Someone is jogging up the hill towards her. She sees that it’s Callum and now her stomach does clench with an idiotic pleased anticipation, which irritates her.

WOULD YOU STOP IT! It’s just his unavailability making him seem appealing. She’s acting just like a man. Callum is wearing a singlet top and baggy shorts and his face is all wrinkled with that frenzied, pained look that runners get. She waves, and when he reaches her he stops, bending forward and resting his hands on his knees.

‘Good. An excuse to stop,’ he puffs. ‘I’m not a runner. I’m just pretending to be one.’

‘You fooled me,’ says Sophie.

He straightens up. ‘Where are you off to? You look nice.’

‘On my date with Rick.’

‘The turtle-tattooed gardener?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Hey, Sophie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Has Grace said anything to you lately about…anything?’

Oh, nothing much! Only that you were never really right for her and she’s thinking of leaving you. She hedges. ‘You need to be a bit more specific. What do you mean by anything?’

His face does an awkward spasm. ‘Anything about us, I guess. She’s said some really strange things lately. I can’t get her to talk to me. I thought maybe–well, you know, women always reveal their deepest secrets to each other. I’m not asking you to betray a confidence or anything. Although, of course, I am, aren’t I?’

He tries to look flippant but only manages to look deeply unhappy. Sophie aches for him.

‘I don’t really know Grace that well,’ says Sophie.

‘No. Sorry. Of course you don’t. Forget we had this conversation. It must be the unexpected rush of oxygen to the brain from exercising.’

‘I’d better go.’

‘Have fun. Be back by curfew, young lady.’ He taps at his watch but he is too miserable to be funny. His face sags. ‘OK, bye!’

She watches him go pounding off. For the first time she feels a flood of bitchy feelings towards Grace. You’re beautiful. You’re talented. You’ve got a gorgeous baby, a gorgeous husband who adores you. And you’re actually considering just throwing it all away because you fight about housework! Well, more fool you, Grace. More fool you.

Rick the Gorgeous Gardener is wearing a white T-shirt under a blue v-necked jumper, and jeans. When Sophie goes to step into the boat from the wharf he doesn’t just give her an arm. He lifts her by the waist and places her in the boat, as if this is perfectly normal behaviour. He takes her to a private beach about twenty minutes down the river, only accessible by boat. He’s brought the picnic–a bottle of white wine and slab-like tomato and cheese sandwiches. The wine wouldn’t have been Sophie’s choice and the sandwiches are not especially nice. He’s cut everything too thick and put too much pepper on the tomato. They’re like sandwiches made by a schoolboy. She has to swill a lot of wine to get the sandwich down. Her head starts to feel pleasantly fuzzy.

‘Very nice!’ she says with relief once she’s finished her last mouthful.

‘Really?’ He doesn’t look convinced. ‘A woman once told me I was such a bad cook I even ruined sandwiches.’

Sophie widens her eyes innocently. ‘That’s extraordinary because that was one of the tastiest cheese and tomato sandwiches I have ever eaten.’

He grins. ‘Liar. I’ll make you eat another one if you keep that up.’

It’s very different from her date with Ian the Sweet Solicitor. Ian belonged to Sophie’s Sydney world: they talked the same language; they’d been to the same films, plays, festivals and restaurants. They even discovered a mutual acquaintance. Whereas Rick the Gorgeous Gardener ‘doesn’t get into town very much’, doesn’t even own a television and can’t actually remember the last movie he saw. Ian has skied in Aspen and scuba-dived in the Maldives. Rick spent six months meditating in a Buddhist monastery in China. Ian admitted to skim-reading certain Booker prize–winning novels so he could talk about them if necessary at dinner parties. Rick only ever reads non-fiction–biographies, histories and National Geographic. ‘I like facts,’ he says, leaning back against a tree and stretching out long legs.

He makes Sophie feel frivolous and pretty and about fourteen years old. He makes her feel like suggesting they play a game of chasing and letting him catch her.

After a while there is a pause in their conversation, and for some reason neither of them break it. They just look at each other. It appears that they’re having a ‘staring competition’ like in primary school, to see who will giggle first. Sophie’s mouth twitches but she restrains herself. Rick’s eyes crease slightly but his face stays immobile. They stare and stare. Now it seems to be turning into a weird sort of foreplay. Finally, to her own astonishment, she finds herself reaching over and taking the wine glass from his hand and putting it carefully on the ground, without breaking eye-contact. She puts her hand on the back of his neck. For the first time in her entire life she is initiating the first kiss. (Various girlfriends applaud in her head: ‘About time!’) Rick gets the idea and takes over pretty fast, and fortunately he doesn’t kiss like a Buddhist monk. She is all melting and trembly and clawing pathetically at his clothes.

This goes on for some time until finally they pull away from each other.

‘I cooked chocolate biscuits for dessert,’ says Rick.

Sophie wipes her mouth and readjusts her clothing. She feels ridiculous. Was it necessary to act so eager? She’s practically a middle-aged woman. She acted like she was gagging for it, which she was. Oh, and of course, here we go…

‘Is that a blush?’ Rick touches her cheek with his fingertips. ‘Are you doing that on purpose to charm me?’

Rick the Gorgeous Gardener, just like Ian the Sweet Solicitor, is unquestionably a Catch.

42

The Trevi Fountain, ROME, at sunset

Dear Grace,

It’s hot, noisy and VERY crowded here. I’ve been getting terrible migraines. Two people from our group had their wallets stolen today. I’ve been keeping a good grip on my handbag. The gelato on Scribbly Gum is superior to any gelato I’ve eaten in Italy, and as for the pizza here–I can assure you it’s nothing special. Much too bland! We’re lucky that Australia is so clean, aren’t we. The men stare very rudely, which I find quite disconcerting. Never thought I’d miss Australian males. Our guide became quite snappy today and said I needed to ‘embrace the cultural differences’. Obviously he doesn’t like Rome any better than me. How is Jake? Is he teething yet? I can’t remember when they teethe. I was thinking on the bus today about when you were a baby. One night you cried for two hours straight. I was at my wit’s end. I walked over to Connie’s place and handed you over to Jimmy. You stopped crying instantly. I was so furious with you. I felt like you’d done it on purpose. Silly of me.