A serious writer. It was all she ever wanted to be. And she’d finally written something that looked like a manuscript, but she couldn’t seem to find her flow to finish it. The story she’d been working on the last twelve months had stalled and she couldn’t find her way out of the funk.

‘You’ll get there, princess.’ He kissed the top of her head.

A tear slipped down Nicky’s cheek. You’ll get there – her mum’s favourite phrase.

‘Hey. It’s okay.’ Mark wiped the tear away. ‘I know you miss your mum, but you’ve got me now.’

‘I know.’ She was so grateful for Mark, every day. But nothing, no one, could replace her mum. Joy and heartache fought within her – six months with Mark, six months without her mum.

‘Why don’t we head down to the park after breakfast and you can take your new toy and see if inspiration strikes?’

Mark cooked up a delicious meal of eggs Benedict and smoked salmon and made a thermos of hot chocolate for Nicky to take with her. In the shadows of the skyscrapers they wove their way through the grey streets of Sydney’s CBD, past the businessmen in black suits, until they reached the green solace of Hyde Park. Middle-aged men rode their bikes at top speed along the paths and women in their activewear pushed expensive prams as they sipped on organic decaf soy lattes. Nicky had stopped going to the café on the corner of the park where the barista would frown down at her for ordering a full cream hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

Moving in with Mark to the slick suburb of Surry Hills, thick with its fashionable cafés and bars and boutiques, was going to take some getting used to.

When they got to the middle of Hyde Park, Nicky set herself down on an old wooden bench under a large Moreton Bay fig. Dark green leaves dangled on grey branches hanging from the trunk, which melted into the ground in ribbons of tall, thick roots.