Lucy in the Sky

by Paige Toon

  Here I am, alone in this flat, alone in this double bed, on the other side of the world, and I would give anything–anything–to have my sexy messy-haired surfer here with me.

  Not James.

  Eventually the sound slows to a drawl and I give up, knowing the batteries are well and truly kaput. I’ll have to buy some more later. I’m shattered. I set my alarm for three hours’ time, swap my clothes for comfy PJs and climb in between the sheets.

  The sound of the home phone ringing wakes me up. I’m so tired I feel like someone has filled my body with sand. I fumble around on the bedside table for a minute, trying to locate the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ I answer groggily.

  ‘Hello, baby.’ It’s James. ‘Were you sleeping?’

  ‘Mmm.’ I can barely speak, I’m so exhausted.

  ‘Wakey wakey. You won’t be able to sleep tonight if you sleep now.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Listen, I’m going to be a little late–I’ve got a meeting with my manager at five thirty. I couldn’t put him off. So I’ll probably be back around eight. Do you want me to pick up something on the way home? Or shall we order takeaway?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ll get something.’ It’ll be good to get out of the house, even if it’s only around the corner.

  ‘Okay, honey, can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t go back to sleep!’

  After he’s hung up my alarm goes off–my three hours’ sleep time is over.

  The flat is freezing. Turning the central heating on, I stumble through to the bathroom and run a bath, pouring bubble bath generously into the hot stream of water. I climb in slowly, letting my limbs take to the warmth until I’m immersed up to my neck. I pull the bubbles up and over my body so I’m completely covered. They glimmer prettily in the overhead lights. I lie there, looking around at our nice, clean bathroom and feel an unexpected wave of contentment. The entire room is white. In fact, the only colour in here comes from the dark green towels that are hanging over the white heated towel rails. I love it. The tidiness clears my head, even if I’m not naturally the neatest person. I remember James this morning, all smart in his tailored suit, and feel a surprising rush of affection. My boyfriend. I can’t believe he’s gone and bought a flatscreen TV. For my DVDs! We barely do any DVD PR. But it’ll be nice to watch my chick flicks on there.

  After a while, when I’m so hot I feel like I need a cool shower, I squeeze a generous amount of exfoliating scrub onto my palm and apply it all over my arms and legs. It scratches coarsely against my skin and the smell of citrus fruits wafts up my nose. I dip my arms, legs and shoulders back under the water and rinse myself off, then unplug the bath and stand up, wiping my hands over my body to get rid of the sticking bubbles. I step down onto the dark green bathmat and dry myself off, feeling fresh and clean. I turn back to survey the empty bath. There goes my tan, I think dismally. The base of the bath is dirty and scummy. I switch on the shower-head and wash my tan down the plughole.

  I call my mum to let her know I’m home safely. She wants to hear all about my trip, how much Manly has changed and what it was like going back ‘home’ again, but I’m still feeling weary so I fob her off with the promise to ring her later for a proper gossip. I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking and doing laundry. Eventually I grab my coat, scarf and gloves and go downstairs out onto the street. A pigeon skids around in front of me as I walk to the supermarket, trying to evade my steps without going to the effort of flapping his wings. At the checkout I spot some batteries and, feeling naughty, buy them anyway.

  Back at the flat, unlocking the door, I feel quite different to how I felt this morning. Our black and white living room is neat and tidy and I have a sudden urge to lie down on the sofa and watch telly.

  The new remote control isn’t too tricky to work out so I make myself comfy amongst all the fluffy white cushions and flick through the channels on our Sky+ box. Remembering my conversation with James at Sydney airport, I search for UK Gold. I smile with relief when I come across it.

  Later, I swap the dead batteries in my cassette player for the brand-new ones and open the wardrobe in the bedroom, looking to the back where my shoe rack is. I take the cassette player and the empty cassette case with Nathan’s scrawling handwriting on it, and hide both right at the back underneath my heels. I don’t really want to deal with James’s questions about my new purchase.

