Page 17 of Wish You Were Here

Saskia

I wake up in an absolutely gorgeous bedroom, and when I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Brad, standing next to me, topless with those incredible abs, and he’s offering me a coffee.

‘Morning,’ he says with his ridiculously perfect smile. ‘Oat milk latte?’

It takes me a moment to get my bearings because my head is feeling a little delicate. How drunk was I last night, and what exactly happened with Brad? I peek under the sheets, and at least I am wearing underwear.

‘Don’t worry. Nothing happened. You were drunk, a bit emotional, and we just talked.’

I sit up slightly, pulling the sheets up with me.

‘Like nothing at all happened?’

‘You weren’t in the right headspace, and I thought you needed a mate.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

I have a quick look around and I am in a modern, spotlessly clean bedroom, and there is a large window which looks out towards the sea because beyond a few trees, and another building, I can just about make out the blue of the ocean.

Brad is obviously doing all right because a flat like this in Bondi must cost an absolute fortune.

I take a sip of my coffee, and it’s delicious, slightly bitter, creamy with a hint of sweetness – like everything with Brad, it’s perfect.

The enormous bed has the softest sheets that feel incredible against my skin, and on the wall in front of me is a large flatscreen television.

There is a tall, leafy plant in the corner, and the room is decorated in soft neutral tones with minimal furniture and decor.

‘So, we definitely didn’t mess about?’ I ask.

Brad sits down on the end of the bed.

‘No, we didn’t mess about, Sas. You wanted to talk, and I listened.’

‘That was it? For real?’

‘For real,’ says Brad. He has a day or two of stubble on his tanned face, which only makes him look even hotter.

‘Look, I don’t know what you think of me, but I’m not a bad guy.

The thing with Caroline, whatever she imagined it was, it wasn’t.

I didn’t like her like that, and she took it badly, obviously, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear.’

‘And I’m supposed to just believe you, am I?’

‘Let me take you out on a proper date.’

‘You want to take me out on a date?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

I try not to look at his chest and abs, but it’s hard not to notice them.

He must tan because he is such an even caramel colour and completely hairless, too.

Do I want to go on a date with Bondi Brad?

Jess wouldn’t be happy about it, but then again she is moving away and I have to think about my own life.

What about Ben? I really like Ben, but he’s in London and I’m in Sydney, and as amazing as it would be, it isn’t going anywhere.

Brad is gorgeous, has a proper career, a stunning flat and what do I really know about him?

Is he the devil Jess and Caroline warned me about, or is he the man I rang last night, who took care of me and made me a pretty decent oat milk latte this morning?

‘Okay, fine, you can take me out on a date.’

‘Sweet,’ says Brad, and for a moment I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me, but instead he gets up and offers me brekky – a healthy bowl of homemade granola, thick plain yoghurt and mixed berries.

The rest of Brad’s apartment is just as gorgeous as his bedroom.

The large, bright living space has a lounge area with a smart grey sofa, another wall-mounted flat screen TV with two tall plants giving the space some greenery, and a cool painting of Bondi Beach is on another wall.

The kitchen is modern, spotless, full of top-of-the-line Smeg appliances and has a great island bench, where we sit and have brekky together.

He opens a window, and I can smell the sea air, and feel the light breeze as it wafts through the room.

It feels easy being with Brad. We talk, laugh, and he definitely isn’t the monster Caroline made him out to be.

He is easy-going, fun, and it’s clear he doesn’t take life too seriously.

Eventually, he has to go to work, and I need to get back to Glebe.

‘See you then,’ I say outside his building.

‘I’ll message you about that date. I ordered an Uber to take you home.’

‘You did?’

‘Like I said, I’m not a bad guy,’ says Brad, and I feel something inside of me, a wobbly attraction that makes me feel silly and like if he leaned down and kissed me, I would definitely kiss him back. I am in trouble.

