Mark kissed her goodbye, put his headphones in his ears and continued on through the park to his office on Macquarie Street. Their usual Friday morning ritual. Only today Nicky had her new laptop with her. Some days her fingers would float across her old keyboard creating flowing paragraphs, her mind liberated of clutter, free to compose unhindered. Other days her fingers would lie motionless beside her as she watched the passing ensemble of city-dwellers glide about their day, oblivious to her scrutiny. Then, later that evening, all the images and sounds and smells would transform in her mind. The old woman in her sunflower dress walking her tightly crimped toy poodle might become the nosey neighbour of her protagonist. The tall, well-built man shouting at his child not to run away might have just the right jawline or hairstyle her hero needed. The smell of vinegar on fish and chips as two black-clad teenagers strutted by might help set the scene of her fallen heroine’s childhood home. Scenes that didn’t make it into her current work were scribbled in notebooks under her bed, waiting for their story to be told.

Lately, though, inspiration had been conspicuously absent. Nicky closed her eyes and took in three deep breaths. The sweet, sharp scent of freshly cut grass filled her head and when she refocused on the tide of humanity passing by her, her mind was clear. The tide of humanity. The tide of time. Was this the missing element to her story?

She flipped the new laptop open and her fingers darted across the keys. All background noise melted away until the only sound Nicky could hear was the tapping of the keyboard.

She stayed in the park till the cool afternoon breeze sent shivers up her back. Then she hurried home, stopping at the small supermarket one street over from their apartment on her way.

When Mark got home, Nicky was in the kitchen surrounded by potato peelings and torn basil and white fatty bits of chicken strewn across the bench.

‘What happened here?’ Mark lay his briefcase on the side table at the front door.

‘I did it. I figured out how to fix my manuscript and I wrote all day. I finished it.’

‘So you thought to celebrate you’d poison us?’ Mark laughed and started clearing up the meal, if it could be called that, that Nicky had spent the last hour preparing. ‘Nicky, I love you, but I thought we banned you from the kitchen.’

He put down the plates and wrapped her in a tight hug.

‘I know. I was just so excited. I wanted to do something special for us.’ Nicky looked up into his dark brown eyes, which crinkled around the edges as he held back more laughter. ‘Okay.’ She smiled. ‘Maybe cooking wasn’t the best idea.’

‘No, but why don’t we order in to celebrate instead?’