About the Author

BELINDA MISSEN is a reader, author, and sometimes blogger. When she’s not busy writing or reading, she can be found travelling the Great Ocean Road and beyond looking for inspiration. She lives with her husband, cats, and collection of books in regional Victoria, Australia.

Also by Belinda Missen

A Recipe for Disaster

An Impossible Thing Called Love

Lessons in Love

One Week ’Til Christmas

Accidentally in Love

An Impossible Thing Called love
BELINDA MISSEN

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters

and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s

imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

1

First published in Great Britain by

HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Belinda Missen 2018

Belinda Missen asserts the moral right to be

identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade

or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without

the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than

that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Source ISBN: 9780008323028

E-book Edition ISBN: 9780008296902

Version: 2019-11-13

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Belinda Missen

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Belinda.

That’s me, btw.

Twelve-year-old you is thrilled.

Chapter 1

Hogmanay, 2010

Flames danced towards the night sky, slowly snaking their way along the cobblestoned street like a slow-moving river of fire. At the front of the procession, Viking warriors chanted to the steady rhythm of a beating drum, blending with the sound of bagpipes.

It all sounded so medieval, but it wasn’t anything like that – not by half. Positioned near St Giles Cathedral on Edinburgh’s famous Royal Mile, our tour group huddled tightly near the end of the spiralling mass of people taking part in the traditional Torchlight Procession.

Tonight officially kicked off Hogmanay, one of the most spectacular – and exciting – ways to ring in the New Year. And I was there to experience it all.

An icy wind sprang up, causing the flames of our torches to wobble excitedly. I tugged my jacket tighter, warding off the chill that blasted my face, and pulled my beanie further over my dark brown hair. Somewhere nearby, a bagpipe started another frenzied rendition of a Proclaimers song. This wouldn’t have been a problem normally, but it felt like the same song had been on repeat for the last two days while we’d wound our way up from London, after already hitting a dozen European cities. Hearing the song again caused raucous groans and laughter from our group.

‘You know what this reminds me of?’ My best friend Heather leaned in. ‘It reminds me of that time in primary school where we had to practice those Beatles songs over and over.’

For months, our class of ten-year-olds spent day after day rehearsing the same four songs, all from the Yellow Submarine album, the culmination of which was being crammed on a tiny stage in the town hall to sing for the masses – mostly other schools and mums, but it was our five minutes of fame. One misplaced step saw Heather, the periscope of the submarine, fall off the edge of the stage.

I smiled at the memory. ‘I was a bright pink octopus.’

A crackly loudspeaker and the shuffle of feet announced the beginning of the procession and, just like the song, we were on our way. My breath formed small cloudy bursts in front of me and, not for the first time this trip, I was thankful that I’d packed another layer of clothing. Even though we’d been in Europe almost three weeks already, the cold took some getting used to, especially as we were more acclimatised to roasting under the Australian sun at this time of year.

‘Josh was seaweed,’ I said, the memories of our gone too soon childhood flashing before my eyes. A small child bounced off my leg and collapsed onto the muddy ground, before getting up and running off again. Her exasperated mother was hot on her heels, a puff of fringe and muttered words under her breath.

‘Actually…’ Heather looked around. ‘Where is he?’

Along with half of our tour group, Josh had dispersed as soon as the procession began, blending in with the hundreds of other people joining us for the traditional Scottish event. He was weaving in and out, looking for new, unsuspecting girls to charm with stories of Australian urban legends. Lanky and a little bit standout-ish, I managed to identify him by his Where’s Wally beanie over by a group of girls. One on each arm, he looked more than happy with how his night was progressing. He turned the corner with the crowd and disappeared towards Princes Street.

Wet roads glistened under street lights, and grass glowed an iridescent shade of green. Everything here just seemed so … vibrant. From the architecture, to the history, the people, and the fiery shade of red hair over by a first aid station. I couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face as I realised that I was finally here.

For almost eighteen months, Edinburgh had been circled on our calendars as the pinnacle of our trip. Heather, Josh and I – friends for most of our remembered lives – had decided we would embark on a European bus tour at the end of our gap year. When one year became two, it only afforded us more time to save, adding more destinations to our trip.

We worked jobs we hated, took late-night shifts, skipped parties, felt soggy food floating in filthy dishwater, and I’d forgone volunteer shifts at our local hospital (the plan was medicine, if they ever let me into university) in favour of forcing smiles at retail customers in the Christmas rush. It was all in the pursuit of adventure. It had paid off.

So far, our trip had been a whirlwind experience in the best of ways. In just ten short days, we’d had a Christmas feast of buttery pastries underneath the Eiffel Tower and battled cheesy woodfired pizza after tossing coins in the Trevi Fountain. Salzburg revived our senses with sweet cinnamon-y apple strudel after shopping the Getreidegasse, and hoppy beer in Berlin kept us warm against biting temperatures. I ran my fingers along all the old stone buildings and dunked my toes in all the freezing waters. I wanted to feel it all. The moment we arrived back in London, we boarded another bus for Edinburgh, ready for the biggest street party and New Year’s celebration this side of the Atlantic.

The procession came to a quick stop along Princes Street, a neat mixture of Georgian and Renaissance architecture. I wouldn’t have known that fact if I hadn’t spent three hours battling drizzling rain in a thin plastic poncho on a walking tour this morning. Ornate windows from tall buildings looked down on the street and, while I was busy marvelling at that, a scuffle broke my train of thought and drew my attention back to the here and now.

Josh jogged towards us, nattering nervously about something happening further up the road. Despite the cold, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His brown eyes were wide with … was that fear?

‘This dude thinks I grabbed his girlfriend. He’s looking for me.’ A jittery hand rested over his mouth as he surveyed the scene before us. Heads turned towards him. Everyone could see what was coming before he could.

‘What?’ Now my eyes widened. ‘What have you done?’

Heather did what she does best and gave him a shove. ‘You idiot.’

‘No, no, it’s not like that. I thought she was single.’

He always thought they were single.

A scowling boyfriend emerged from the crowd, his own Moses parting the sea moment, complete with hot-pink beanie and clenched fists. He glared at me only briefly, long enough to acknowledge that I was there, before reaching around me for Josh, who was swearing like a stand-up comedian combating a heckler. My pulse began racing.

Heather pulled me out of the way but, I wasn’t prepared to spend the night tending to Josh’s wounds. I was on holiday, not working, and I wasn’t about to let him ruin all our fun. I handed her my torch and made a beeline for the scrum. Both he and Burly Man were very shouty, shoving each other in the tiny boxing ring that had formed around them.

‘Josh!’ I shouted.

He held a palm out to stop. ‘It’s alright, Em, just don’t worry about it, okay?’

‘That’s your girlfriend is it?’ Burly Man tipped an oversized chin in my direction. ‘Some boyfriend you are.’

Grabbing Josh, I muttered something about men and women still being able to be friends in this day and age without having to get naked with each other. I think I might have been louder than expected because, before I could so much as clutch at Josh’s jacket, they were jostling again. A rustle of fabric, a flash of dancing footsteps, and I felt a blunt sting across my face. All at once, everything was dark and far too bright, like a child was flickering a light switch. My sinuses were connected to a trip switch in my heart, and each beat offered a sulphuric burn. I was disoriented and, as my eyes watered, I took a wobbly seat on the ground. It may have been cold and wet, but it was better than swaying about.

I knew how these moments played out, I’d seen it a million times before when volunteering with the ambulance. Music concerts were especially healthy for face to fist experiences. Heather was screaming at someone, probably Josh, who was apologising profusely. Her voice was soon joined by the polyester swish of a hi-vis bomber jacket. I blinked away tears, hoping to get a proper look at the face that swam in my vision.

Touching my nose only made my face burn and eyes water all over again. Through damp eyes, he looked like a watercolour painting. Street lights shimmered in one corner, and his hair a wispy flame-red cloud with sideburns that reached down and hugged his face. His blurred lopsided smile was the most beautiful thing I’d seen all night. As he came into focus, so did Josh over his shoulder.

‘Oh, Em, I am … fuck … so sorry. Are you okay?’

Heather slapped at him again. ‘What do you think, idiot?’

She barely touched five-feet-tall in a line-up. Despite that, she was full of energy and, right now, looked like a mother about to grab at naughty earlobes. Josh inched away from her and, in all this, it occurred to me just how many people were happy to watch what was happening, to whisper among themselves instead of help. I lolled about, steadying myself with a palm on the cold wet asphalt. Dropping on his haunches, the first-aider snapped his fingers in front of me.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘Is there any blood?’

I frowned, confused. ‘Huh?’

‘Are you bleeding?’ He flashed a torchlight across my eyes and offered a fistful of tissues.

Squinting away from the brightness, I dabbed at my eyes. Anything near my nose made me want to vomit, but there was a small trickle of blood. ‘Thank you.’

‘At least it’s not broken,’ we said in unison.

His mouth twitched, a smile that threatened to widen as he offered me a cold pack. Under the light, his eyes were, in one moment, bottle-green. The next, they were ocean blue. ‘What makes you say that?’

It’s not all bent up and I can still breathe.’ Through squinting eyes, I waggled a finger at his jacket, complete with reflective patches and a blank space for a name badge. ‘It looks just as good on you as it does on me.’

‘Is that so?’

My nose burned, and I rolled forward, tissue to my nose. ‘At least it’s warm, right?’

‘You do a bit of first aid, too?’

I nodded, looking about for my friends. Burly Man had disappeared, and Josh was still being reprimanded by Heather. He looked like a small child, hands up around his chest as if he’d physically shrunk against her anger, which was par for their friendship.

Heather and I met in Grade Two, when my family moved to the area. On the first day of school, while I stood the back of the crowd waiting for something to happen, she strode across the quadrangle, shook my hand, and introduced herself as my new best friend. Who could possibly argue with that?

We met Josh a few months later when he started at the school. He came prepacked with a face full of freckles, crooked teeth, and milk bottle glasses. When the other boys picked on him, Heather went into battle for him, and he’s never forgotten it. Since then, it had been the three of us. Josh slotted into our lives as if he’d always been there and, when I got my first period in the middle of gym class, he whipped out a small make-up bag from his backpack. Inside: pads, tampons, and Panadol. His mum had given it to him, so he could, ‘be a good friend’.

He still carried that make-up bag but, now, it also contained condoms, Berocca, and anything else needed for a quick hangover fix. That was essentially our friendship.

I dabbed at my nose again, resisting the urge to vomit. ‘A little. Mostly concerts.’

‘Why don’t you come across to the first aid station and tell me more about that.’ He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. Did I mention he had wonderfully strong hands? ‘My name is William.’

I brushed myself down – anything to avoid touching my face. ‘Emmy.’

I followed his jacket through the crowd, the state of my face more of a bemusement and free sideshow attraction to anyone who walked past.

