‘I made them,’ I said, as his smile sent his dimples deeper. Bending slowly, he placed Zoe across the blankets I had gathered on the floor as she murmured, ‘I want to go back to the party.’ Shit. She knocked over the pint glass, sending water over the stack of papers I had left loose. He moved to save them, gathering the sheets on bended knees as I soothed Zoe back into her drunken doze. ‘You are the party, Zoe.’ The man laughed, more awake and yet less on edge, apparently no longer so anxious to get back to bed. He wiped down the last of the papers with his shirt, handing them back to me.
‘What’s that?’ He nodded to a black and white flyer, its bold, boxy designs demanding attention from the top of the pile.
‘Oh.’ I looked at him, a little sheepish. ‘It’s an application form.’ I shrugged.
‘For?’ He smiled, encouraging me on, all of a sudden.
‘An art competition – Art Today’s Voices of Tomorrow,’ I explained, the paper in my hands now hidden from view, as his eyes found their way back to my face.
‘Never heard of it.’ The guy shrugged. I didn’t expect him to. I guess it was pretty niche if you weren’t into that kind of thing. ‘But for what it’s worth’ – he fixed his eyes back on mine – ‘I think you should apply.’
‘Thanks.’ I smiled, looking down at the paper. ‘But I don’t take advice from strangers.’ I looked at him again, a playful grin matching the look in his eyes.
‘I’m Sam,’ he said, pushing himself to standing, offering me a hand to pull me up. Sam. ‘Hope to see you around, Jess.’ He looked again from my paintings to me, turning to leave.
‘I think he likes you,’ Zoe whispered, forcing her heavy eyes ajar. I looked up to see the door close, but could have sworn I heard him laughing from the other side.
Chapter 2
1 August 2020 – Sydney, Australia
Sam and my backpack walked half a step in front of me, as I felt my brain fall further and further behind. At the next bend he turned, smiled and asked, ‘You okay?’ No, I wasn’t okay – shocked, scared, excited, but miles away from the humdrum of okay. What the hell was happening?
I silenced the thought, pressing onwards through the now relenting rain, cursing even the weather for calming at Sam’s cue. He made everything better.
Together we followed the pavement tracing a deserted Coogee Beach, winding up the ever-ascending roads until my heartbeat was racing once again. I’d been up and down this hill far more times than I’d liked over the past few weeks, walking the way from the six-person house share that turned out to have only one bedroom and two beds – “at least they are doubles” – to whatever nondescript bar or coffee shop I could hand my CV into. My bedmate’s wandering hands this morning were the final straw. At least at the Coogee Backpacker I’d have my own bunk – for a night or two at least. I knew Sydney was expensive but that much to be nestled into a room with drunken travellers all about a decade younger than me? All about the same age I was around the time I met Sam. I tried my best to ignore the threat of dorm rooms: Sam was here, we were here, heading back to his. Sam didn’t say much as we went, and I was glad – partly because my brain was struggling to master coherent thoughts, never mind sentences. Mostly because this bloody mountain was killing me and all my effort was going into pretending I wasn’t already out of breath. Finally, almost at the top of the hill, he turned left onto Oberon Street. I’d passed the big cream house he gestured to a number of times that week, dreaming of earning enough to afford my own room, never mind my own place. Never for one millisecond did I imagine Sam would be inside.
‘Here it is.’ He smiled, walking down a handful of stone steps and along the path to a big blue door. I tried desperately to calm my heartrate as I watched him walk away. He hadn’t changed a bit: strong shoulders, slim legs and an effortless T-shirt-meets-jeans style that I knew for a fact took less than three minutes to curate.
‘Three-four-one O-ber-on,’ I read the brass door numbers aloud, trying to say anything other than the thousand thoughts flooding my mind. ‘Hey, that kind of rhymes.’
Sam looked at me with his best puppy-trying-to-do-algebra expression – a face I’d seen countless times before, as I made an equally familiar mental note to: shut up. ‘Erm… yeah, sure, if you like.’ Puzzlement was soon replaced by joyful disbelief as he took me in again. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’ His laugh was full and unreserved, and I cursed every hair on my arms for standing on end. ‘What are the odds?’ He looked from me to the ocean stretching out behind us. All my energy was going into not asking that question, my mind refusing to entertain the thoughts filling my heart: It’s Sam. He’s here. It’s finally happening. Again.
Turning the key in the door, Sam beckoned me into a large stone-floored entrance hall. He ditched my rucksack unceremoniously and led me into an open plan kitchen-living room, all clean, white and bright – nothing like the university halls we had pretty much co-existed in during our time in Nottingham. He gestured towards a spot on a beautiful grey L-shaped sofa and I sat down, still shell-shocked, still skin-soaked, my reservations reminiscent of the first time Sam had taken me back to his. My mind wandered to scenes of two lust-drunk teenagers. I forced myself to focus on the ornately hung abstract artwork that added colour to the walls. Sam had never had an eye for design but it looked like late-onset taste had finally kicked in. He was clearly doing well for himself. I groaned inwardly at my unflattering comparison. Before I had worked out how to not drench the couch, Sam was handing me a large glass of Malbec and suddenly I didn’t care. I let the corner seat engulf me whilst I took my first tentative sips of wine.
‘So, J,’ he began, taking a seat next to me. ‘And I say this with love.’ His eyes twinkled, his brown skin wrinkling at the cheeks, my mind clinging to the word. How could he be so calm, act so normal after all this time? ‘What the hell, may I ask,’ he said, ‘are you doing here?’
I could have asked him the same thing.
‘It’s a long story.’ I slumped further into the sofa, taking a massive gulp of wine. An unflattering one, one that would tell us what we both already knew: you won. I looked around the room, from the pristine kitchenette to the perfectly curated cushions placed on the other chairs around the living space. It was a big place for one person. Did he live here alone? If yes, he was doing better than I thought he was, which kind of made me feel worse. If no, well – who the hell was he living with? My pulse picked up pace at the thought.
‘Okay.’ Sam shrugged nonchalantly, mimicking my actions to a T. For a moment, forgetting so much time had passed, I leaned over to thump his arm, careful not to spill any wine. He feigned shock, but after all this time we were still predictable. The place where our skin had touched still tingled; I wondered if he could feel it too.
‘No, Sam,’ I said, as he smiled at the familiarity of my scold. ‘Your line is “well, we’ve got nothing but time.”’ I rolled my eyes mockingly.
‘Oh man.’ He threw a playful hand to his forehead. ‘I never did remember my lines.’ He smiled again, winking in a way only few people could pull off. ‘Okay, J, take two.’ He puffed up his chest and cleared his throat. ‘Well’ – dramatic pause – ‘we’ve got’ – eyes widening – ‘nothing’ – emphasis added – ‘but time.’ He grinned, revealing a set of bright white teeth, his canines still a little too pointy. ‘Better?’ he asked eagerly, his demeanour now not dissimilar from a puppy having cracked algebra.