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Aware of Oliver’s eyes on him, he made sure he sprawled casually in a wing chair on the other side of the fire and stretched his legs out. Maybe there was some way he could get back to being the old him? The him that skimmed the surface of relationships, that never got close… and never got hurt. Surely he could do it? He almost patted his body to reassure himself it was possible.
Then David Blake put the box on the coffee table, opened the lid and dragged out a wad of old photos.
Of him. And Oliver. AndMum…
And that other world, that world where he actuallyfeltstuff? That world full of painful, beautiful stuff? The world he’d just tried to convince himself he wanted no part of?
With a loud whooshing in his ears, Aaron fell right back down the rabbit hole.
* * *
The Opera House in the flesh (except you couldn’t call it flesh when it was actually lots of shiny tiles, could you?) was more beautiful than Alice had ever envisaged. And the way the Harbour Bridge formed an arching backdrop… the photos just didn’t prepare you for how breathtaking it all was.
She and Henry had attended a showing ofCarmen, getting last-minute tickets, and she’d sat enraptured, wiping away tears surreptitiously after every spine-tingling aria. And now they were walking along the promenade, and Henry had bought them both an ice-cream and it was the sort of thing Alice guessed he would have done with her a zillion times when she was little if they’d only had the chance.
By now, they’d got so comfortable with each other that she didn’t think twice about linking her arm in Henry’s as they walked. The past three days had been pure magic, but tomorrow she would fly home and Henry would fly back to England. He had lectures and events to attend but they were already talking about next time. In England.
England!
She was going to visit Henry in England.
And really, once you were on that plane, what was the difference between five hours and twenty? Either way, you were up in the air with your feet resting on a bit of metal with nothing else between you and 42,000 feet of nothingness.
They’d talked about so many things these past days. Henry had asked if she had a partner and she’d been noncommittal. She’d been waiting for the right moment, but now the desire to tell him about Aaron was bubbling up inside her with more urgency the closer she got to leaving. Henry was so wise. So compassionate.
“So, did you enjoy it?” Henry asked about the opera.
“It was divine. But Don José murdering Carmen made me mad. I mean, why are women always so hard done by in operas?”
Henry pulled back and took a hard look at her. “Said with true passion.”
“I’ve learned the hard way, that’s all,” Alice mumbled.
She must have curled her fingers tighter round his arm. “I sensed some reserve when I asked if you had a partner the other night. Has someone hurt you, Alice?” Henry asked this with such kindness that her eyes smarted with tears.
“Yes,” she said, a lump lodged in the back of her throat. “Quite recently, actually. That’s why it’s all a bit…” She swallowed hard. “Why I guess I’m a bit reluctant to talk—it’s still painful.”
“Do you want to tell me about it? Or perhaps you’d rather not.” His reticence was so quintessentially English, Alice had to smile despite herself.
She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve been in love with a guy for five years. And I found out he will never be able to love me back.”
“Oh dear. That sounds frightfully like history repeating itself.”
It took her a moment to digest and then she replied, “Oh, no, not like you and Mum! Aaron loves women. Rather too much, that’s the problem.”
“Has he been unfaithful? Believe me, that problem doesn’t differentiate whatever your sexual orientation.”
She shook her head. “No, he hasn’t been unfaithful, that’s the weird thing. It’s complicated…”
And suddenly she was sketching out a brief history of her friendship with Aaron. “Then a few weeks back things kind of got weird between us,” she sighed.
“What kind of weird?” Henry enquired.
So then, of course, Alice had to explain the fake dating and Polly’s amazeballs sex and love equation, to which Henry couldn’t help but chortle. And the change of clothes and wearing contact lenses—and Henry said he sympathised, as he hated contact lenses too, they made his eyes sting to buggery. And when they’d finished commiserating on that, then she filled him in on the flirting deal and the kiss (she naturally skimmed over things you didn’t tell your father about, however open-minded he was).
By the time she’d got to the Lauren Donovan incident, they’d reached one of the oldest, most picturesque parts of Sydney, The Rocks, and decided to go into a pub for a drink.
“So,” said Henry after they’d ordered a couple of glasses of white wine. “You say he came chasing after you?”
