‘Not as strange as bumping into you on the other side of the world.’ He laughed. He was right. Maybe the strangest thing was to let this moment slip away to nothing?
‘Just for a couple of days,’ I said, hope and trepidation wrestling in my stomach as I allowed myself to sink back into the sofa.
‘I’ll give you a week, J – tops.’ He winked again, confident, infectious. For a moment I could feel excitement flooding out my nightmare of bed-shares and bunkbeds. Now I’d be dreaming just a door away from his. For now at least. My heart hammered at the thought. And I could save some money, just while I found a job. A real job.
‘Only if you’re sure,’ I added.
‘I’m sure.’
‘Thank you so much.’ I couldn’t help but throw my arms around him, his body melting into mine as the disappointments of the last few weeks started to fade away. ‘Just a week,’ I confirmed into Sam’s shoulder. One week. One week to fulfil every lie covering my not-so-successful Sydney life before Sam could find out what a false start my twenties were proving to be. But for now, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, things were finally starting to look up.
12 September 2012 – Nottingham, England
‘Look, Jess. Oh shit, he’s coming over.’ Zoe looked up from her glass of wine to the broad torso of a man walking across the bar towards us. She smoothed down her black, long-sleeved silk top with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination.
‘And what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and make small talk with the best friend?’ I looked up from picking the final bits of paint out from underneath my chipped nail polish. It was midnight and I was hungover and halfway through fleshing out the rolling pencil lines that had mapped out my latest landscape.
‘Just five minutes.’ Zoe’s eyes pleaded with me, looking from me to the man approaching, brimming with possibilities.
‘Can we join you?’ The man looked down at our table, very much at Zoe, very much alone. Zoe shrugged. In reality, she’d clocked him the second we’d walked into the bar: the only face looking our way against a backdrop of broad swim-team members drinking and laughing in the opposite direction.
‘We?’ Zoe asked, looking her poor victim up and down as he slid into the booth beside me. Great, now I was trapped. Zoe’s made-up eyes darted to mine: five minutes, I swear.
‘Yes, we.’ The guy spoke in an unmistakable American drawl adding colour to his tone. ‘I’m Austin.’ He smiled, as if his accent wasn’t enough to place him. ‘And this is…’ He looked up towards the figure approaching.
‘Sam.’ I couldn’t help but smile as he slid into the space next to Zoe.
‘Jess!’ He grinned across at me, pushing a hand through his thick, brown hair.
‘Zoe.’ She threw her own name into the mix, while I tried to warn her with my eyes: you already know him. He lives down the hall. He’s carried you home. He’s seen your pants.
Sam laughed, sending me a mischievous look: our first private joke.
‘You know each other?’ Zoe looked from Sam to me, trying and failing to make sense of us.
‘Just a little.’ Sam replied. ‘I’m living at Holymoor Halls too.’
‘Amazing, and Austin are you—’
‘Have you sent it off yet?’ Sam spoke across the table, our conversation criss-crossing Zoe and Austin’s before they made their way to the bar and Sam came to sit next to me. Five more minutes – Zoe motioned across the room with her free hand, her other now laced in Austin’s. I shrugged and smiled, looking back at Sam, now off the clock.
‘Not yet. It’s very competitive, though,’ I said, looking to his earnest eyes, his encouragement making it harder to find reasons to not send off my application, to not throw my hat into the ring.
‘That’s what people said about medicine, but they still let me in to study it,’ Sam joked. He had a way of making competition and decisions and, well, life, look easy. No doubt a symptom of privilege, but one I was pretty sure I wouldn’t mind infecting me.
‘You’ll make a good doctor.’ I couldn’t help but look down at his hands, big and strong.
He looked down at his beer, studying its froth. ‘It was the only option really.’
I searched his smile, not sure why his options were so limited. Unshakable pressure? Undeniable calling?
‘Not as cool as art, though.’ He lifted his pint to his lips, taking another swig. I did the same, feeling the rush of intoxication soothe the places where my hangover still lingered.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ I put my hand down by my side, accidentally touching his, electricity amalgamating with the alcohol. ‘I know which of us would be more helpful in a crisis. Quick! Is there an artist in the house?’
‘Art therapy can save lives, you know!’ He laughed, putting his hand on top of mine, nothing accidental about it. I looked from Zoe and Austin, now entwined at the bar, to my and Sam’s hands interlaced on the table, not knowing why our connection felt more intimate. Perhaps the promise of something longer than five more minutes. ‘Maybe you can teach me how to draw sometime?’ He turned his face towards me, inches from mine.
‘Maybe, if you buy me a drink.’ I scanned his face, from his eyes to his nose and down to his neck, not knowing why or how he was making me feel so sure.
‘Deal.’ He grinned, letting go of my hand, now bonded by the possibility of more.
Chapter 3
1 August 2020 – Sydney, Australia
‘Deal?’ Sam asked, as I sat motionless, torn between not knowing if I should stay and definitely not wanting to go. ‘Stay in our spare bedroom for a couple of nights, a week, tops?’ He had a way of making it sound like the most natural thing in the world.
‘And you’re sure your housemate won’t mind?’ I asked again, not knowing which answer I’d prefer, whether he was a step away from or towards where I was meant to be. But we were here, now – that had to count for something. Sam hesitated for a moment. I knew he hadn’t asked him; he hadn’t broken away for a second to look at his phone.
‘Jamie loves having guests.’ He nodded, as if convincing himself that this would all be okay. I saw his steady shoulders jump for a second at the sound of a key turning in the door. ‘Ah, now you can ask Jamie yourself!’ He recovered his smile, forcing it from ear to ear. I sat back down on the sofa, grabbing one of the large cushions to hide my atrocious attire; if only I could find a blanket to cover my face. Sam’s friends were always fit. Gorgeous doctors tended to attract gorgeous doctors; it was an epidemic. Looking towards the archway into the room, the surfer guy from the photo materialised before me. Six foot something, his height only magnified by his skinny black jeans. My eyes followed his legs upwards to a torso you could tell was toned even through his T-shirt, past his tanned arms and further still to a bearded face, thicker than Sam’s own shadowy jaw, perfectly framed by a floppy wet fringe.
‘Dude, the surf was great,’ Jamie began in a thick Australian accent, cradling a damp wetsuit in his hands, before noticing me on the sofa. ‘Oh.’ He stopped, affronted. I looked down at my clothes and held the cushion more tightly.