Prologue
The problem with giving your heart away to someone is that you never fully get it back. Long after you’ve fallen out of love with them, they still own a little piece of you. That’s why first love is always the strongest: it’s the only time you ever love wholeheartedly. And I do mean that literally.
I came up with this theory a few years ago when I was belatedly reflecting on why on earth I had ever broken up with David, my boyfriend at university. He was great, butsomethingwas missing, so I called it off and started a new search for the complete package. Over a decade later, I’m still looking.
It’s not that I haven’t been around the houses. I have. And the caravans, apartment blocks and skyscrapers, to boot. At the end of the day, it all comes down to Elliot Green. He’s entirely to blame. He was my first love and he took a piece of my heart – and my virginity, while he was at it – and then emigrated to Australia with his parents at the age of sixteen, never to be seen or heard from again, once his initial frenzy of letter writing had died out. I figured he’d found a fit Aussie bird and had forgotten all about me, so I tried to forget about him, too. Many moons later, I’m still trying.
It doesn’t help that I’m currently in Sydney, where he moved all those years ago. I’ve been daydreaming about bumping into him here and melodramatically declaring, ‘You’ve got something that belongs to me,’ before demanding that he give me the piece of my heart back.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I actuallywouldsee him again, yet there he is, completely oblivious to me gawping as he has a beer with some mates at a harbourside bar.
Despite his changed appearance, I recognised him instantly. His long, lean body has broadened out and his arms are tanned and muscular. His brown hair is the same unruly length, but he now has sexy stubble that’s bordering on beardy. From where I’m standing, Elliot Green is hotter than ever. And now he’s looking at me.
He’s looking at me!
And now he’snotlooking at me.
Before I can register disappointment, he does a comedy double take and his blue eyes widen. His face breaks into a grin and then he’s on his feet and my heart is threatening to beat out through my eardrums.
‘Bridget?’ he asks with disbelief, opening up his arms.
‘Hello, Elliot,’ I reply warmly, as he crushes me to his hard chest.Oh, my God, he smells amazing. What was it that I was supposed to say to him again?
‘You’ve hardly changed at all!’ he exclaims, withdrawing and holding me at arm’s length as he takes me in.
My figure hasn’t altered a lot since he last saw me. I’m tall and fairly slim and my eyes are, obviously, still blue – more of a navy, compared to his lighter swimming-pool shade.
He fingers a lock of my dark hair. ‘Even your hair’s the same,’ he comments.
It comes to the midway point between my chin and shoulders, which is more or less how I wore it as a teenager.
‘I’ve been growing it out, actually,’ I say with a shrug. Turns out blunt-cut bobs are high-maintenance. ‘Was that an Aussie accent I heard?’
‘Maybe,’ he replies with a grin.
‘Itis! That’s so weird.’
He laughs and shakes his head at me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m on my way home.’ I nod towards the ferries chugging in and out of Circular Quay.
‘You live in Sydney?’ he asks with amazement.
‘Sort of. I’m here for a year.’
‘Seriously?’ His eyes dart searchingly between mine. ‘Do you have to rush off? Can I buy you a drink?’
‘No, I don’t have to rush off, and, yes, I’d love a drink.’
He smiles at me and the words pop into my mind from out of nowhere:You’ve got something that belongs to me.
Of course, it’s immediately apparent that I’ll sound like a right idiot if I say them out loud, so I follow him mutely to his table instead.
Over the next couple of hours, I sit with Elliot and his mates, drinking and laughing and establishing that he is excellently single. When his friends call it a night, Elliot and I stay, and, as the white sails of the nearby Sydney Opera House glint gold in the setting sun, and bats swarm out of the nearby Botanic Gardens, I’m ready.
‘So,’ I say, swirling the ice around in my glass of vodka tonic, ‘I have a theory.’
Elliot cocks one eyebrow and listens with amusement as I enlighten him.