‘So, first aid?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I did get a call up for the tennis in Melbourne last year.’ I followed along with pointed finger and stories at the ready. As often as I could explain the goings on to friends, they didn’t quite get it. This guy? He spoke my language.

‘I am so jealous of you right now.’ William ushered me into the first aid station. ‘I’ve often thought of packing up for a summer and heading down for the tennis.’

The first aid station, which probably doubled as a marquee at family barbecues and sports club days, wasn’t much warmer than the street, but an industrial heater in the corner at least took the chill off the air. That’s more than I could say for the wet patch on my backside. My friends lingered outside, like students waiting outside a principal’s office. Our torches had been handed off to others in the heat of the moment. Occasionally, Heather peered inside, her face wrought with concern.

‘Jealous of me?’ I said with a disbelieving laugh. ‘Please, I’ve just taken a fist to the face.’

‘Well—’ he shrugged ‘—besides that.’

‘How about you?’ I asked, sitting on a chair by the entrance.

He took the seat next to me, bringing water bottles and paracetamol. ‘I did Wimbledon last year. Roland Garros the year before.’

‘You did not.’ Speaking of jealousy.

‘Okay, so, Roland Garros was as a spectator but, you know, always on duty.’ He swung about in his seat and looked at me. ‘Any drugs tonight, Emmy?’

A bright light flashed into my eyes again. God, he was checking my pupils. ‘What? No.’

‘Alcohol?’

‘Too broke for that,’ I said.

William gave me a hard stare, eyebrows reaching for the sky. He was having none of my shit tonight.

‘Alright, maybe a swig of vodka and a schooner from the cheap bar at the hostel, but nothing to get drunk on.’

He scoffed. ‘You and me both. Tonight has been a bottle of raspberry cordial and far too much water.’

‘Doesn’t pay well, does it?’

‘Can’t say it does, but I do love it.’ For a second, it looked like he’d folded in on himself. He popped a blister pack of painkillers. ‘No allergies?’

I shook my head. His fingers grazed my palm as he dropped the tablets in my hand. My toes curled, and breath hitched. ‘No, and thank you.’

‘You want to hang about for a while, so I can keep an eye on you?’

Heather’s eyebrows disappeared up into her hairline and her mouth rounded into a scandalised ‘O’. When Josh suggested they leave me, I didn’t try and stop them; I was happy where I was. There was a quick agreement that it would be easier if I just met them back at the hostel instead of arranging a meeting point. Before leaving, Heather snapped off a quick Polaroid.

I scowled at her. ‘What do you want to do that for?’

‘For posterity’s sake. Maybe prove to people you got into a scrap.’ She grinned, disappearing into the throng of people.

Josh held a steadying hand on her shoulder. I looked back at William, chin buried in the neck of his jacket and wild hair everywhere. I pulled my beanie off, forcing it into an already bulging pocket.

‘I sure you’ll be fine, but just be mindful of it, will you?’ he said, eyes glued to the crowd wandering past. ‘If you have a lot of swelling—’

‘Or trouble breathing, go to the A&E?’ I flashed a stubborn smile. ‘I will.’

‘You know, it’s you who’s supposed to be listening to me,’ he teased. ‘And it’s definitely not broken if you’re laughing at me.’

‘Yeah, well. Call me a bitter med school reject.’ My nose had settled into a dull throb, the kind I knew would still be around in the morning. But at least the bleeding had stopped.

‘Reject? No. They let me in, they should have definitely let you in.’

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘Yup, a junior doctor,’ he said. ‘And in a couple of years, I’ll be a GP.’

‘What an effort.’ I sighed. ‘You love it?’

‘Adore it. It’s the best job.’ He smiled. ‘I mean, it’s got its moments but…’

I grinned. My nose ached. ‘Yeah, I get it.’

My plan, thwarted as it might have been, was to train as a doctor, because how good is it to do things that feel good for other people? Even volunteering, seeing people off into an ambulance, at least I’d been able to help, or make them more comfortable for a few moments in time. Recently, I’d had a call up from the local hospital, allowing me to volunteer in the maternity ward. There was nothing better than my few hours a week spent in there. But I didn’t need to explain this to William, he understood.

Instead, we sat quietly beside each other and watched the crowd shift and change. They moved up and back along the street, A bright orange light filtered down the street, highlighting the faces of young and old alike.

Whether we’d been joined by anyone else in the first aid station was beyond my comprehension. There’d been no call to attention, and no one had approached for anything more than paracetamol and water. We huddled in our jackets, watching, waiting.

Fireworks exploded above our heads with a loud crack, ripping through the night sky, and sending rainbow-coloured sparks back down to earth. Conversations stopped mid-sentence as crowds gasped as marvelled. It didn’t matter how old you were, fireworks were still a thing of wonder. I looked up in time for another thunk, whistle, crack, sparkle, fizzle.

When the last one sizzled into memory, I stood and brushed myself off again. William looked up at me, his face expressionless.

‘William.’ I held my hand out to him. ‘Thank you for your help tonight.’

‘Pleasure’s all mine.’

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, even though I’d been in this same situation myself time and time again. So, I went with what was … normal and totally not creepy.

‘Well, goodnight.’

His smile reached his piercing blue eyes. ‘Goodnight, Emmy.’

With that, I walked away. People were moving back down the hill towards the station, the crowd noticeably thinner and torches snuffed one by one. A haze of grey smoke had settled above the street. I chanced a glimpse back at the first aid station, not knowing what to expect. There he was, hair aflame and smile wide, chatting excitedly and handing out bottles of water.

Smiling to myself despite the throbbing pain in my nose, I turned and walked away.

Chapter 2

I’d been a little relieved when I finally clapped eyes on the bouncing kangaroo held aloft above the Ceilidh crowd. That stuffed toy was the signpost of our tour guide, for meeting, for lunch, and for relative safety as we travelled. Given most our group were Australian, it seemed fitting. There’d been a moment of panic earlier when I’d traipsed past a Ferris wheel and between rainbow-coloured show rides and couldn’t see it. My brain began running through a thousand different Emmy Has Got Herself Lost Overseas on New Year’s Eve scenarios. My heart slowed to a steady rhythm when I saw Josh’s lanky arm waving over everyone’s head. The consulate would not be dealing with me on this trip.

‘Emmy!’ Heather appeared from the throng, arms outstretched for a hug. I made sure to keep my still sore nose clear of any squashing.

‘Hey, you,’ I said. ‘What’d you get up to today?’

I’d woken to a note pinned on the underside of the bunk above me. Today was a free day, a keep yourself entertained type day, and my friends had disappeared early, along with everyone else. After my efforts last night, I was happy to enjoy the solitary sleep in, especially if I got the bathroom to myself without fighting anyone. Checking that I was mostly bruise-free, if a little sore still, I spent the day alone – something refreshing after weeks cooped up in the constant presence of other travellers.

Heather rattled off her day’s itinerary, the old monuments, museums, and back alley adventures. Josh, the avid walker he was, had trekked them up Arthur’s Seat before taking her out for a haggis lunch afterwards.

A traditional Scottish band soared to life on the stage ahead.

I’d spent my day meandering around the city centre, taking the stroll from our hostel into the city, and stopping at a chocolate shop for a rich hot chocolate topped with chocolate whipped cream. It was the perfect refresher as I made my way through cobblestone streets and uber green parks.

Cheap souvenirs were about all I could afford, and that was fine, because they were a sight to behold. Kilted sheep, ashtrays, and miles of thistle themed items kept even the most astute traveller happy judging by the sheer swarm of people in each of the stores dotted along the Royal Mile. My sister was getting a thistle stamped coffee cup, just because she could be a bit prickly when she wanted to.

‘What about your friend from last night?’ Heather asked.

I shot her a surprised look. ‘My who?’

‘That guy from last night. The first aider,’ she said. ‘Looked like you were getting along alright when we saw you.’

‘William?’ I smiled. The truth was, my heart skipped each time he’d worked his way into my thoughts, which had been often enough that I’d thought I’d seen him strolling over Waverley Bridge earlier in the afternoon. It wasn’t him but, for a brief second, I was prepared to give chase. ‘He was lovely, wasn’t he?’

‘Oh.’ She smiled knowingly, looking to Josh. His face mirrored hers in the sweet mockery of friendship. ‘His name is William. Josh, Joshua, he has a name.’

‘Be quiet. He was lovely, and he helped me when I needed it. I’m sure he was just doing his job.’ Though, even as I said those words, a part of me hoped that wasn’t solely the case.

Underneath Edinburgh Castle, bathed in soft purple light, traditional Scottish music rang out across the parish gardens. Our guide attempted shouting instructions over the top of it all, but he was easily drowned out. It needn’t have mattered; friends and strangers broke off into small groups as the dancing began in earnest.

Half the fun lay in trying to work it all out. Arms were linked, hands were held and, through a bit of spinning and something that looked a little like a jig, we figured the rest out through tears of laughter, and a whole lot of trial and error. Finding an ounce confidence, things got quicker, and the night fast became a kaleidoscope of beats and colour.

And red hair.

I came to a breathless, unfit stop, lungs burning in protest at the sudden burst of exercise, joyous as it might have been. Leaning against an artificially green tree, William nursed a drink. Hi-vis had been swapped in favour of a warmer woollen pullover, a long coat, dark jeans and scarf, but it was definitely him. While the girl in front of him spoke like he was the only person in her room, he looked about distractedly. A brief smile or nod was all he could afford her.

I wondered – would it be okay to say hello? After all, he was only doing his job. Maybe it would be a bit weird. Hang it, I thought, I could at least say thank you. Edging forward, I half-expected him to have no recollection whatsoever. But, when his gaze landed on me and he smiled, my heart squeezed and the Rolodex inside my mind came to a screaming halt at W. W for William. Willy. Will. Wedding? Stop.

‘Emmy!’ He straightened and pushed himself away from the trunk. Taking the few unsure steps towards me, he left his companion with a handshake and a smile.

I smiled. ‘William, hello.’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How’s the … how’s the face?’

‘Face is good.’ I took a step closer, tipping my nose down so he could get a better look. ‘Not so bad at all.’

‘Good.’

‘I just wanted to say thank you for last night,’ I said, nervously placing my hands in, and then out of my pockets. ‘You know, for the help.’

‘You’re more than welcome.’

‘Anyway…’

His focus switched to the group behind me, and then back again. ‘You’re out of breath.’

‘Dancing.’ I threw a wave towards what was left of my tour group. ‘As it turns out, I’m not as fit as I thought I was.’

‘As it also turns out,’ he began, placing his bottled water on the ground by his feet, ‘I am no Dashing White Sergeant, so all I can offer you is White Guy at Wedding dancing.’

There was that W word again. It felt like a trail of ants were dancing up my arm.

‘Dashing what? White guy at wedding?’ I laughed, slightly confused, then winced.

‘Here.’ William closed the last gap between us, hand held high in readiness. ‘Let me show you.’

