I hesitate. On the one hand I would love his company. On the other, I wonder if I should go back to Adelaide alone.
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘I know work’s really busy at the moment. Have you had any luck replacing that guy?’ I’m referring to the apprentice Nathan suspected had been nicking stuff. Nathan himself caught him in the act last week and fired him on the spot. They’re now a man short with a build deadline approaching.
‘Not yet,’ Richard replies. ‘I’m doing some interviews tomorrow. I’ll come,’ he decides.
‘You don’t have to,’ I assure him.
‘I will.’
It’s a strange feeling returning to Adelaide after all these years. And with Richard with me, it almost doesn’t seem real. So much has changed, the airport for one. Gone is the tiny old building, replaced with a brand new glass and steel structure, and when Vickie drives us along North Terrace, I barely recognise it. The trees have been taken down and the pavements widened, opening up the views to the old historical buildings belonging to the museum, university and churches. Blocks of flats and university housing have shot up everywhere.
Vickie works at a café in North Adelaide where she and her boyfriend Jaegar live, but she takes an hour out of her day to collect us at lunchtime and then hands over the keys to her silver Toyota Yaris.
‘Are you sure?’ I check. She said she’d lend us her wheels when I told her we’d booked our flight.
‘Of course. I’ll walk home after work and get ready. If you could pick Jaegar and me up at seven-ish, we’ll go for dinner on Rundle Street if that’s what you want?’
The funeral is tomorrow morning and our flight is at four o’clock in the afternoon, so tonight we’re catching up with old friends. Jo and her boyfriend Ash are also meeting us later, but Tammy, understandably, is spending time with her mum and Shane.
‘That would be great.’ I smile warmly.
‘Thanks, Vickie,’ Richard adds.
‘No worries.’
‘Shall we go to the hotel to check in?’ I ask when we’re alone. We did manage to find a hotel doing a cheap last-minute deal, which is lucky because Vickie’s studio flat would have been a squash enough with three people, let alone four.
‘No point. We may as well check in later. Let’s go up to the hills.’
I stifle a sigh. ‘Really? We could check in and then go for an ice cream or something.’
‘Lily . . .’ Richard told me last night that he really wants to see where I spent my first few years in Australia.
‘Why?’ I’d asked.
‘This place obviously made an impact on you. And I want to understand why.’
There’s no hope of that without Ben here. But Richard was adamant about visiting Michael’s house in Piccadilly at the very least. I reluctantly agreed.
‘Okay, but I’m driving,’ I insist now. If we’re going into the hills, I have to be in control.
‘Really?’ he says, surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever driven Richard anywhere before. I used to occasionally use Mum’s car when I lived with her in Bondi, but I could only afford public transport when I moved into a minuscule studio flat of my own. That was before I met Richard, of course, and then he had a car and I was happy to commute to work by ferry.
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. He’s already in the driver’s seat so we both climb out and swap places. I experience a strange little thrill about being behind the wheel again.
He grins across at me once we’re all belted up. ‘Let’s go.’
Hardly anyone takes the long and winding road up into the hills any more. Soon after I arrived in Australia, they finished a tunnel which cuts right through the rock and shortens the journey considerably. Our ears pop as we pass through it. The grass is greener than it would have been in high summer, and I kind of miss the creamy-yellow colour of the dry stuff. I remember complaining about it when I first moved here, but I’ve learned to appreciate it.
I flick on the indicator and move left onto the slip-road to Crafers.
Piccadilly Valley is as familiar to me as it always was. We drive along Piccadilly Road, past houses nestled in amongst the gums, the paddock that’s still filled with goats, and the small leafy-green vineyard. Eventually we round the corner and come across Michael’s house. I slow to a stop and stare straight ahead at the boundary fence to the conservation park. Clear as day in my mind I remember Ben vaulting himself over it in the direction of Carminow Castle and Mount Lofty. I shake myself out of my flashback.
‘That’s Michael’s house there,’ I say quietly, looking left out of the window.
‘Shall we see if he’s in?’ Richard asks.
I shake my head. ‘His truck’s not there. He must be at work.’