I am in my bedroom about to FaceTime with Ben, while Mum and Brian are in the lounge watching a Japanese doco about cats, and I’m debating whether to tell Ben about Brad.

Why does it feel weird when we are just mates?

We have discussed dating with each other before, and I know he is dating – he literally messaged me in the middle of one while hiding in a loo – so why does it feel weird discussing Brad?

The answer is, I don’t know, but I don’t have time to think about it because my phone is ringing, and Ben is suddenly there.

‘G’day!’ says Ben, and I laugh.

‘I thought I told you we don’t always say that in Australia?’

‘Don’t you mean Straya? I’ve been doing my research!’

‘Fine! G’day from sunny Straya, Beno.’

‘Thank you. That felt like a very authentic experience.’

Ben tells me it’s a dull, damp day in London, and when he shows me out of his bedroom window, it does look quite depressing.

I take him outside into our garden and show him the sunshine, and he pretends to cry, before we head back into my bedroom.

I sit down on my bed, holding my phone in front of me.

I feel so comfortable with Ben. Sometimes I forget he’s English, and then I hear his accent or he pronounces a word in a funny way and it’s adorable, like I’m watching a British television series.

There is something to be said about living in Australia with its warmer climate and outdoor living, and I’m not sure I could handle actually living in England long term, but I wouldn’t mind a little winter escape with Ben.

Scarves, coats and cuddling up with hot cups of tea, pieces of delicious cake, while Ben reads me passages from Jane Austen novels – clearly I have a problem.

‘I have to ask about your date. How long were you in the loo for?’ I ask, and Ben laughs.

‘A reasonable amount of time, I think. To be fair to Annabelle, she was lovely and perfect for the right man, but her dating tactics left me feeling like I was being grilled by the Gestapo.’

‘It doesn’t sound very romantic. Did you pass the quick-fire round?’

‘I don’t think so. We shook hands at the end of the evening.’

‘Fuck, Beno. Although, how very English. Nice date, but let’s not do it again. Cheerio!’

‘It was a bit. Not really my type. I think I need more romance and less science when it comes to love. So, Sas, what’s been going on with you?’

‘Actually, I got asked out on a date, too.’

‘Oh yes? By whom?’

‘By whom?’ I reply, doing my best impression of Ben. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Actually, by the best man from Jess’s wedding.’

‘Wait. Wasn’t he the man you ended up spending the night with against your friend’s wishes? I thought he was trouble.’

‘Great memory, Beno, but actually he’s super nice, and okay, this is what happened.’

I explain all about Joe Thompson and Fudge Cake, about Jess potentially moving to the Northern Beaches, how ridiculous Brian’s birthday was, and that I just needed something good to happen.

I don’t go into graphic detail about Brad’s body or his ridiculous good-looks, but I think Ben understands that I am searching for something, and whether Brad is that thing I have no idea, but I just needed a reason to be happy.

‘I totally understand,’ says Ben when I finish.

‘Yeah?’

‘Of course. There’s a reason I’ve been on two disastrous blind dates in the last month and why I will probably go on a few more. We’re both searching for love, Sas.’

When he says the word ‘love’, we look at each other, and even through the screens on our phones, ten-thousand miles apart, I feel a deep connection with him.

It’s that feeling when you’re with someone and you feel drawn to them, want to know everything about them, experience life with them because you know it’s going to be amazing.

There’s an electricity between us I can feel, but I also know it can’t happen because we’re so far apart, with two different lives, and it feels impossible we could somehow make this be anything more than just good online mates.

‘I have a gig later tonight,’ I say after it all becomes too unbearable. ‘Oh yeah, I checked, and you definitely can say break-a-leg to singers.’

‘Phew. Break-a-leg then, and don’t let the Fudge Cake thing get to you. What’s the saying? Comparison is the thief of joy.’

‘I like that,’ I say with a smile. ‘Comparison is the thief of joy. Although probably made-up by a man with a small dick, eh.’ Ben laughs, and I love hearing his laugh.