  As I close the cupboard door, I come face to face with my reflection. I look pale and sneaky, and my eyes are still puffy from crying. Then I hear James’s keys in the lock.

  ‘Hi!’ I call, coming out of the bedroom into the living room.

  ‘Hi.’ He looks weary as he shuts the door behind him and comes to give me a kiss on the lips.

  ‘Good meeting?’ I ask. ‘You’re back early.’

  ‘Oh, it was alright. Derek wanted me to bring him up to date on the contract situation with the Brigadellis. They’re investment bankers based just around the corner from here, and they still haven’t filled out their paper…Sorry, this is really boring.’ He smiles and stops himself. ‘What’s cooking?’

  ‘Lasagne.’

  ‘Cool.’ He unbuttons his suit jacket and loosens his tie.

  Back in the kitchen I peer into the oven. The cheesy top is just starting to brown.

  He appears a minute later. ‘What are we drinking? Red?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I set the table in the living room and he emerges with two full glasses of wine. ‘Candles?’ he asks.

  ‘Sure,’ I say again. He grabs a couple of tea-lights from a drawer and lights them using electric-blue-tipped matches from a funky matchbox.

  ‘Where did you get those?’ I ask him.

  ‘Just a bar around the corner from work. New,’ he answers, by way of explanation. I nod my head but don’t say anything.

  I wish I didn’t feel uncomfortable at the thought of him going out drinking without me.

  When I bring the lasagne back through, James is sitting at the table with the remote control, flicking through the TV channels. I put our plates down and go to sit but he grabs me by my wrist. ‘Come here, baby,’ he pulls me onto his lap. ‘Do you like your present?’ he asks me chirpily. ‘Isn’t it brilliant? Listen, check out the sound.’ He turns the volume right up. And up.

  ‘James, you’ll piss off the neighbours.’ He keeps going. ‘James!’ I shout.

  ‘Listen to how loud it goes!’ he yells.

  ‘James, turn it down!’

  He does so, grinning defiantly. ‘Bloody fantastic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mmm,’ I agree, getting up off his lap and going to take my seat. ‘Shall we turn it off while we eat?’

  ‘Spoilsport.’ He smiles, but switches it to mute. That’s a compromise as far as I’m concerned, even if he has left yesterday’s recorded rugby game on.

  ‘Cheers,’ he says, and leans over to chink my glass. Then he tucks in. ‘So how was your flight? God, how was the wedding?’

  ‘Um, it was good,’ I reply unenthusiastically. I don’t really want to talk about it in any detail. Not to James anyway.

  ‘Just, “Um, it was good”?’ He laughs and reaches across to stroke my hand. I recoil. I can’t help it.

  ‘Lucy! What’s wrong with you?’ He’s concerned now. ‘Baby, what’s wrong?’ he asks, coming over to crouch in front of my chair. I can’t look at him. There’s a scrum or something going on between the guys in black and the guys in white on the telly. Or are they wearing dark green? I can’t tell.

  ‘Lucy?’

  I drag my attention back to my boyfriend, who is studying me from his kneeling position. He’s changed out of his suit into his cream Reiss jumper and dark blue Levis.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ My eyes fill up with tears. ‘Lucy, please tell me? Are you still worried about that text?’

  ‘No,’ I tell him.

  ‘Good,’ he replies hurriedly, ‘because there’s nothing to worry about. What is it, then?’ He reaches up to stroke my face
. I resist the impulse to draw away.

  ‘Was it hard going back to Sydney?’

  I nod.

  ‘I was worried you were going to feel homesick for Australia now you’re back.’

  ‘Were you?’ I ask, surprised through my tears. I didn’t expect him to understand.

  ‘Of course. It was your home for most of your life. It was bound to be difficult going back after such a long time and then leaving again so quickly.’

  I nod as he picks up a napkin and dabs at my damp cheeks.

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmur. I can’t help but think of Nathan and his rough hands, standing there by the bamboo cluster at the wedding. I focus my attention back to James and the tears slowly come to a standstill. His eyes look at me kindly. They’re the same colour as his jeans.

