voice: the strange accent she hadn’t been able to place when she’d first answered the door. He didn’t exactly sound Australian or English, but rather a hybrid of the two, occasionally more one than the other. It amused her how he often ended sentences with a raised pitch in his voice, as if asking a question when he wasn’t, which she’d heard Australians do before. She wondered if this would change while he was here and, surrounded by his old countryfolk, whether he’d slip back into how he used to sound.
Physically, although she could now recognise her old friend from his facial features and the way he smiled, he was almost like a different person. He could easily walk past old acquaintances in the village without them realising. Part of that was the fact he’d got himself into shape and no longer wore the glasses he’d had to live in as a boy. (He’d had laser surgery, apparently, so no longer needed them.)
But it was also down to the way he held himself: so self-assured. When they were younger, he’d always been very chatty with her and other people he knew well, but he could be painfully shy around strangers. However, there hadn’t been any sign of that around the taxi driver, or even with her, as there might have been after so long apart.
He had the confidence of someone successful, Lisa decided. So why hadn’t he wanted to talk about any of that, or to elaborate on the details of his last-minute business trip?
Maybe she was the reason. Since she’d obviously done so little of note with her life and was married to the kind of man who came home unconscious in a taxi on a Friday night, perhaps he was too embarrassed to discuss his own exciting world, not wanting to rub salt in her wounds. She really hoped that wasn’t true.
It was on this depressing note that the tiredness lurking in the shadows finally took hold and Lisa drifted off to sleep.
Friday, 9 August 1991
Elliot had butterflies in his stomach as he opened the low wrought-iron gate at the top of the driveway. He half expected Boris, his best mate Christopher’s pet Jack Russell, to fly around the corner from the back garden to greet him with barks and licks. But of course he didn’t, because they no longer lived here. They’d moved away. Now this house, which he’d visited countless times before, belonged to a different family. Weird.
Walking into the unknown in a familiar setting was part of the reason he was nervous. There was also the fact that the new occupant he’d come to visit was Lisa. He’d yet to see her close up with his glasses on, but he was pretty sure she was gorgeous: the kind of girl he wouldn’t usually dare to approach. He’d thought of little else since she’d rescued him yesterday.
Elliot pushed his old glasses up on his nose, wishing they fitted as well as the new ones he no longer had. He reached up and rapped three times on the shiny brass knocker. He remembered Christopher’s dad replacing it and repainting the white door. ‘It’s the little things that help sell houses,’ he’d told Elliot, who’d hoped his efforts would fail, so his friend could stay.
Rather than Lisa, the door was answered by a slim woman around his mum’s age with long and luscious wavy red hair, hazel eyes and a warm smile.
‘Hello. Can I help you?’
‘Um, yes. I’m here to see Lisa. We met yesterday. My name’s Elliot Turner.’
He offered her his right hand, having swung his left – holding a plastic bag containing Lisa’s clothes and flip-flops – behind his back.
‘Nice to meet you, Elliot,’ she replied, graciously accepting his handshake. ‘I’m Mrs Benson, Lisa’s mother. I didn’t know that she’d already made a friend. How nice. Do you also live in the village?’
He nodded as Lisa appeared in the hallway behind her.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Lisa said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
‘Of course,’ Mrs Benson replied, backing away. ‘But don’t leave your new friend on the doorstep. I’m sure he’d like to come in, wouldn’t you, Elliot? The house is a mess, but—’
‘Muuum!’
Mrs Benson held up her hands. ‘Sorry, I’m cramping your style, aren’t I? I’ll make myself scarce.’ She disappeared into the kitchen.
Elliot handed the plastic bag through the open door to Lisa, glad to see her in focus this time, looking amazing. Tall and slim, dressed in denim shorts and a pink T-shirt, she had the same beautiful hazel eyes as her mum but with long, straight auburn hair. Way out of his league. ‘Your things, as promised.’
‘Great, thanks.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Sorry about Mum. Would you like to come in?’
‘Sure, if that’s okay.’
‘Of course. Anything to get me away from unpacking.’
It was strange walking through Christopher’s old home, seeing how much everything had already changed. Thanks to the different furniture and so on, it was like entering another house.
As he followed Lisa up the stairs, he wondered whether or not she’d moved into Christopher’s old bedroom, where he’d spent so much time. It turned out she had – and that was the weirdest thing of all. Gone were the Star Wars posters and memorabilia; the stack of comics and books; the noticeboard covered in photos from the school trip to London; Herbie the giant gorilla won on a coconut shy. In their place were Madonna and Prince posters; a pink radio-cassette player; a large pile of Smash Hits and Jackie magazines; and a dressing table covered with brushes, combs, hairclips and beauty products.
‘So this is my room,’ Lisa said, leading him inside and dropping the bag of her returned items in a corner. ‘It’s obviously not finished yet. A lot of my stuff is still in boxes. I can’t wait to get this old carpet changed and to have the awful green walls painted, but … what’s up?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘No, I, um—’
She held a hand up to her mouth. ‘Oops. I totally forgot that your friend used to live here. This used to be his bedroom, didn’t it?’
Elliot nodded.
‘Wow. That must be weird. Were you here a lot?’
‘Loads.’
‘Was he the one responsible for the lovely green walls?’
Elliot threw her a wonky grin. ‘Yep. He used to be mad keen on the Incredible Hulk.’
‘That explains a lot. I nearly let my little brother have this room, even though it’s the biggest, because of the awful colour. Now he insists on calling it the Bogey Room to wind me up.’
Elliot, who had stopped noticing the garish colour long ago, couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I suppose it’s not the best colour in the world, is it? It seemed like a good idea to Christopher