His touch burned into my skin as he slipped gentle fingers between mine and pulled me closer, flush against his body and exposed to his warmth. I closed my eyes and let my body do the rest, my hand on his shoulder, his across my back, my cheek dipped against his and just … felt. Stubbly skin against mine, soft breath against my cheek, and the smell of wool wash that lingered on clothing. We swayed slowly, removed from the pounding background beat, as if nothing and nobody else in the world mattered because there, in this moment, they didn’t.

‘You know, if this is White Guy at Wedding dancing, you hereby have a standing invite to any wedding I’m ever invited to.’

William shook with laughter. ‘You know what else happens at weddings?’

‘You shag bridesmaids?’ I said.

‘Can’t say I’ve had that dishonour, yet.’

‘No?’ I asked. ‘What is it, then?’

‘Alcohol.’ He moved away only slightly. Cold air rushed to fill the space. ‘Want to get out of here before the fireworks start, grab a drink?

I glanced back at my friends, who were lost in the revelry of their own night. I held a finger up between us. ‘Let me just go tell some people I’m leaving.’

‘I’ll wait here.’ He smiled softly.

I pointed to the ground, determined not to lose him again. ‘Right here.’

William jumped to his left. ‘Not here?’

‘Right here.’ I held his shoulders as we laughed.

‘Alright.’ His eyes widened. ‘I’m waiting. Scurry.’

Heather spun like a slow-motion film scene. In the time since I’d seen her last, which was not long at all, she’d had her hair sprayed pink, green, and blue; a perfect representation of her personality. She swung around to a new dance partner, Josh keeping an eagle eye on her, returning to her side at the earliest possible opportunity. Not for the first time, I wondered if there was something more going on. If that were true, it would make me the happiest third wheel on earth.

‘Hey.’ I tapped her shoulder.

‘Oh!’ She peered about excitedly. ‘Emmy! Where have you been?’

‘Just over there.’ I pointed. ‘I ran into William. We’ve been talking.’

‘Who?’

‘William, the first aid guy from last night.’

‘He’s here? You know what this is, Emmy? Kismet.’ She stopped and drew back with a look of smug satisfaction. ‘Oh, sweetie, your face.’

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off.

‘You like him.’

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a lie, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. After all, we were disappearing in a day or two, no need to get out the calligraphy pens yet.

‘We’re only going for a drink, not picking rings. I just want to let you know in case you came looking for me.’

Like a mother looking for a child, her arm flew out into open space, grappling for Josh. She caught him mid-twirl and dragged him into the discussion. He bounced across and came to a stop with his hand on Heather’s shoulder again.

‘Hey.’ His chest heaved. ‘What’s up?’

‘Emmy’s going to get drinks with William,’ Heather explained, before turning her attention back to me. ‘Do you need money? I’ve got some money. What about condoms. Josh, have you got any spare?’

‘Spare? What? No, I don’t really carry them just for fun.’ He shook his hands about in front of him while Heather performed a pat-down.

His wallet was held aloft like contraband. ‘But you’ve got money. And a condom, you liar.’

‘Oh, no, no.’ I waved my hands. ‘No, I don’t need money, it’s fine. And I certainly don’t need Josh’s contraceptives.’

He tutted. ‘It’s not like it’s been used, Em.’

‘Yes, money.’ Heather dug about in the wallet, scolding Josh for earlier saying he was broke. ‘In case you need to get home or call one of us.’

‘No, really, it’s okay.’

‘Emmy.’ She shoved a few small notes in my hand. ‘Take it.’

I accepted her offer with a reluctant sigh. ‘Alright, okay. Are you sure, Josh?’

‘Yeah, it’s fine.’ He shrugged. ‘Go for it.’

‘Call or message every half hour, or hour, or something.’ Her eyes were wide, the space between her brows wrinkled. ‘Please? Just let me know you’re alright.’

I nodded. ‘I will, thank you. I’ll see you both later. You guys call if you need me, too.’

‘Alright, Miss Medicine, what gives?’ William slid a glass across the table. Condensation rolled over itself, forming a ring on the small wooden table. He dropped into the chair opposite and clutched his hands in his lap.

After squeezing our way out of the Ceilidh, chins buried in necklines and hands deep in pockets, we’d strolled past Princes Street and its rainbow coloured carnival to a tiny laneway. Greeted by foggy leadlight windows and a swinging light, it looked like the best option for keeping warm. A spare table by the window was a bonus.

‘Flunked the interview.’

He winced. ‘Tough.’

‘Other pathways, right?’ I said, drawing back quickly from the drink, hands across my mouth. ‘What the … is that chilli?’

‘Cayenne pepper.’

‘In a drink?’

‘I’ll have you know it’s a cocktail named The Fighter.’

‘The what?’ I laughed. ‘I was not fighting.’

‘Eh, I don’t know, Emmy.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You might’ve been.’

‘I wasn’t,’ I stressed. ‘I was trying to get Josh out of the way.’

‘Yeah, you should’ve left him alone.’

I sighed. ‘I know that now.’

‘So, you love blood and gore, do you?’ William’s eyes widened. ‘You bloodthirsty woman, you.’

‘What is it with that question?’ I asked, almost pleading. ‘Oh, you want to do medicine, Emmy, very noble. Must love guts and gore, huh, girlie?’

‘Yes, yes, you’re quite right,’ William played. ‘It’s not that I want to do something good in the world. It’s actually that I love nothing more than stuffing someone’s intestines back into them. Quite like black pudding, really.’

‘Or—’ I shucked my jacket off and held my hand up ‘—or, or, why don’t you just be a nurse, that’d be a nice job for a girl.’

William gasped. ‘They did not.’

‘That was my very un-PC grandma,’ I said. ‘Right before she told me I should just marry and have some children before I fill out too much.’

‘Grandma, get back to the home.’

‘Funny you should say that, she went into one this year.’

‘Oh, shit, talk about foot in mouth. I am so sorry.’ Even as he said it, he struggled to contain a wicked laugh.

‘No, it’s fine,’ I assured him. ‘She’s, like, four hundred and seventy-three. It was time. It was that or let her burn her house down with her still inside it. This is the lesser of two evils.’

‘Maybe you can go work in the nursing home. Make Nana a cup of tea.’

‘I did think about it,’ I said. ‘I might yet, but I have submitted to the nagging of my parents and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts, so let’s see if I can segue into medicine that way.’

‘A degree earned in eight years instead of four is still a degree. Remember that,’ he said with pointed finger.

‘The disappointment from my parents was palpable when I told them I hadn’t made it.’ I leant forward into the table, chin in the palm of my hand. ‘How could you get this far, Emmy? How could you?’

‘We’re not angry.’ William took a large sip and frowned so hard I thought his eyebrows would slip off onto pouted lips. ‘We’re just disappointed.’

‘Oh my God, yes.’ I threw my head back. ‘Does that come in the parental starter pack? Like, here’s your new baby, and here’s the phrases you can use for life. Maximum impact, minimal responsibility.’

‘If it makes you feel better, my parents’ disappointment lay in the fact I skipped architecture in favour of medicine. “William, your father and grandfather have a long legacy in architecture. We were so hoping you would carry that into the next generation.”.’ William screwed his face up. ‘The extent of my architectural ambition lies in the bottom of a box of Lego. I can’t even draw a potato without fucking it up.’

I laughed loudly and freely, glad for the company and quick wit. Soon, our smiles grew wider, as if we’d received confirmation of something special. Around us, tables emptied and filled up over again, the clash of cutlery and loud chatter eventually dying out to a late-night dull murmur.

‘So, I’ve just bought a place in London.’ William glanced around for the barkeep. Business had been slow enough for the last little while that he’d taken to bringing drinks to us.

‘I thought you lived here?’ I stabbed the table with a finger.

‘Here? No. My grandparents on Dad’s side are Scottish,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’m only as exotic as central London.’

For the first time tonight, I reached out and touched him, tugging at hair by his ear. ‘I was wondering where this came from.’

‘And it’s not even some weird genetic throwback. My father has also been touched with the ginger tinge. My sister got out of it by being blonde like Mum.’ He gathered his phone and wallet. ‘But I did study here. Actually, do you want to get out of here? I can show you some of the sights if you like?’

‘Oh! Yes! That would be amazing. You know the area well?’ I was up and ready before he had so much as a chance to continue.

‘I know where to get hot coffee and jam doughnuts on New Year’s Eve.’ He stood. ‘Welcome to William’s Rad Edinburgh Tours.’

‘Are they rated five-star? I’ll have you know I cannot possibly lower my standards after the holiday I’ve had. Farting boys and vomit-stained shoes, infidelity-inspired fights, and cheap souvenirs are nothing to sniff at.’

‘Well, then, aren’t you in for a surprise?’ He held the door open for me and we slipped out into the night.

Traipsing bitterly cold streets, I was ushered around to ancient buildings and seedy looking alleys. Each cobblestoned street unearthed pieces of Edinburgh’s medically related history and, through it all, I got to watch this incredible man shine like a beacon of unwavering knowledge. Not only did he talk with passion, he was completely unabashed about it. He was wonky, angular, and his smile was lopsided, but I’d raced so far down the rabbit hole I couldn’t see sunlight anymore.

‘So, this is the Royal College of Physicians.’ William gave his best game show wave. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t get in. I think it’s a little like Hogwarts, you need a special letter or some shit, but this was established in the late 1600s. Not on this site, somewhere else. This one has been here since—’

‘Where do you store all this information?’ I asked.

‘Hey?’

‘Where do you keep it all?’

‘I did my undergrad in Edinburgh, so … a bit of time to ponder this stuff. Also, I just love it.’ He ended with a wiggle of his head.

‘I love that you love it.’

‘Oh!’ He snapped his fingers excitedly. ‘Let me take you to the School of Medicine for Women. You’ll like that, it’s back near the castle.’

Moments later, just as we’d turned into the next street, popping sounds filled the air. The same kind of popping sounds you would expect when you were on the wrong side of the best view of the fireworks. William pushed his sleeve back, face wrought with concern.

‘Shit. We’re late.’ He looked at me. ‘Emmy, I am so sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry?’ I asked.

William’s face fell. He sputtered something about me spending money on a trip, and airfares, time versus money and, well, he thought he’d ruined it all. In the distance, ripples of colour reflected in the sky above buildings.

‘So, I missed some fireworks.’ I shrugged. ‘Know what the best part about that is?’

‘What?’ he asked.

‘You.’

‘Me?’

‘I can see fireworks anywhere. I can even come back for Hogmanay any time. I’m here for an experience and this, this is an experience.’

My phone buzzed. Not for the first time tonight, Heather was urging me to get down there, down to the front of the queue, and enjoy what we’d come for: the castle, the fireworks, the party atmosphere. I had it all here, and I told her so in my text back. I’d meet them back at the hostel. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and focused my attention on William again.

