He was twenty-nine years old and he felt like, at last, he was entering the adult world. He was a property owner. There was rumour of a further promotion at work. He and Kirsty had talked about getting married and starting a family, and he could see that happening in the not-too-distant future, when the time was right. The thought of it made him feel light-headed, but it was a welcome sensation. Kirsty wanted the same. She loved children – why else would she work in the children’s ward of a hospital? Some days she would come home in fits of giggles over something one of the children had done or said; sometimes there would be tears. Jamie would hold her while she recounted whatever story she had to tell. Some of the tales were so terribly sad. Jamie, who had never met the children involved or their families, would get upset too. Sometimes, now, Jamie would find himself looking at Kirsty and thinking to himself: she’ll make a great mum. She thought that when he looked at her all he thought about was sex. But half the time he was actually thinking about getting her pregnant.

Now, he put his arm out of the open window of Paul’s van and tapped along to the music on the radio. His hangover had gone, blown away by the fresh breeze that blew in through the window. The sky was Bondi-blue. The people they passed wore T-shirts and shorts or little summer dresses. There was something about England in the summer – the way its inhabitants seemed to wake up, cast off their frowns and complaints. He couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. And when he thought about Kirsty, he couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Paul asked. ‘You’ve got the stupidest grin on your face.’

‘Oh, I was just thinking about…stuff.’

Paul smiled and shook his head. ‘Soppy bloody git.’

After picking up the furniture from Jamie’s they drove back across the city and parked outside the new flat.

Paul, who had been Jamie’s best mate since he’d moved to London, opened up the back of the van and began stacking boxes on the pavement while Jamie jogged up to the front door and unlocked it. He wedged a piece of cardboard beneath it to hold it open.

‘God, look at all this junk!’ Paul held a battered tennis racquet with broken strings in one hand and a moth-munched giant stuffed rabbit in the other. ‘Why don’t you chuck all this stuff out?’

Jamie took the rabbit from his friend. ‘This is Kirsty’s.’

‘Then what’s it doing in your stuff?’

He shrugged.