him.
‘What do you think about this, then?’ Van asks Dad, and although he nods at me affably, I detect an edge to his tone.
‘Oh, Nick’s okay,’ Dad replies glibly. ‘He makes her smile and that’s all a father can ask. Anyway, innocent until proven guilty!’ he jokes, nudging me.
‘Tomorrow I’ll take you guys to Kata Tjuta,’ Van says, moving on. ‘I think it’s even nicer there than Uluru.’
We’ve seen it from the car – it’s a large group of domed rock foundations, the highest of which is nearly 200 metres taller than Uluru.
‘Do you reckon you’ll be up for a bit of a hike?’ he asks Dad.
‘Absolutely. But I’ll also be happy sitting in the shade for a bit if you two want to go on.’
‘I’ll bring a backpack with plenty of water,’ Van promises.
The next morning, I wake up bright and early, keen to get going. My mood deflates when I see that Van has brought Sam with him.
I’m annoyed at myself. She is his girlfriend, the voice inside my head berates me. She’s currently an important part of his life and I need to make an effort to get to know her. I resolve to spend the day stuck to her side.
At the end of a long, tiring hike, Sam gives Dad and me a hug. Van is working tonight at the hotel bar and tomorrow morning we all fly to Adelaide, so for Sam and us, this is goodbye.
‘It was so good to meet Van’s other family,’ she gushes. ‘Maybe one day we’ll make it over to England. I hear it’s stunning where you live.’
‘That would be great,’ I say with a smile that’s as warm as I can make it.
Van seems more subdued at work that night. When Dad goes to the bathroom, he asks me if I’m up for another drive later.
I’ve been trying to ignore my craving to be alone with him, but now it’s all-encompassing. I respond with a nod.
Once more, we head out to the middle of nowhere and climb up onto the roof of his jeep. We lie there in silence for a while, with only the stars as our witnesses.
‘Have you ever told anyone about us?’ Van asks.
‘No!’ Nervous jitters instantly start up inside my stomach. ‘Have you?’
‘Dave guessed. After last time.’
‘Did he?! What did he say?’
‘Not much. I didn’t go into detail.’
‘Have you told Sam?’
‘Christ, no.’
My mind races as we fall silent.
‘When are you planning on going back to London?’ he asks eventually.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I’m not ready to leave Dad, yet.’
‘Well, don’t delay too long.’
I frown into the darkness. ‘Why do you say that?’ He’s made me feel defensive again. ‘I like it at The Boatman.’ I know that’s what his problem is. ‘You work at a bar…’
‘Yeah. But I had higher expectations for you. You had plans. Hopes. Dreams.’
‘What about you? What about your hopes and dreams?’
‘I don’t have any.’
‘Bullshit!’ I sit up, frustrated.
He sits up, too. ‘Nell, I quit school when I was fifteen. This is my life. I’m not exactly going to be a high achiever. But you… Why don’t you write any more?’ he demands to know.
‘What don’t you paint?’ I snap back, raising my voice.
‘You didn’t go to university to do a degree in waitressing,’ he says angrily.
‘Well, you didn’t go to university to do a degree in being an arsehole, but you still are!’
‘There. There you are,’ he states. ‘I thought I’d lost you today under all of the fucking pleasantries.’
‘Piss off, Van, I was trying to be nice to your girlfriend,’ I spit, getting up to make my way down the ladder. ‘Take me back to the hotel!’ I climb into the jeep and slam the door. Van joins me a minute later.
We drive in silence, both of us at simmering point. He pulls into the car park and cuts the ignition, but if I thought I was due an apology, I’m in for a blow.
‘You’re wasting your life,’ he states.
‘I’m not wasting my life!’ I scoff. ‘I’m happy. I’m having fun.’
‘With Nick? Nick, Nell? Seriously?’ Van stabs the interior lights on with his finger and glares at me. ‘What the fuck? “I wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole…” Your words!’
He must’ve overheard me saying that to Joel years ago!
And he’s not done. ‘That guy would screw anything on two legs. Why don’t you have some fucking respect for yourself?’
The sound reverberates around the vehicle. I don’t even know I’ve slapped him until a sharp sting registers on my palm.
I stare at him in shock. He’s even more astonished than me, a red welt mark springing to life on his cheek.
‘I’m so sorry!’ Tears of horror spring up into my eyes.
‘It’s all right,’ he mutters, averting his gaze. ‘I deserved it.’
I cup my hands over my mouth, reeling. I’ve never hit anyone in my life.
‘Fuck!’ he erupts, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. His eyes are wide with misery as he stares out of the front windscreen.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again.
He shakes his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. Nell, please just get out of the car.’ His voice sounds strained. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
The plane to Adelaide is full so we don’t end up sitting together. Dad is on the other side of the aisle and Van is asleep in the seat behind me. When he met us at the hotel to catch the airport transfer bus, he looked horrendous. His eyes were red and puffy, his skin looked clammy and pasty and he stank of stale booze.
‘Had a few too many drinks at the staff bar last night,’ he mumbled to Dad.
He and I have barely looked at each other. I’m glad I’m not sitting next to him.
I peer out of the window. The sun is low in the sky and it’s reflected in the ocean, a ball of golden light rippling in the waves. The tidal water swirls around sandbanks and resembles clouds, and sunlight glints off the windows of the houses in the town far, far below, making me think of stars.
Sensing movement behind me, I glance down the side of my seat and come eye to eye with fireworks, exploding in a night sky.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Van asks. He’s leant in close, so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.
I point out the scene below. ‘It looks like the sky is on the ground.’
Seconds pass before I turn to look at him again.
‘Sam is pregnant,’ he tells me in a monotone.
Everything inside me withers.
His eyes fill with tears. ‘I’ve asked her to marry me.’
My heart crumples and folds in on itself, again and again, until it’s a tiny, tough, origami heart. Once fragile, now it feels as hard as a stone and is impossible to shred.
Just like that, the book of my life slams shut on another chapter.
And a new one begins.