Page 59 of The Lucky Escape

‘Are you okay?’ he asked. He’d stopped laughing now, but was still smirking.

‘My ego needs another ten minutes,’ I winced.

‘Did you really think today would be weird?’

I shrugged and looked at him through my fingers. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘You told me you’d wanted it to happen for ages.’

‘You did too!’ I said, like the whiny teenager I was trying to avoid being, which made us both laugh again.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘First and foremost we’re friends, right? But I’m just going to be very, very honest here: if the kissing happens again, I wouldn’t be sorry about it.’

I finally looked at him properly.

‘That got your attention,’ he joked.

I smiled. ‘Okay. This was still horribly embarrassing and I still need you to leave. But, cool. Deal. We’re friends first.’

‘And …?’ he prompted.

‘And if the kissing happens again, I wouldn’t be sorry about it either.’

‘Good talk,’ he said, and I thought that was the last of it. Then he turned and winked as he told me: ‘I can’t lie. I had to alleviate a bit of the tension last night too, by the way.’

I squealed and threw a pillow at him, but he moved too quickly and closed the door, forcing it to hit the wall with a thud before landing on the carpet.

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We spent the next few days ticking off all the tourist spots Sydney had to offer – we saw a musical version ofAmerican Psychoat the opera house, as well as a proper opera about Elizabeth the First having to choose between her heart and her country. The food scene in Sydney was remarkable. There were tons of places with amazing Asian dishes, and we got stuck in to Sydney rock oysters one lunchtime in the harbour, washed down with a bottle of wine, and I’d tried Vegemite for the first time (it was a thumbs down from me, but Patrick purchased six jars to take home with him because he loved it so much). I had a newfound obsession with Tim Tams, and the concierge at the hotel told us to order our burgers with beetroot on, because apparently that was the thing to do.

We clocked up a morning cooking class, a walking tour, the Museum of Sydney, a harbour boat tour, afternoon tea at the Queen Victoria Building, and took the ferry out to Manly to explore the promenade. No two people in the history of people had ever Sydney-ed as hard as Patrick and I Sydney-ed. In fact, for five days we Sydney-ed so hard thatfrom eight in the morning until ten at night we barely had time to directly talk to one another except to point something out on the skyline or to ask the other to pull out their phone to look at the maps function. And in between it all, the kissing kept happening.

I was never not aware of him. At dinner we started to choose seats next to each other at the bar rather than opting for a table where we’d sit opposite each other, ordering a drink and almost immediately necking. Patrick instinctively moved chairs in outdoor cafés so we’d sit side by side and look at the view, feet finding each other and knees knocking. On the ferry to Manly Beach it had been busy enough that we’d had to take seats a few rows apart, and I caught him staring at me. I’d looked out at the water and smiled into the breeze, appreciating the way my forearms had deepened in colour and enjoying the looseness in my shoulders and, thoughts of Patrick aside, the emptiness in my own brain. Sure, we spent a lot of time discussing travel itineraries and planning where to eat, but that was cool, day-to-day stuff. On that boat I couldn’t even remember what else there might be to worry about, only that worries existed somewhere, somehow – just not here, with me. It was then I’d sensed his eyes on me, and when I looked across he just grinned, stared, and then lifted a hand to wave.

I miss you,he mouthed, making me laugh even more. When we disembarked, he laced his fingers through mine and held on to me like he would never let go.

Darling Annie,Fernanda texted me, as we stopped for elevenses.I hope Sydney is a dream. Do let us know how you’re getting on when you get chance! You haven’t texted in a while. We’d love to see some more photos!

Fernanda messaged more often than my own family. Freddie had obviously returned to school with gusto, forgetting about her big sister – out of sight, out of mind. Mum and Dad didn’t stay in touch, but Fernanda continued to check in every few days, I think out of an anxiousness that she hadn’t sent me on a fool’s errand and that I really was enjoying myself. Shame flushed through me – I couldn’t exactly let her know just how much I was enjoying myself, could I? That, to be totally honest, yeah, Sydney was amazing, but my absolute favourite part of Sydney was probably Patrick’s mouth.

It had been so touching that she’d continued to check in and take an interest in the trip, but now things with Patrick were murkier I felt dishonest with her. I told her it was wonderful and sent snaps of the hotel, reiterating how much I loved her, and appreciated her.

You didn’t plan it,Kezza reminded me when I begged her for perspective. I held on to that truth. I hadn’t, after all. So why did I feel so bad whenever Fernanda pinged on my phone?

‘You okay?’ Patrick asked, noticing that I was lost in my messages.

‘Yes,’ I said, quickly. ‘Yes, of course. It’s Fernanda again. She’s so lovely.’

We spent a night out in the Blue Mountains, on a luxury coach tour that only took a couple of hours’ drive. I’d never heard of the Blue Mountains, and it was a million hectares of tall forest, sandstone cliffs, canyons and waterfalls, all with a blue horizon of eucalyptus trees that seemed to just go on and on. We trekked deep into the middle of it to admire the native bushland, gaping at the rock formations and exploring the underground caves. We got to listen to Dreaming storiestold by Aboriginal guides and admire the work of resident artists too, picking up a few packable pieces to take home. We loved it so much that we arranged to go back a second time, trekking part of the Six Foot Track to look out over Wentworth Falls, Kings Tableland and Mount Solitary, before being driven to a nearby resort for some much-needed R and R after absorbing such majestic nature and clocking thirty thousand steps a day.

And the kissing. Little pecks. Deep, passionate kisses. Two make-out sessions before bed, each one more intense than the last.

One afternoon by the pool we kissed again, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep locking lips without jumping his bones. I tried to revel in the novelty of going slowly, of getting to know somebody’s life and personality before I discovered their body, but I craved him. We were charged magnets.

Urm, but … I thought this was a lust situation, not a love one,Adzo texted. She’d finally replied to me and I’d been able to fill her in on what had happened the night of the sunset canoe trip. She’d basically said what Kezza had – that apparently everyone except Patrick and I knew we were going to hook up even before we actually had, or even before either of us had thought about it. Part of that really bugged me because there was a low-level accusation that men and women couldn’t just be friends, but then, this woman and that man hadn’t just been friends, had they?

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