If hewastesting me again, I have a feeling I’ve failed.
He puts his guitar down on the floor. I kick off my shoes and rest my knees against his lap, edging my shoulder into the crook of his arm. He takes the hint and pulls me close. I kiss his neck and he turns his head to stare at me levelly. His expression is unreadable, but I’m reluctant to ask what he’s thinking.
He soon makes it clear. ‘Do you want to see him?’
‘No! I’ve already told you that.’
‘You just ran away. Four years ago, from England and Alex. I’ve never really known if you were taking the easy option by staying here in Oz with me.’
I pull away from him and stare at him, shocked. ‘How could you eventhinkthat?YouarewhyI stayed in Australia. I wasn’t runningfromAlex. I loveyou. I choseyou. And, thankfully, you let me.’
A long moment passes and then Lachie’s lips quirk up into a smile. Full of relief, I lean forward and plant a kiss on them.
‘I don’t want to see him,’ I repeat firmly, grabbing his super-soft T-shirt with my fingers. ‘That part of my life is done with. If I never set eyes on him again, it’ll be too soon.’
I mean the words as I say them.
It’s only later that I doubt their truth.
The closer it creeps to Alex’s arrival date in Sydney, the more on edge I feel. On the morning of 7 October, I consciously spend no more time on my appearance than usual, but I find myself reaching for my favourite skinny jeans, teaming them with the top I bought at the weekend when Lachie was working.
I know my boyfriend hasn’t forgotten the significance of today, even if he’s not bringing it up.
People have a habit of underestimating Lachie – I did, too, at first. He comes across as so carefree and young at heart that it’s easy to mistake how much he actuallysees, how shrewd he is. When I go to kiss him goodbye and he tells me that I look nice, I can’t help but wonder at the hidden depths in those summer-sky eyes of his.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, choosing to take the compliment at surface level and not read into things.
I’m jumpy the entire day. Every time I step out of the office, my nerves ramp up a notch. Crossing the landing to go to the communal kitchen, taking the lifts, walking across the lobby, even going for a wander at lunchtime, I’m racked with tension, half expecting to see Alex at every turn. I spy him in every tall, slim, dark-haired man who passes me by – just for a split second, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat.
It’s the same the next day. And the next. By the end of the first week, I tell Lachie to stop asking me if I’ve seen him, vowing to divulge the information if I do. But the tension never leaves me.
By Wednesday of the following week, I begin to feel oddly fretful. It suddenly seems like a very real possibility that Alex could return to the UK without our laying eyes on each other. And this doesn’t make me feel happy. In fact, I feel the opposite. Do Iwantto see him? Do Ineedto in order to be able to move on?
I try not to overthink it, but I find myself venturing out of the office more, finding excuses to go and see friends or colleagues at different magazines, just in case we cross paths.
On Thursday, Lachie calls me at work to say that he’s invited Elliot over and is getting some steaks in.
‘Seen him yet?’ Elliot asks with a raised eyebrow, as soon as I walk through the door, shaking my umbrella.
He and Lachie are sitting at the living room table with the adjacent balcony doors wide open to the elements. The barbecue is smoking.
‘No,’ I reply firmly, rolling my eyes and casting a look over at the four empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter.
‘El thinks you should,’ Lachie stuns me by saying, in a flippant tone.
‘What?’ My eyes dart between my boyfriend and our wayward friend.
‘You need closure,’ Elliot states adamantly as Lachie jumps up and pecks me casually on my cheek. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, despite the heavy rain.
‘You want a beer, Bronnie?’ he calls over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen.
‘Sure,’ I call back distractedly. ‘Well, Alex has been in the building for two weeks and I haven’t bumped into him yet,’ I say to Elliot. ‘I’m not sure I will.’
‘Then why don’t you email him to arrange a catch-up?’ Elliot suggests easily as Lachie returns to the table, chinking our bottles as he passes them over.
‘Maybe he’s right,’ Lachie chips in with a shrug.
‘Are you serious?’ I stare at him in shock, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