We did make it back to the castle, eventually, going by way of more old buildings and stories. It was late, but we ran on nothing more than the excitement of finding someone who picked up on small cues, banter, and that unmistakable wild humour. I kept him entertained with stories accumulated on my travels, while he filled me in on his trip up here. We laughed at the shared frustration of trying to find the best pastry in Paris, and how he had more of a chance to search now his parents had moved to the city so his father could teach at some fancy design school.

It kept us going all the way back to my hostel, somewhere in the wee hours of the morning.

My stomach sank like a boulder in a river. In the back of my mind, this moment had been coming all night, but I was not ready to let go. Outside my hostel, we stood about at odds for a moment, until I reached for him.

I drew my hands up into his hair and pulled his head towards me. I brushed wayward curls from his forehead and kissed him gently. He smelt of beer, chilled air, and the best night I had ever had.

‘You are incredible. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.’ My voice choked up. ‘Thank you for the most amazing time.’

His hands curled around my wrists, his nose rubbing against mine. It still panged a little, but I couldn’t care. ‘Likewise. Don’t go getting into any more fights.’

‘Promise.’ I smiled. ‘You are the best holiday souvenir ever,’ I whispered as he leant in and kissed the side of my mouth. Innocent enough to say thank you, close enough to make me want more. I took a shaking breath in.

‘Even better, I fulfil the cheap and tacky criteria, too.’ He grinned proudly.

A snotty laugh rose to the surface as I let go of his jacket and of him. He skipped off into the night, stopping on the opposite kerb to curtsey and blow a kiss. I rubbed stray tears away as I laughed and waved hopelessly.

It didn’t matter that I’d known him for no more than a single day. In my heart, I’d known him forever. The fact he was now gone only left an aching hollow in its place. A dark, rattly space only he could fill. I could bite back tears all I liked but, when it hit me that I’d not so much as got a phone number, I took off in pursuit.

I crossed the street and disappeared into the small alley that had stolen him from me. Nothing but the echo of my footsteps and a rolling fog followed me. It had barely been minutes, but he’d vanished into the night.

‘William!’ I called. My heart gave a panicked throb.

Nothing.

A misty hotel sign at the opposite end of the street beckoned me closer. My steps got quicker the closer I got. A lone motorcycle was parked up by the front door, and the waiting area was still strikingly busy. If I’d raced to the reception desk any quicker, I’d have got an Olympic medal for walking.

‘Did you…’ I heaved breathlessly and clutched at the counter. ‘Did a lanky guy just walk in here? About yay high? Fiery red hair?’

The bored concierge looked up from her magazine and threw me a smug look. ‘A guy with red hair in Edinburgh. What are the odds?’

‘Please?’ I pleaded. ‘My height, beautiful blue eyes, dark coat a, ah, a scarf. Did you see him?’

‘Miss, there have been about fifty people walk in here in the last ten minutes alone.’

‘His name is William.’ I reached across the counter, pointing at the archaic paper booking system. ‘Is he here? Can you call him? I need to see him.’

With a heavy sigh, my not-so-friendly concierge scrolled down the name of bookings. ‘There’s no one here by that name. He might be staying with another guest. I don’t know.’

I could feel my body shrink back into itself and the heels of my feet sank to the floor. He was long gone, and she wasn’t checking again. Accepting defeat, I nodded, rubbed away a frustrated tear, and saw myself out.

Finding him was tantamount to finding a needle in a haystack.

And with that, William was just another memory.

Chapter 3

As I stared aimlessly at the shelves of books before me, I couldn’t decide if I wanted a biography, some new-fangled self-help title from a washed-up celebrity, or the ‘hottest’ novel of the month. I placed all three options back on the shelf and continue browsing.

The thought of leaving had my stomach all twisted in knots, and it wasn’t just because I’d fallen head over heels in love with Europe, but more to do with a certain redhead with piercing blue eyes and a lopsided smile I’d left back in Edinburgh. It’d been almost a full week since we’d said goodbye to the Scottish capital via the rugged Highlands, and it had all passed in a blur of castles and lochs.

‘Have you got what you want?’ Heather idled up beside me, the colours washed out of her hair in favour of her natural mousy brown. She sipped slowly at a can of soft drink and twisted her foot around. ‘There’s a pub down the other end. Want a drink? Josh’s saved us a table.’

‘Sure, sounds great,’ I replied distractedly, flicking through a copy of Empire. With a sigh, Heather took the magazine from my hands, replaced it on the stacks and lead me out of the shop.

‘Come on misery guts, you can pine for him over a drink.’ We skirted past more souvenir shops, Heather stopping me to marvel at suits in the window of a menswear shop, and found Josh breaking off another row of Galaxy and lamenting that we couldn’t get it back home.

‘My shout.’ I pulled my purse out, aware that I had been a wee bit of a Debbie Downer lately. ‘What do you want?’

‘Cider,’ they answered in unison.

‘You two,’ I teased, making my way over to the bar, my gaze wandering around the terminal as I waited for someone to serve me.

Airport terminals were funny places. Time seemed to stand still; ten o’clock in the morning was deemed a respectable hour to drink, mostly because clocks seemed to be hidden. Businesswomen in Ugg boots shopped for perfume and businessmen for alcohol and overpriced shirts. I smiled to myself as a man in the café across the way, with a shock of red hair, fumbled to organise a clothes hanger, carry on suitcase and a coffee cup all at the same time.

I straightened. My head spun so fast I could have been in a Seventies horror film.

‘William!’ I all but shouted his name across the bar. He looked up, head cocked to the side in that way when someone calls your name but you’re not entirely sure that you’ve heard. Though I could see him through the angles of the bar, he clearly couldn’t see me.

I darted towards him, a sense of elation building up in my chest. ‘William!’

He turned again, this time his eyes catching mine. They widened with surprise as he put two and two together, connected the dots, and coloured between the lines.

‘Emmy!’ That wild, cheeky grin that I fell for on Hogmanay spread across his face as I reached up, throwing my arms around him in a hug. With a laugh, he awkwardly hugged me back with just the one arm, before setting me before him.

‘Well, hello to you too, stranger. Of all the gin joints, hey?’ He fiddled with the last of his belongings.

I let out a breathy laugh. My body felt loose with relief, almost like I was floating. I couldn’t feel my legs. ‘What are you doing here?’

He held up the arm with the suit hanger wrapped around it. ‘Heading to France for a late family Christmas-slash-New-Year-slash-I’ve-been-a-terrible-workaholic-son-all-year type of party.’

His eyes narrowed on my clothes, and I suddenly felt self-conscious of the activewear leggings and I HEART SCOTLAND hoodie I’d chosen as my plane outfit, especially when he looked handsome as hell in a buttoned-up navy blue sweater and matching pea coat.

‘Is this it then?’ he asked.

I felt my heart tug a little at his words. Is this it? They stung, and the realisation that I was so close to leaving sat in my stomach like a pit of post-meal acid.

‘This is it.’ I nodded. ‘A thirty-hour flight in two metal tubes forty thousand feet in the air and I’ll be back in Sydney.’

‘God, and here I am internally moaning about my forty-minute flight across the channel.’ He stared at me with those piercing blue eyes. ‘Want to grab a coffee then? How long have you got?’

I angled for a view of the departures board nearby. ‘About an hour or so. You?’

‘A little more than an hour or so. I thought the tube would be busier, so I came early. Just as well.’ He gave me a wink as we slid into a couple of empty chairs facing the window. Outside, planes took off, while others bounced and skidded to a stop, ferrying people to and from all corners of the world. It seemed like, here in our own little bubble, time had stood still.

‘How goes work?’ It was so unfair to be this excited at the mere sight of someone.

‘Good!’ He nodded. ‘Great. Lots of impotence, not me, of course.’ A lanky finger pointed back at himself. ‘Thrush, colds, disease incubators.’

‘Still not you, right?’ I teased.

He crossed his fingers before taking a sip of coffee. ‘Promise.’

‘Busy?’

‘Just the way I like it, keeps me out of trouble.’

I laughed, enjoying the way we fall back into the banter of Hogmanay. He asked about the rest of my trip, quizzing me on favourite landmarks and dropping random factual titbits here and there. I asked about his work and training, and went back and forth as we outlined where we’d like to be in five years.

Slowly, without realising it, I noticed William’s hand on mine, closing his hand around my fingers. ‘Where do you want to go first?’

‘Hey?’ I smiled, distracted by the fact that he was actually here in front of me, holding my hand. This sort of thing did not happen in my life.

He grinned. ‘When we travel the world together – where are we going?’

‘Well.’ I huffed and relaxed back into my seat, almost leaning on him. ‘I thought maybe I’d just take you home first.’

‘Good. Great. I’ve always wanted to go to Sydney. Where’s the first place you’re taking me?’

If I had any doubt about him at all, the fact that he remembered so much detail told me everything I needed to know: that he felt the same.

‘Right. I guess the first place we’d go is the sandwich place near the train station. It’s about ten minutes’ walk from home, in this little huddle of shops, and they make the best roast pork rolls. And breakfast, they do a great breakfast, too.’

‘Brown sauce?’

‘As much as you want.’

‘Excellent.’ He squeezed my fingers gently. ‘I would take you … for a stroll through Soho. There are heaps of bookshops there. Cafés, obviously. We could drink coffee, read books, and duck into the small jazz bars that you don’t know are there until you’re ready for an espresso martini.’

‘Or…’ I poked at his chest. ‘A Fighter.’

‘No, no, no.’ He chuckled. ‘You need to not do that.’

‘After breakfast, we could head to Bondi Beach. We could fail miserably at surfing together.’

‘Ooh.’ William winced. ‘In the summer? Might end up a bit lobster-fied.’ He reached across and pinched at my face with pincer hands.

I angled my face away from his grip, laughing hysterically. ‘Sunscreen is a thing.’

‘All the sunscreen in the world can’t protect this pale English skin, baby. Look at it, it’s…’

‘… alabaster?’ I tried.

‘Well, I was going to say porcelain, but alabaster sounds less like a toilet, doesn’t it?’

I looked away, covering my mouth with the palm of my hand. ‘You are not a toilet.’

He tipped the empty coffee cup in the bin next to us and looked at me. ‘You hungry?’

‘I could eat something.’

Still in a comedic mood, William began prattling on randomly again. I just knew I was about to turn into the human equivalent of a beetroot. My comment might have been a slip of the tongue, but my mind went wandering and my body ached in all the right places.

We wandered the terminal until we snared the last table left in a Lebanese restaurant. No wonder it was full, with the smells wafting from the kitchen. It was brightly decorated with lots of reds, yellows, and mosaic tiles. We ordered a sharing plate of tapas and very responsible pre-flight sodas.

‘You sure you don’t want your own meal? I’m happy to pay.’ William dropped a tattered backpack by his feet.

‘No, it’s fine,’ I said through a yawn. ‘We’re about to be overstuffed with bad aeroplane food anyway.’

‘Speaking of “we”, where is everyone? You were travelling with friends, weren’t you?’

I pointed to some spot in the distance, in the same way a supermarket employee would tell you sugar was in aisle three, while waving in that general direction. ‘They’re back at the pub..’