  ‘I’m so pleased to have you back, honey. Here, have some wine.’ He picks up my glass and puts it in my hand. ‘Don’t let the food go cold.’

  So he takes his seat again and makes a concerted effort to pay me more attention. I realise after dinner that I’m exhausted. It’s getting on for nine in the morning where I’ve just come from. James seems fine with the idea of watching the rest of the rugby so I go to bed alone. I’m relieved. I’m not ready to make love to him again yet. I don’t know when I will be but definitely not yet.

  I’ve barely spoken to James since I’ve returned and I know I’m going to have to force myself back to normality with him, but right now I just want to be left alone with my thoughts.

  Soon I’m back in Nathan’s bedroom with him in our parallel universe. I fall asleep willing myself to dream of him. But, to my dismay, I don’t dream at all.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning I wake up early enough to watch the sunrise. I grab my dressing gown and creep quietly out of the bedroom away from my sleeping boyfriend and into the living room where I pull up the venetian blinds. I look directly down the road at the glow of the rising sun across the distant rooftops–it’s not so bright that it hurts but it still leaves dozens of tiny imprints on my eyes when I close them. Long thin clouds–or vapour trails from forgotten aeroplanes–are lit from below. They look like orange streaks of lightning.

  I walk into the bedroom where James is still fast asleep. He looks peaceful and I feel a wave of love for him. I didn’t even wake up when he came into the bedroom last night–I must’ve been out cold.

  ‘James.’ I rub his arm gently.

  ‘Huh?’ he opens his eyes and looks at me sleepily.

  ‘It’s quarter past seven,’ I tell him.

  ‘Oh, shit. I have to go.’ He leaps out of bed and stumbles through to the bathroom. I don’t start work until 9.30 so I’ve got loads of time. In fact, it’s such a nice, bright day outside that I might just walk. Even though it does look cold out there.

  I work off Soho Square, just south of Oxford Street. It’s a lovely walk in the summer–it takes a good half an hour–but in the winter and in the evenings I usually tube it the three stops.

  I pack my bag for work, remembering Chloe and Gemma’s boxing kangaroo pens along with some high-heeled boots. I’ll walk to work in trainers and change when I get there. At this rate I’ll be half an hour early so that will give me time to check my backlog of emails.

  I step down onto the street and cross the road close to the square. A man in a green woollen hat rollerblades past me with a large black dog in tow and we wish each other a good morning. My trainers grate over the grit that’s been put down to stop people slipping over on the ice. It’s uncommon to have a frost at this time of the year. I recall the sand in Nathan’s car and feel morose as I walk down to Marylebone Road and take a left past the West City Council building. Two stone lions sit on their haunches on either side of the steps, guarding the pillared entrance. The steps of the register office are peppered with confetti. There must have been a wedding on Saturday. Much as Sam and Molly’s gum leaves were a nice idea and wholly appropriate, I do like good old multicoloured tacky stuff.

  Imagine if James proposed? At the moment that thought terrifies me. What would I say? Lucy Smithson is a bit of a tongue twister. I prefer the sound of Lucy Wilson, I think, not for the first time. I used to repeat that to myself as a teenager. Of course, back then it was Sam I dreamt of marrying. Now the name Lucy Wilson makes me think of his brother.

  What an idiot. Anyway James is not likely to ask me to marry him anytime soon. We’ve only just bought this place together and I’m only twenty-five. But then so are Molly and Sam. I don’t know, twenty-five just seems so much younger in London. But then, James is twenty-seven. All I know is I’m sure as hell not ready for that sort of commitment yet. Not with James anyway. Surely not with anyone.

  Marylebone High Street is a hub of activity. People wearing fleeces and big winter coats queue outside the door of coffee shops and on another day I’d join them to grab a latte and a pastry, but I drank a coffee just fifteen minutes ago and I don’t feel like another one.

