Alex’s declaration of love was everything I had hoped to hear for months, but it was too late. I was happy with Lachie, and Alex had already caused too much pain.

I had a perfectly good plane ticket at the ready, but, rather than return to the UK to face my demons, I called my boss on the other side of the world and resigned so I could stay put in Sydney. I’ve been burying my head in the sand ever since.

I’m not proud.

Digging my phone out of my bag while waiting in line with the hordes of commuters at the ferry terminal, I type out a quick text to my boyfriend: ‘You coming home for dinner?’

Lachie replies just as I’m boarding: ‘At the pub. Thought you were out with work tonight?’

I wait until I’ve reached an empty space by the railings at the back of the ferry before I write back: ‘Change of plan…’ I hope he’s not up for a big one.

We’re already chugging out of Circular Quay by the time he replies: ‘Just got the beers in. Come join me!’

I sigh and slip my phone back into my bag, then tuck my long brown hair into my coat before zipping it up to my neck and bracing myself against the cold September wind. I don’t want to be a nagging girlfriend, but Lachie is gigging at a wedding up in Newcastle tomorrow, a couple of hours’ drive away, so that rules out pretty much the whole of Saturday. I need to talk to him about this tonight. I need to talk about this, full stop. If I don’t get it off my chest soon, I think I’ll burst.

The Sydney Opera House is cast in golden light from the setting sun as we motor past. It was sunny today for the first time in I can’t remember how long – spring is officially here, it seems – but I was too dazed at lunchtime to appreciate it.

Someone once said to me, you have to go back in order to be able to move on. Wise words, I’m sure, but the thought of seeing Alex again has always scared me. I haven’t returned to England since I left, and I still feel haunted by what happened. My boss, Simon, said he understood my decision to stay in Australia, but I’m mortified by how unprofessionally I behaved. Luckily my career wasn’t affected – at least, my magazine career wasn’t; I haven’t photographed a wedding since.