‘You didn’t want to join them? I don’t want to keep you from them, you know, if you’re all travelling together.’

‘We’re about to spend the next thirty hours together. I’m good.’

‘Okay. Good.’

We spent our remaining time nibbling at tapas and chatting about books, arguing over what we believed was the perfect plane read. He argued thrillers, as long as they weren’t medical in nature, and I was keen on beach romance. When those options were exhausted, we launched into a discussion about what films might be showing on the plane. It was a beautifully easy, rolling conversation. My phone buzzed a few times – Heather, wondering if I’d walked off with their cider. I whipped out a quick response saying I’d meet her at the gate.

Just as a discussion about the universe and godly beings was getting underway, the departures board clicked over to Boarding beside my flight number. It was accompanied with the familiar ding and the professional voiceover of a flight attendant inviting all first-class and frequent flyers to board first.

Reluctantly, and with a shared look of disgust, we gathered our belongings, William slipping my backpack across one shoulder. When he reached out, I gladly took his hand. So comfortable was it that I didn’t let go until we reached the gate, where everyone was waiting, as wide-eyed as they had been that night almost a week ago. I introduced William again, and asked Heather to take a photo. A Polaroid was the one piece of him that I could take home with me. Then William asked for one. Behind us, a stewardess announced our rows were ready for boarding.

‘This is me, I guess.’ I reached for my backpack, our hands grazing at the switchover.

‘Go on and leave me, then,’ he joked. ‘Go.’

‘Do you think we’ll meet again?’ I asked, wondering if this would be it. How often could you say you met the same person three different times? How often does lightning strike the same spot? ‘We will, won’t we?’

‘I should hope so,’ he enthused, his forehead wrinkled as he nodded.

‘Me, too.’ There was a mad rush for tickets and passports and, as I pulled mine from my bag, William took my hand again. He rolled a knuckle between his thumb and forefinger. I would have paid good money to know what he was thinking.

One last time, I checked my ticket and passport; in my hand and ready to go. I looked up to William, ready to impart some final words, but he yanked me into a hug.

‘Em, come on.’ Behind me, Heather was growing impatient.

I wanted to stay, tucked safely inside his jacket, the light scrub of five o’clock shadow against my temple. His aftershave clung to his jacket, and I wanted that scent to hang around, to breathe it in every day, to have it so ingrained in me that I carried it everywhere I went. While I was busy overthinking, he kissed me. What began on my forehead soon travelled to my cheek, and then my mouth. It was warm and solid and turned my poor unforgiving brain to mush as he brushed his fingers against my neck, heavy enough to feel but light enough to tickle like a spring breeze.

One last boarding call rattled from the tannoy.

‘You’d better go.’ William pulled back. I started to turn, but he pulled me back one last time, my heart giddy. Between his lips – lips that had just kissed me – was a pen, and he pulled up the sleeve of my hoodie before writing an email address on the curve of my wrist. The way his fingers grazed that soft spot sent shivers down my spine. I bit down on my bottom lip.

‘Let me know that you get home safe?’ His forehead wrinkled again.

I nodded, grabbing the pen and scribbling my own email on the top of his hand. ‘In case you get bored in France.’ I looked up, giving him one last smile. ‘See you soon?’

‘Speaking of the universe, when you get home, I want you to look up the invisible thread theory. I’m a firm believer, especially after today. Keep in touch.’

‘You, too.’ I pointed at him, voice shaking.

He kissed me again, once more for good luck, before I walked away. He waited until I disappeared down the gantry, my last glimpse of him a lanky ginger with arms waving above his head.

I gave the flight attendant a tight smile as she inspected my ticket, pointing me in the direction of my seat at the rear of the plane. My backpack only just squeezed into the small space beside Heather’s, who was talking to Josh. He’d lucked out with the seat in front of us. I shuffled awkwardly into my seat, fiddling with the straps and unwrapping the small blanket before arranging it around my legs.

It wasn’t until we pushed off the gate, the captain welcoming us on the PA system, that the first uncertain tear fell down my cheek. Next to me, Heather passed over a packet of tissues and squeezed my hand.

I’d been so unsure of myself since I received my rejection letter to study medicine. I hadn’t known what I wanted, past the experience of university, of travelling.

Now I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t possible.

I wanted to stay.

Chapter 4

8th January 2011

Hi Emmy,

I’m bored.

William.

9th January 2011

Hello Bored,

I’m so glad to hear from you! How are you? And how can you possibly be bored in Paris? Please, go eat some pastries for me.

A very jealous Emmy xo

12th January 2011

Hey yourself,

It goes a little like this, Ems. There’s only so much firewood I can chop before I’m a little sore and achy. I could really go for a massage right now, so I’ve been sitting in front of the fire, reading up on some medical journals, getting some naps in and – when it stops snowing – looking out for pastry. How’s it been settling back into real life? Are you okay?

I have a wee confession to make, if I may, in the way that English people apparently don’t talk about their feelings. So, New Year’s Day? I woke up with the awful realisation that I hadn’t got your details. I pulled my pants up and raced over to the hostel, only to be told your bus had already left. Needless to say, I’m glad you found me at the airport. Really glad.

How was the flight home? What did you say – thirty hours? How the hell do you cope? And what do you do for thirty hours of sitting still? That would drive me spare (though I would absolutely not hesitate to visit).

William.

P.S. Let’s switch to good, old-fashioned letters? My address is below.

2nd February 2011

Lovely William,

Oh, you have no idea how thrilled I was to see you, too. Did you know I ran after you on New Year’s Eve? You’d disappeared around the corner and I thought, ‘Oh, shit!’. So, I tried to follow, like Alice down the rabbit hole, but you’d disappeared. I walked into the first hotel I saw to ask if they’d seen you and was told trying to find a red-head in a Scottish city was a long shot, but good luck with that.

As for the flight home, there were a lot of films on the inflight entertainment. The cabin crew kept us all well fed on starchy foods (sleep inducers that they are), and I read a book that Josh had packed with him. So lucky for that book – it filled Dubai to Sydney nicely.

Do come and visit, you’ll love it. I’m thinking sometime around October when I may or may not have a birthday? The weather will be just nice, and we can hire a car to explore some.

I’m off to the beach this afternoon, after bypassing the bookshop and picking up some textbooks. How’s work going? When does it start? School starts for me in exactly one month. Kind of looking forward to getting it over and done with.

Ready when you are,

Emmy x

28th February 2011

Emsy,

How are you feeling about school today? I know what you mean about getting it done. I’m in this GP office for eighteen months before I move on to the very last stage of my training. They’re a nice bunch. If it keeps going like this, I wouldn’t be offended by returning to this practice as a legit GP. You know, one of those people with a thousand letters after their name that sound all so important? It feels like it’s so close, but so very far. I mean, I can look at how far I’ve come of course, but … well, I’m sure you know what I mean.

I Googled Sydney today. Can we get a ferry ride? I love that you’re so close to the beach. The trusty Thames just doesn’t cut it in terms of bikinis and sun-drenched umbrellas – although, we do try.

I bought a couch over the weekend. To most people that’s not terribly exciting but, for me, it means I no longer have to sit on the floor and watch telly. It’s a comfy little second-hand number from a vintage shop not far from here. I had a friend help carry it home. If you’re ever feeling a little stressed, just imagine two lads walking down the Harrow Road, ancient couch sagging between them, and they happen to prop it up against the wall for a drink at the local – good times!

You’ll be well chuffed to know I delivered a baby today. Well, not technically mine. I didn’t birth it, nor did it come out of me, but I happened to be in the right place at the right time and, if I didn’t know what I was doing beforehand, I do now. The poor woman was in the clinic and, well, there I was. Hats off to any woman that ever wants to put their body through that because I am completely okay with being a boy right now. If I kept a gratitude journal, it might read something like this:

Today I am grateful for: my penis.

W

19th March 2011

Dear William,

I don’t even know where to begin with that statement. Good? I’m glad? Did they not teach you what happens in school? Seriously, congrats on the first birth – in the practice, that is. Your first time is always special, and a time to be cherished, don’t you think? Mine was at the tennis – birth, that is. Get your head out of the gutter. It was spectacularly beautiful, if a little messy.

I’ve just been pulled up in class for laughing at your penis comment. My classmate Craig covered for me – said it was his fault, so I live to see another day of Introduction to Australian Literature. Well done to you for that. The lecturer even asked if we’d both like to leave – whether I wanted to or not, I didn’t want to in front of 200 other people. No thanks. Instead of leave, I figure I’d just sit here and write you a letter.

Do you remember my friends Heather and Josh? Josh of the New Year’s Eve face punch spectacular? About thirty seconds after he’d knocked me to the ground, and Heather found out he’d been hitting on another girl, she realised she was jealous. They’re now dating – and I’m thrilled. How could I not be? The three of us have been friends for years but, now, they’re just … a bit more. I am seriously excited for them. What kind of a shit friend would I be if I wasn’t?

Fun fact: we’re currently reading My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin. What’s your idea of a brilliant career?

E x

1st April 2011

Hey Fighter,

It’s 11 p.m. – I’ve just opened my mail after a long day, having had a microwave meal and a shower. Not at the same time, of course – chicken cordon bleu (or what bares a slight resemblance to it) doesn’t play well with water.

Thank you for making me laugh – I needed it today. Right now, my idea of a brilliant career is to get out of this GP placement unscathed. I’m exhausted. Off to bed.

First Aid Extraordinaire

14th April 2011

My Favourite First Aid-er,

Get some rest. Lots if you need it.

Come back when you’re feeling up to it.

Emmy xo

P.S. I wasn’t fighting.

3rd May 2011

My Emmy,

You’re officially mine now. I have claimed you, and I’m keeping you. Okay? Okay. Good.

Why do we begin a letter with ‘Dear’? All my bills begin with, ‘Dear William’, and I could swear they don’t actually mean it as a term of endearment.

Thank you so, so much for sending the box of treats. Biscuits, tea bags, a kitschy coffee cup and an ugly tourist magnet – I love it.

You are something else, you know that? I am so sorry I’ve been shit at the letters this month. You’ll be pleased to know you’re at the top of my list with a red star for URGENT.

I was thrilled to get your parcel – both because it kicked me in the backside and reminded me of what I think of about five minutes after leaving work each day, and for the fact that it is amazing and thoughtful. Clippy Koala has found a home above my desk at work – along with one of your photos. I’ll leave you to guess which one.

Mum, Dad, and Jen came to stay last weekend, which was lovely and meant that Mum did all my washing and cooked way more food than I’ll need for the next month (spoilt, I know). Dad helped with a bit of painting, and Jen stole my Wi-Fi and watched telly – so all’s right with the world.

I’m so glad I met you. Have I told you that today?

William. xo

28th May 2011

Lovely William,

Hello! This letter is brought to you by my university library which, sadly, is nothing like Hogwarts. I’m here with Craig working on an essay for Political History. I’m quite sure neither of us know what we’re doing, but we’re going to give it a go anyway.