  I adore Marylebone High Street with its little boutiques, funky design shops, restaurants and bars. The number of evenings last summer that James and I wandered over here and sat outside on the pavement, drinking wine and nibbling on olives…This place has such a continental feel about it–you feel like you’re on holiday even when you’re not. In a way it reminds me of Sydney. I wish Nathan could see this part of London, where I live. I think he could feel at home here.

  I take a left and wander through the wide back roads. A few black cabs lumber past but apart from that, it’s not busy.

  Eventually I cross over Oxford Street into Soho Square and I’m almost at work. Our office hours are fairly flexible. I’ve even worked from home on a few occasions. Again I feel lucky. An image of Nathan floats back into my mind but I force myself back to the present. I can’t think of you now, I tell him silently. You’re not here and I’m not there.

  I’m here. With James. And I want to be happy like I was before. Before Sydney. Before you came into my life.

  ‘Lucy!’ Mandy, my boss, calls, as soon as I push through the wooden door into our large, modern open-plan office. ‘How are you?’ She swivels her chair round to talk to me.

  Mandy is in her late thirties, five foot five and super-slim, with cropped blonde highlighted hair. The only other thing that we know about our elusive boss, aside from her appearance, is that she’s been married twice, and now lives with a man in west London. And we know that only because we read it in a press article about Mandy Nim PR six months ago. None of us have met Mandy’s partner. She clearly doesn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure.

  ‘Great, thanks.’ I smile.

  ‘Not planning on moving back there, are you?’ she pries.

  ‘Er…No?’

  ‘Good! Well, we must catch up later. Got some exciting things coming up.’

  ‘Excellent. Look forward to hearing about them.’

  She can come across as intimidating, but Mandy doesn’t phase me normally. I’m not on top form now but I’m sure I’ll perk up by the time we have our next one-to-one. I don’t know if that will be this afternoon or later on in the week. No doubt she’ll pencil me into her diary before the morning’s out.

  It’s weird to be back. So much has happened in two weeks, but for everyone else it’s probably just been business as usual.

  Mandy has a team of fifteen young, friendly staff, including people in accounts and admin.

  I make my way over to my desk. It’s far neater than I left it. Bless the work experience girl–or workie, as we call the hoards of them that pass through the office.

  I switch on my computer then go to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of filter coffee. Gemma arrives as I return to my desk. ‘Lucy! Welcome back.’

  ‘Lucy!’ Another cry from the doorway as Chloe bustles in with two plastic bags. She has a brand-new Hermès Birkin bag which she got as a freebie so I have no idea why she still needs plastic bags. She cracks me up.

  We all do similar jobs, although I’ve been here the longest an
d tend to get the bigger accounts, but there’s no jealousy between us.

  ‘How was your holiday?’ Chloe gushes as she plonks her Birkin and plastic bags down next to each other. Gemma wheels her chair over. Chloe is twenty-five and my height at five foot six, slim and pretty with long blonde hair and Gemma is a couple of inches taller than us, attractive and curvy with a choppy dark medium-length bob. She’s twenty-three and has been here for six months, while Chloe joined Mandy Nim a year ago.

  ‘Incredible. I didn’t want to come home.’

  ‘I bet you didn’t. Where in Australia did you go again? Sydney?’ Chloe asks.

  I nod.

  ‘I loved Sydney!’ Gemma went travelling for a year after university, before she joined Mandy Nim. ‘That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah; I used to live in Manly.’

  ‘Manly–phwoar, the surfers on that beach…’

  I blush at the thought of one surfer in particular and busy myself looking in my bag for their presents to distract them from noticing.

  ‘I can’t wait to go to Australia,’ Chloe pipes up.

  ‘When are you going?’ I look up, interested.

  ‘I don’t know. One day!’

  When I hand over their kangaroo pens, they both squeal and proceed to have a mini boxing match, thumbing the tiny mechanism to make the boxing-gloved kangaroos punch at each other. It keeps them entertained for a minute before they turn back to me, laughing.

  ‘So what did you do in Sydney?’ Gemma asks.

  I fill them in briefly on my trip and the wedding, leaving out details about James. And any mention of Nathan, of course.