‘Check out my view,’ I say upon his answering, turning the phone screen around to face the estuary.
‘Nice,’ he says.
I turn him back to me. ‘Not bad, eh?’
‘This one’s even better.’
‘Soppy git,’ I tease.
He’s sprawled out on his brown-leather sofa at home, with one arm folded behind his head.
‘Are you watching telly?’ I ask.
‘Nah, there’s crap all on,’ he replies, glancing to his right, where the TV is, before returning his attention to me.
I know the layout of his living room like the back of my hand. I practically lived with him for the last half of my stay in Sydney; I was there for a year in total.
‘Are you wearing the jumper I bought you?’ Charcoal-grey wool is just coming into view below his neck.
He holds the phone higher so I can see his outfit properly. ‘Yeah, it’s really cold here now.’
We speak so often that we rarely have big news to share, but the boring, everyday stuff makes being away from each other strangely more bearable.
‘Wish I was there to warm you up.’ It’s winter in the southern hemisphere now.
‘I wish you were here, too,’ he says in a sleepy, deep voice. ‘I’ve been missing you today.’
‘Have you?’
‘Yeah. I went over to Bron and Lachie’s for lunch. He roasted a joint on the barbecue, flashy bastard. Wasn’t the same without you.’
I feel a pang of longing as he talks about our friends. I miss them, too.
‘What have you got on?’ he asks me.
I hold the phone over my head to show him.
‘Man, those shorts...’ His voice trails off longingly.
He likes my legs – he says they’re sexy – so my cut-off denim shorts became my staple wardrobe item in Sydney. This is the first time I’ve worn them this year, though. It was cold and dark when I set off this morning, but I’m an optimist – the weather forecast in Padstow was predicted to be twenty-two degrees and sunny. I probably should’ve changed once I got here, judging by the dribbling looks I kept getting from truck drivers in petrol stations on my way here.
‘You’re as tanned as you were when you left,’ he notes.
‘Aw, and you’re all pale and pasty.’
‘I’m not, am I?’ He peers down the inside of his jumper.
‘Show me your abs,’ I prompt.
‘Bugger off,’ he replies.
We grin at each other, but his smile fades away. ‘How much longer before you come back to me?’ he asks pensively.
I sigh. I wish his eyes would look at me properly. It’s the thing that really bugs me – we can’t make actual eye contact because we’re staring at each other’s face on the screen, not at the tiny camera lens that catches our images.
‘I don’t know, El. Now that I’m writing this novel, it could be March or April by the time my edits are done.’ My deadline to deliver the manuscript is the end of January, but there will no doubt be a lot of work to follow. ‘Weren’t you going to try to come and see me this summer?’ I ask.
Nowhe’sthe one to sigh. ‘I’ve got so many projects on at the moment.’ If only I could reach through the screen and stroke his dark, stubbly jaw. ‘I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get the time off, however much I’d like to. You know what a ball breaker Darren is,’ he says.