I’m glad you enjoyed your parcel. They were just some little things I collected along the way.

Last weekend, I did my first volunteer stint since I got home. It was a rock concert, and not a band that I love, but it was nice to get out and about. It made me think of you – have you done any volunteering since Edinburgh? It felt good to get back into it, if I’m honest, so I’ve put my hand up for some more.

Emmy xo

27th June 2011

My Emmy,

Quick catch up – I’m off the grid for a week or so now. Heading up to the Peak District for some camping (drinking), unwinding (not reading textbooks), and doing nothing (true). I hope you’re keeping warm. Enjoy this box of goodies. The teapot reminded me of you. I’m not sure why, but it did, so I thought you should have it. I was shopping with my mum at the time, and she did question why I’d bought it.

Never fear, I’ll be on the lookout for cheap and tacky souvenirs while I camp. Enjoy your care package.

W.

P.S. It’s a negative on the volunteering – too tired/busy/circle appropriate answer.

24th July 2011

You beautiful man,

Thank you – a thousand times, thank you. It’s not every day a girl is spoilt with a Fortnum & Mason tea set. (did you take out a second mortgage for this? It’s so delicate!) You’re way too thoughtful and beautiful and now I need to think of something to send you in return.

It was my last exam today, so this has come at the perfect moment. I have tea steeping as I write this.

And I’ll use the voucher to take my sister out this weekend. Frankie is twelve years older than me, though it sometimes feels like there’s one hundred years between us. She doesn’t live at home, but she’s just broken up with another boyfriend (and I say ‘another’ in the nicest possible way). So, a night out for the both of us will be great, I think. I hope. Maybe I’ll see if Ezra wants to join us, too. He’s the lucky middle child – nine years older than me, but I think he might be busy with his girlfriend and her daughter.

Have the best time while you’re away. I’ll wait for your next mail to arrive – oh, and I’ll send you one, too.

Love,

Emmy x

16th August 2011

Em,

I thought I’d wait until I posted this stuff to send you a letter. Recently, I’ve found I quite enjoy getting things in the mail that aren’t bills. I hope you feel the same.

Great weekend away – brain feels a little recharged, and I got a decent amount of sleep. If I’m honest, all I did on the first day was sleep. Everyone else went hiking and climbing. I stayed back at camp and slept – it was glorious. I ate lots of baked potatoes, drank too much beer, and pondered a few things that are a story for another day.

One of the best parts of our trips is the people we meet. What started as four friends getting away for the weekend has become somewhat of a choose your own adventure. It started when Hamish invited another friend along. Now it’s friends, girlfriends, people I’ve never met before and others who float in and out as occasion needs – and it’s fun. For example, there were fifteen of us this time. The only people I hadn’t met before were Owen, Claire, Angela, and Pip. Pip is a boy, mind you.

Slipped into Sheffield on the way through to pick up a small gift for you. Enjoy.

What are your plans this weekend? Can’t wait to hear from you.

Will x

27th August 2011

My Emmy,

It’s your birthday soon, right? I thought I might try and fly out for it. I’d love to see you again, and I’ve often wondered if our meeting was pure chance, or if there was something more to it. Anyway, I’m going to stop rambling – we can talk about all that when I arrive. I’ve found a hotel, and flights are currently cheap enough. If you have any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace…

W x

5th September 2011

My Favourite William,

YES, PLEASE VERY MUCH THANK YOU OKAY

Now that I’ve breathed into a paper bag and calmed the hell down – yes! I would absolutely love to see you this side of the equator. And for my 21 st birthday of all things. That would be an incredibly sweet gesture. I’ll blow off life for a little while and we’ll go exploring.

Oh, and I’ve picked up some work at the local hospital. It’s admin work, but it’s great fun. I think I’ll do a short course on medical terminology. Currently investigating options. It seems more fun than my BA at the moment.

E x

29th September 2011

Lovely Emmy,

So, don’t I feel like an idiot right now. Leave declined. Couldn’t even wrangle a few weeks later in the year. I am so sorry. I’ll just sit in the corner and lick my wounds.

William.

16th October 2011

William,

Please don’t feel the need to apologise. It’s out of your control. We will catch up again, somewhere on this earth. It’s just a matter of things aligning. Hey, maybe if I get punched in the nose again, you’ll appear. I can’t say I’m keen to repeat that experience though.

Off to a party tonight, wish me luck!

E x

12th November 2011

My Emmy,

It feels a little strange to say it’s been so long since we’ve talked. One thing I did notice? I’ve missed it – and I know that it’s my fault. I’ve been working and socialising, got a bit of late autumn camping in, and have been studying until it feels like my eyes are about to drop out of my head.

The end of first year is fast approaching for you – how do you think you’ve fared? And are you enjoying it? I know we talked about moving sideways into medicine (despite how tired I am, I do love it – please don’t let that put you off). Have you had any leads on night school? I’m keen to hear about that – please keep me updated. I’ll send you a book if you like. I’m going to send it to you anyway. It was a great help to me, so I’m sure you’ll find it useful.

Recently, someone’s asked to rent one of my spare rooms. They’ll be working in London soon and will need a place to stay. Problem is, I don’t mind the peace and quiet when I get home. Upside is I can charge rent, I suppose, and that’ll help with the mortgage. What do you think?

I found this great little eatery nearby that I’m going to take you to one day. Best pho ever. It’s just off the Harrow Road, near home. Have you been to your favourite sandwich shop lately? I look forward to the day I can (finally) get there and shout you lunch.

I’m off to bed for the night, but look out for the postcard I sent you from our camping trip.

Yours,

William x

1st December 2011

My William,

Corn-wall. It’s been ten minutes and I haven’t stopped laughing. My mum snatched the postcard from me and wanted to know who sends postcards like that. Ha!

So, what would you say if I came to visit instead? I have a job now (because that doesn’t make me sound like a bum at all), so I could grab a cheap ticket, stay in a hostel. Maybe we could meet in Edinburgh for New Year’s? Or, maybe after New Year’s? I think it’s a bit late to organise a New Year’s trip now.

Let me know,

E x

10th January 2012

Ems,

Yes, to all the above except the hostel. I have plenty of room here. It’s staggering how big this place is for just me. Now, I did buy it with the future in mind, and I do have a lodger now, but there is still plenty of room here. I’ll make up one of the spare rooms, and we can work out what happens from there. Just buy the ticket and let me know when you’ve booked for. I’ll meet you at Heathrow.

Gotta run, but wanted to let you know that it’s a very big yes from me.

Will x

27th February 2012

William!

I am laughing so much right now. I squealed so loudly at your email that Craig and I got kicked out of a lecture. For real, this time. In front of everyone, and I laughed all the way out the door and into the halls. Don’t care, too busy being excited. Let’s make this happen! I’m going to put together my London Bucket List. I know, I know, bucket list makes it sound morbid, but it’s a list of places I want to see and things I want to eat.

So, shoot me some recommendations.

Much love,

Emmy.

15th March 2012

My lovely Emmy,

I love the idea of the bucket list. If you get it through to me early enough, I’ll work out a rough itinerary. How long are you thinking of staying for? A week? Two? A month? Let me know all of that and I’ll work around it. I’ll show you all my favourite ‘outside London’ spots, too.

William.

31st March 2012

Dear Mr Tour Guide,

I’ve attached a mini-list of everywhere I think I should go. I want all the kitschy, flag-waving tourist experiences. I want high teas and night-time cocktails, fancy theatres and bus tours. Buckingham Palace is open in the summer, right? Let’s go there, too. Have you been?

What do you think of my list?

Emmy.

20th April 2012

Hey there,

Just checking in to see if you got my last email? I’m guessing you’re run off your feet now, so that’s why you’ve been quiet. It’s okay. I’ve been dealing with some stuff here, too.

Dad’s not well. The idiot went and had a heart attack, so we’re all sitting in the hospital waiting room at the moment. The doctors think he’ll be okay, so that’s a good thing, right?

Can I ask you something? I know we’ve always emailed or posted, but can I call you? I need someone to talk to about this, and I think you’re the only one who’d make sense. You know, being a doctor and all.

Looking forward to hearing your voice.

E xo

15th May 2012

William,

Okay. I’m getting worried now. I have no other way of contacting you. Heather checked Facebook and can’t find you. Are you okay?

Emmy.

21st June 2012

William,

I’m not sure what’s going on. I hope it’s that you’re busy and you’re kicking ass at your job. Saving lives and taking names, right?

I have some news. Heather and Josh are moving to London in January. They’ve both picked up work, and they’re flying high. I’m a little jealous, and a whole lot of sad but, more than anything, I’m excited for them. Her career is kicking along nicely, and I’m so proud of her. I’ll miss them both terribly, but it’s a good excuse to visit, right?

Are you okay?

Emmy.

3rd August 2012

William,

Where are you?

Emmy.

I tried one last time to send an email.

This message was created automatically by mail delivery software.

A message that you sent could not be delivered to one or more of its recipients. This is a permanent error. The following address(es) failed:

william.scott@southlandclinic.co.uk

No Such User Here

***

When Dad was sick, William was the one person I would have trusted over anecdotal websites, misinformed family, or sanitised for the public doctors. Talking to him, though we hadn’t physically spoken to each other in almost eighteen months at the time, would have put my mind at ease and pointed me in the right direction. And when my two best friends decided to pack up and move to London, he was the one person I thought I could count on for … something. What I hadn’t counted on was this. This was cold, and it hurt.

I tried to email from another address, but that one bounced back, too. Good to know it wasn’t just me, then. I went so far as to check the local phone directory. The results page was blank. Facebook offered me a whole heap of blonds and brunettes, but no flame-haired Londoners. I was shit out of luck.

Thinking about it constantly only turned sadness to anger, and when I finally got past that point, I wanted to be done with the reminders of that holiday and the months afterward that were tacked to walls of my bedroom. I removed the photos, postcards, and notes, and placed them in a box along with all the trinkets, toys, mugs, and books he’d sent. William had been relegated to a box underneath my bed.

Chapter 5

New Year’s Eve 2012

The post office smelt of sunscreen and agitation. A fly buzzed about my head, and I could feel sweat making a beeline from my neck right down to, well, where the sun didn’t shine. My backpack was laden with books, photos postcards, dog-eared envelopes, and a tea set. They were all memories I needed to give back.

I stepped forward, said all the right things, signed the customs declaration, and forced the last few years of my life into the nondescript brown cardboard box. Behind the counter, a woman with a weathered face tapped her artificial nails and suggested maybe I needed a bigger box.

Forcing a smile, I bent the lid over the contents and taped it shut. ‘My box is perfectly big enough, thanks.’

Behind me, someone sniggered.

I tossed the roll of packing tape back at her, along with my parcel, and hoped for the best.

‘I really don’t care if it breaks.’

As far as I knew, William hadn’t moved, he’d simply vanished. I’d never found a ‘Return to Sender’ in the letterbox, and his emails or letters never indicated that I’d done or said something untoward. He’d obviously lost interest, moved on to a girl closer to home, maybe. Probably. I couldn’t imagine he’d be single for long, as much as that thought irked me, irrationally, a little.

Stepping outside, away from the confines of a barely-there air-conditioner, I slipped my sunglasses on and, feeling a little lighter, made my way out into the street. The sunny glint of an old steel bumper and front wheel caught my eye.

‘Hey, you.’ I smiled.

‘Hey yourself.’ Craig waved an arm at his car in a flourish. ‘You like?’

The same Craig who’d saved my skin in class – when I’d been caught more than once laughing at a letter – was slumped against the pillar of a car that was probably older than both of us combined. After that very first class, we began searching for each other before lectures. Our buddy system soon extended to study blocks in the school library and coordinating subjects, because what’s better than having someone to pinch notes from? It was especially helpful when one of us didn’t feel up to going to class or needed an extra shift at work. It helped that we were both considered mature-aged students; two old souls looking out for each other. He became one of my closest friends.

Now, he stood in the street looking like a retiree floating the wave of a mid-life crisis. All he needed was a set of golf clubs to go with his wide-brimmed hat, popped-collar polo, and salmon-pink shorts.

‘I’m not diametrically opposed,’ I said through a chuckle. ‘Not sure about the outfit though.’

‘Funny.’ Craig threw his head back in a mocking laugh. ‘Picked her up this morning. Want to go for a ride?’

‘Got air-con?’

‘It’s got windows.’

‘No!’ I gawped, bending down to peer through the window. ‘And eye-bleedingly beige seats.’

‘I know. It’s great, isn’t it?’ Craig’s hand hung limp over the top of the steering wheel. ‘Used to belong to my cousin’s mate.’

A reliable purchase, if ever there’d been one. I peeled the tin can door open and took my place on the blistering hot, third-degree burns vinyl that we all know and love in the Australian summer. ‘I’m surprised by the lack of pink, going by your very fancy shorts.’

‘They’re for the party tonight.’ He pouted. ‘There’ll be a pool, right?’

‘Definitely a pool,’ I said.

‘Good.’ Gears crunched underneath us. ‘All I need now are my lambswool seat covers and I’ll be set.’

‘Oh, please don’t.’ I laughed. ‘Please.’

‘What? You don’t like a little wool in winter?’

‘Only if my clothes are made of it.’

Craig grinned to himself as he pulled the car into the street. I reached across and turned the radio dial on and up. While the road shimmered and my hair stuck to the back of my neck, at least the windows blew a bit of air around, even if it did feel like being caught in a low speed hair dryer.

‘What’s happening in the post office? Anything exciting?’ he asked, throwing a quick glance my way.

I shook my head. ‘Just bills. Nothing fancy.’

‘Are you okay?’ His voice was almost drowned out by the rhythmic thwap of air coming from both windows.

I nodded and looked at him. ‘I am.’

‘Really? Because you’re doing that thing.’

‘What thing?’ I looked at him curiously.

He reached across and pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched me, but it was the first time I’d noticed the wobble of energy – one I’d perhaps been keeping at arm’s length.

‘Dimpled chin. It’s your go-to when you’re worried or upset.’

‘Really? You noticed that?’ I angled myself towards him a little more. What the hell else had he noticed? I suddenly found myself recounting things, non-specific things, but still wondering what they said about me.

‘It tends to come out.’ He unwound the sunroof by hand. ‘The night before essays are due, and about an hour before exams. Afterwards, of course, you bound out of the room like you’ve had the weight of the world removed.’

‘I’ll be okay.’ I thrust my hands through the sunroof and felt the wind wrapping itself around my fingers and tugging on my hair. ‘How about you? Are you ready to party?’

When Heather first told me she and Josh were packing up and moving to London, I was like a spinning top of emotions. I rode the wave of their success, celebrating Josh’s internal and international promotion at the marketing company he worked for. I popped streamers for Heather who, after winning Young Real Estate Agent of the Year had been poached to head up the new London branch for Coglin Real Estate.

Then, I cried. A lot.

As excited as I was that my two best friends were in love and starting a new life together, because how absolutely thrilling for them, I was also a teensy bit devastated that I would be without them. It was fitting that their farewell party was a New Year’s celebration, too. New year, new life, new beginnings.

Heather’s parents still lived in the same beachfront property they’d bought when they married. A pebble-mix footpath reflected nightlights, and candles glinted and threw tall reflections across tables. A catering team dithered about in the far corner, and the vibration of late sixties music filled the air.

I looked out across their tightly manicured backyard, the scene of countless afternoons during high school. Part of me wondered how often I’d see it in the future, if at all. The palm trees that waved wildly during storms, the tennis court we used despite having no idea what we were doing, or the pool we’d throw ourselves into at the first breath of summer each year. Would Heather be back often, or would it mean I’d finally get off my backside and get back to London, albeit to visit her? I hoped so, on both counts.

‘Do I look okay?’ Craig leant in.

Hand on front door, I turned to look at him. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

‘Oh, you know … wasn’t sure, that’s all. I haven’t met your friends before, so, you know.’

After winding the car around the beach roads, admiring white foamy waves, scorching white sand, and everyone who wasn’t us out in the surf, Craig had insisted on a drive-by past his place to change into something more ‘party appropriate’. The trendy salmon shorts were replaced with light pants and a thin sports coat.

‘Are you kidding? You look great?’

‘I do?’ He smiled with relief. ‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure.’

‘You’ve met my friends before,’ I said. ‘Surely?’

‘I promise I haven’t.’

Heather was floating about in a sea of guests, under trees dripping with twinkle lights, and around tables adorned with more food than any of us would ever eat. From a young age, it was easy to tell she’d be a master networker and, even now, was treating the crowd like an industry event, making sure to leave no one behind as she made her way around the yard and thanked everyone for coming.

When I introduced Craig, Heather embraced him like an old friend. Questions spilled out like a pop-up video, before he was drawn off to meet Josh and absorbed by the crowd. I went in the opposite direction, catching up with her family, many of whom I hadn’t seen for a while. I caught sight of him again when the party made its way across to the beach.

A large driftwood fire licked the sky, the larger logs saved for seating a handful of us around it. Heather did the sandshoe wobble across the beach and sat herself next to me. Josh had taken it upon himself to, ‘hook Craig up with some contacts’, so we watched in wonder as a group of business buddies slapped backs and regaled each other with stories of last-minute economic heroism.

Heather shouldered me. ‘He’s lovely.’

I took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘He is.’

‘Josh wants to adopt him.’

‘I like him,’ I said.

‘What are you worried about?’ she asked. ‘That he won’t live up to the Great Edinburgh Hype? You know why they’re called holiday flings, right?’

I turned to her. ‘Why? I mean, of course I do, but remind me.’

‘Because they’re just that: flings. We get so caught up in the unrealistic expectation of what could be that we build it up in our heads as something that would never exist in the realm of normal, day-to-day stuff. This? Him? He’s the real deal.’

I scratched my forehead. ‘Yeah, yeah, yes, of course.’

‘You can’t put him in a holding pattern because of someone else.’ She circled her finger above her head.

We were interrupted by Craig, who approached with Josh.

‘You okay, Ems?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘I’m just asking Heather if she’s all ready to leave.’

‘Visas, man, who needs them?’ She wiggled sand through her toes and took a sip of her drink. ‘You know, if anyone should be packing up and leaving, it’s you.’

‘Me?’ I scoffed. ‘No.’

‘Why not? You’ve got the British passport. We all do, thanks Dad, but you could walk into a job. Look at what you’ve done at the hospital.’

From my intrepid beginnings as a volunteer, I’d quickly found a place in the administration team. It started with getting to know the staff as we circled the kettle in the staff room. Soon, I was taking mail to them as I skipped past reception each afternoon. When one of the team left, I was first in line to be offered the job. It was perfect chemistry. While not technical, it gave me a wonderful companion to the night schooling I’d been doing in the hope of furthering my chances of getting into the medical field.

‘You know, I would.’ Craig said with a loose shrug.

I lifted my eyes to him. ‘You would?’

‘Absolutely. What have you got to lose?’ he asked. ‘Why not give it a year, finish school, and go?’

‘I could.’

‘You really should.’ Heather bounced up. ‘And, while you ponder that, I have to go check out these people who’ve just arrived. Think about it, then tell me yes. It’s the only answer, really.’

We watched my friends disappear into silhouettes as they skipped across the road to meet their newest guests. The log wobbled under the weight of another body on it: Craig.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ He tugged on the skirt of my floral dress, dark blue with shimmering reds and silvers. ‘You’ve been a bit down all afternoon.’

‘I am.’ I rested my elbows on my knees. ‘This is good.’

‘You can go visit them,’ he said. ‘This is not goodbye, just see you soon.’

I grinned. ‘You’re not the first man to use that line on me.’

‘I’ll bet the other guy wasn’t as much fun as me, though. I mean, accounting, phwoar.’

‘Did you mean what you said?’ I asked. ‘About going?’

‘Absolutely. It’s a great opportunity, and you’d have plenty of scope within health to do something.’

‘If I asked, would you come with me?’

A slow smile spread across his face. ‘I would, yeah.’

‘Let’s do it, then.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely.’ I shrugged as if this was the easiest decision ever. ‘Once we’ve finished our degrees, we’ll get the worst cheap flights ever …’

‘… eat amazing airline food…’ he added.

I pointed at him. ‘… And you’ll get caught at customs…’

‘I’d love to come with you,’ he said.

With quick breaths and the slow lean of hesitation, Craig leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle and sleepy, his fingers curling through my hair. His lips were warm and red wine wet but, for a moment, all my what ifs, buts, and worries slipped away into the ocean before us. My heart didn’t skip or murmur its disagreement. Instead, it kept a steady, happy rhythm, and urged me to pull him closer.

Chapter 6

January 2014

I took the stairs at St James’ station two at a time, up into the open air, and past the throngs of school holiday tourists vying for a perfect photo near the Archibald fountain. I shook my wrist to check my watch again. The pedometer part of my New Year, New Emmy project had about another week of half-life left.

The summer air was thick and smelled of sunscreen and sausage sizzles. Almost all the shade around the park had been swallowed up by families and children playing with their Christmas-gifted water pistols. Across Park Street and near the Pool of Reflection was Craig, waiting with a light blanket and wicker basket.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I puffed. ‘I was late out of work.’

He peered up with a gentle smile, eyes shielded from the dappled sun stabbing through the trees. ‘That’s okay.’

‘Yeah, but it’s not, is it? I’ve kept you waiting again.’ I dropped to my knees and crossed my ankles beneath me. ‘This is gorgeous, thank you.’

Craig stilled me with a finger as I leant across and kissed him. ‘You haven’t seen the food on offer yet.’

It was a hearty spread of crackers, fresh shop-bought dips, and some smelly cheese which broke every plastic knife we tried cutting it with. In the end, nibbling at the block was the only way.

‘Alright, so, I have a question for you.’ Craig settled himself opposite me and poured soft drink into plastic wine glasses. This was the state of our student lunches – cheap and cheerful, but still very lovely and fun experiences.

‘Sounds serious.’

Craig narrowed his eyes. ‘A little?’

‘Shoot.’

‘London. How serious are you about going?’ he asked.

‘I’d like to go,’ I said slowly. ‘I love listening to Heather talk about it. How about you?’

Honestly, it had been all I’d thought about for weeks. Heather and Josh had settled in with ease. Facebook accounts full of smiling faces and location shots were testament to that. Weekends at country clubs in Bath, towering white cliffs of Dover, or the Titanic trail of Southampton were coupled with freshly painted bedrooms and new furniture, exotic takeaway dinners, and the excited exploration that comes with discovering your new city through fresh eyes.

‘Had you asked me on New Year’s Day, I would’ve said it wasn’t a great idea. Maybe just a knee-jerk reaction to your friends leaving.’

‘But?’ I asked, curious as to how he’d changed his mind in the weeks since.

‘Well, this week at work hasn’t been so great. I’m not really cut out for the family firm.’ He looked about nervously. ‘At the end of the year, with school over, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.’

‘So, you want to go then?’

‘I think we should start planning, yeah.’

Planning felt like a ten-thousand-piece Ravensburger jigsaw puzzle and looking for the edge pieces one by one. Most people were of the opinion I should just ‘get a job and get over there’ which, I suppose, was correct. Financially though, it meant having a safety net before stepping on that plane.

Money, that magical thing that makes the world go around, became easier to come by when I switched to distance education. By the time lecture theatres opened their doors for the school year, I was already curled up on the couch reading final year subjects and bashing away at the keyboard in the hope an essay might pop out somewhere near the end.

As much as he hated it, Craig took extra shifts at the family business. He made coffee, swept floors, and shredded old files just to make himself useful. And, when he was finally allowed to take on clients, he worked night and day to prove that he was not only worthy of their accounts, but that he was capable. It astounded me that he got any of his university work done at all, but he did.

In June, while I was busy picking up volunteer work with the ambulance again and getting back into the groove of things, Craig moved us into a spare bedroom at a friend’s house. The paint was a little peely, and I spent a weekend watching my fingers wrinkle up under sugar soap and water, but it gave us the opportunity to be proper adults. No longer were we under our parents’ roofs, but in our own space, being adults, doing very adult things in the privacy of our own place.

‘I suppose at least it’ll give us an idea of London.’ Craig stood by the door, hands on hips, and surveyed our new room, which smelled like a not so delicious blend of chemical cleaner and lavender carpet powder.

‘Are you still keen?’ I patted the space on the bed beside me.

‘We only have this place for twelve months, so, I do hope so!’

The idea of returning to the UK made me jittery with excitement, it lit a fire inside me all over again – just when I thought those feelings may have disappeared under the rubble of adult life. The opportunities for advancement were endless. I mean, they were at home, too, but something about London felt a little more … special.

Heather and I stayed in contact with a constant game of tag across time zones and inbox messages. We sent each other what we’d called care packages. Where she wanted Tim Tams, Vegemite, and local chocolate, all I wanted were tea bags and the ugliest souvenirs she could find. I was beyond thrilled at my Will and Kate wedding ashtray. It didn’t matter that I didn’t smoke or that the printed image was misaligned, it did a wonderful enough job on the top shelf of my bedroom. It was a regular talking point.

As the year wore on, Heather was happy to remind me that she’d been in London almost twelve months, and that I must be due to join her soon enough. Right on their twelve-month anniversary, she rang. I moved away from the ruckus that was family dinner, and sat in a spare room.

‘You’ll get the biggest bedroom,’ she opened with.

‘And?’ I asked.

‘And,’ she drawled, ‘it’s very lovely. I’ll paint and buy you some new linen and get everything ready for when you arrive. That way, you won’t have to worry about a thing.’

I laughed. ‘Why? What’s the catch?’

‘The room’s downstairs. We sleep upstairs, which makes us closer to the toilet.’

‘Lazy,’ I teased. ‘So lazy.’

‘So,’ she said. I could imagine her twirling a phone cord around her finger. ‘When are you coming?’

* * *

Job applications began a few months before we planned to leave. It became a constant waiting game, hoping for the familial ding of an email notification. It was the old Did I, or Didn’t I Get the Job? game. There might be a polite rejection coupled with best wishes or, maybe, an appointment request. Come hither and talk to us, always near enough to the midnight hour, always over delayed phone lines or pixelated Skype conferences. I jumped on every opportunity that sprang up, kind of like whack-a-mole.

Craig’s employment process was a little easier. He’d managed the first job he applied for, helping a start-up company, and his visa sponsorship was sorted in under a fortnight. Luckily for us, his start date would be determined by mine. He simply began taking on work remotely we got there. Hooray for late nights in front of the television and crawling into bed nearer to sunrise than usual.

But it didn’t matter. We were thriving, effervescent with excitement and just counting down until the moment it was my turn.

When my call finally came, early one Friday morning, I was in the middle of balancing a piping hot coffee cup, while swiping into the building at work, and trying to answer my phone, all without spilling a precious caffeinated drop.

‘Emmy, it’s Brian Ward.’

‘Hello, Brian Ward.’ I ground the toe of my shoe into the ground, pulverising a dry leaf. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m great. I mean, it’s late here, but I figured I’d get you at a good time.’

‘You have, yeah. I’m just heading in for the day.’ I stopped. ‘What is it for you? Midnight?’

‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘I’m just catching up on some paperwork. Have you got a moment to chat?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Absolutely.’

‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he said. ‘I’m just wondering how you’re placed for flights? When’s the earliest you can start?’

‘Are you saying I got the job?’ I squeaked. When the lid popped off my coffee, splashing hot liquid over my hands and threatening my canvas shoes, I finally loosened my grip. Anything but the shoes, they were my favourites.

‘It’s only a six-month contract at this stage, but I’m saying that you should book a flight.’ Hearing the smile in his voice was the most amazing feeling. ‘You’re going to be a great fit for the team.’

‘Oh boy, oh boy, I’ve just … oh, I spilled my coffee. Again.’

‘Yep, definitely a good fit.’ He laughed. ‘Ideally, I’d like you to start as soon as possible. Pam’s a little snowed under right now. I’m going to email you with some details, just let me know when you can get here.’

Chapter 7

June 2014

As the plane bumped and skidded to a stop along the runway at Heathrow, a niggling doubt came knocking, asking if we’d made the right decision. A brief panic set in, and all the things that could go wrong flipped through my head like one of Dad’s old holiday slideshows.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Craig yawned and stretched out sleepily. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. ‘People change jobs all the time.’

‘But we changed countries, too.’

‘That’s because we are the best.’ He winked at me. ‘You’ll be fine once you get a bit of sleep.’

After taking enough sleeping pills that I swore I could smell colours, and still not managing a useful rest, I chose to put my worries down to a lack of sleep. I was exhausted, aching from being cramped, and very much looking forward to a regular bed and a hot shower.

Customs made me nervous. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t smuggling small animals or drugs into the country, I still felt like I’d done something wrong. The snaking queues and conversation that never rose above a murmur didn’t help.

‘Is everything okay?’ I peered over the counter while Craig’s visa paperwork was pored over.

‘I wouldn’t be here without my first work visa. Enjoy your stay,’ the customs agent said with a smile.

Before anyone could change their minds and call us back, we scuttled through arrivals and towards the train terminal. That old familiar smell of brake dust and cramped spaces welcomed me like an old friend with an arm around the shoulder. The moment I boarded the train, luggage pushed against the carriage wall, I let out a heavy sigh.

‘This is amazing.’ Clutching at a stanchion grip, Craig ran a finger along the bottom of the tube map. ‘So, we’re getting off where?’

‘Paddington. Then we get the Bakerloo to Queen’s Park.’ I yawned and cuddled into him. I loved how solid he felt, my head resting in the nook of his neck. ‘You smell awful.’

‘You don’t smell so great yourself.’ He smoothed a hand over my hair and kissed the top of my head.

Swapping from the train to the tube at Paddington, I made it a priority to pick myself up a blue-coated bear, all the while trying to avoid getting weepy at the sales counter. Somewhere between the passport stamp and trying to push three suitcases through a bustling train station, I realised that I hadn’t simply caught the train to the next city. I’d flown to the other side of the world. Sure, I’d done it before, but this time felt different, like I’d hardly been away at all.

Heather was waiting on the front doorstep with streamers, helium balloons, and a Welcome Home sign. She bounced excitedly on the spot, apologising over again for not being at the airport on account of an open inspection. With her long hair pulled into a loose bun, she looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her. There was a renewed happiness to her that she hadn’t had in Sydney.

‘You look so good.’ I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’

‘And you, my love, look like hell.’ She held me at arms’ length.

I nodded, breaking into laughter. ‘I really do.’

‘When are you starting work again?’ she asked, eyes narrowed.

‘Tomorrow.’

She cringed. ‘Come on upstairs, get some rest.’

Josh and Craig were already climbing the stairs to our apartment on the second and third floor of a terraced house just off Harrow Road. Our scratched-up suitcases banged against the polished wood banister with each misplaced step. Inwardly, I cringed. Please don’t let me be here five minutes and be breaking things already.

‘Here we are…’ Heather pushed the front door open with an excited flourish and dragged me inside.

The apartment was bright and airy, full of white paint and gloss-white kitchen fittings. A grey couch and aqua cushions added blobs of homely colour, and red placemats clung to a lightly stained wooden dining table. Light breezy curtains hung in rooms with dark drapes, and the single bathroom in the upper storey was shared by all. For all the photos I’d seen, it hadn’t prepared me for how I’d feel.

This was, despite the exhaustion, sheer exhilaration. I flopped down on the couch, a foot stool soon adorned with a tray full of homemade biscuits. A pot of tea appeared shortly after, as an excited Heather told me about her latest baking adventures and fresh interest in all things tea. We caught up on the last week spent running around and preparing to leave, all the scandals and drunk uncle stories from our farewell party, and the boring details of our flight. While I moaned about the smelly guy next to Craig and laughed about the toddler who came to say hello and high-five every forty minutes, Josh busied himself hanging comic prints on the wall.

After the hammering had ceased, the biscuits were eaten, and my mind finally began to slow, we relaxed with showers and began putting personal touches on our bedroom. Lace curtains, bookended by heavy drapes, blew in the breeze. Just as she’d promised, Heather had organised a new duvet, spare blankets and pillows, and a few stackable blocks I’d already earmarked as potential bookshelves.

Our bed was a cloud soft and, as I lay back for a moment, the pillows hugged in all the right places. I curled onto my side and closed my eyes.

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