Ben and I have another couple of conversations before it’s time to say goodbye.

He needs to get ready for work, and I need to get ready for my gig.

For a moment afterwards, I sit on my bed and I feel a genuine sense of sadness about my situation with Ben.

It’s actually really shit, but I can’t let it get to me.

Plus, I have a date with Brad to look forward to, and I want tonight’s gig to go well because Ben’s right.

I can’t let Joe’s success cloud my joy because the reason I started singing and want to continue is that I love it. I always have.

The pub is in Newtown and only a short Uber ride away from Glebe.

Brad messaged me while I was on the way and asked if I fancied a morning date at the weekend, and I replied and said yes.

I was surprised he wanted a morning date, but he said he had something interesting planned and that I might get wet.

I have no idea what it is, but I’m excited to find out.

It makes me think that there is more to Brad than meets the eye.

Most men would just take me out for a meal, a drink, or perhaps a movie, but Brad is doing something different, and I appreciate that.

I get to the pub and walk through to the green room at the back.

It’s quite a small, old pub, but the acoustics are good and they have plenty of decent bands on.

I unload my stuff, drink some water, before there is a knock at the door.

I open it, and standing there is Joe Thompson – probably the last person I wanted to see tonight.

‘Can I come in?’ says Joe excitedly. ‘I have some news.’

Joe doesn’t wait for me to reply before he’s walking past me and into the room. Joe has never been the politest person in the world – or even in Sydney for that matter.

‘What’s up, Joe? I’m on in ten minutes, so—’

‘Guess who’s coming to see me perform at the end of November?’

‘No idea, Joe. Your mum?’

‘Nah, she’s dead, remember? Breast cancer,’ says Joe casually, as though he hadn’t just referred to his dead mother.

‘Shit, sorry, I—’

‘Na, s’right. No, not my dead mum, but fucking Fudge Cake!’

‘Oh, right, that’s great, Joe, but you’re telling me because?’

‘I can get you on the bill, Sas. I can get you in front of Fudge Cake, and I know they’re still on the lookout for another act to add to their tour!’

‘Really?’ I say, feeling shots of excitement and possibility firing through my veins. ‘You’re being serious? This isn’t a joke, right? You can actually get me on stage in front of Fudge Cake?’

‘Of course, Sas. What do you say? You in?’

Am I in? This is it. My chance to perform in front of important people, and if I could get on the tour with Fudge Cake, it would change everything. All my dreams might become a reality. It’s suddenly a possibility when for so long, it has felt like anything but.

‘Of course I’m in!’ I say, and then Joe grabs me, hugs me, then he pulls away and tries to kiss me. ‘For fuck’s sake, Joe. What are you doing?’

‘I just felt the moment, you know. You, me, Fudge Cake on tour for months, sleeping in hotels together. Things are going to happen. Plus, you’d owe me one.’

‘What do you mean, owe you one?’

‘For getting you the gig. Come on, you’d owe me something,’ says Joe, stepping a little closer to me. ‘What do ya reckon, Sas?’

Reading between the lines, and Joe doesn’t make it difficult, it seems that in return for getting me in front of Fudge Cake, Joe wants sex or at the least, he’d probably settle for a quick hand job in the toilets.

Just the idea of it makes me sick to my stomach, but this is my career and it might be my last shot at the big time.

If it takes keeping Joe onside to make it happen, I don’t think I have a choice.

I slowly lean in towards Joe and whisper softly in his ear.

‘Make Fudge Cake happen, and I’ll make sure you get your reward.’ It kills me to say it, but when I step away, Joe has a huge smile on his face. ‘When is the gig?’

‘Umm,’ says Joe, who needs a second to compose himself. ‘November thirtieth.’

My birthday. I can’t believe it. The biggest gig of my life on my thirtieth birthday.

Is it fate, destiny, or will it be my final gig before I have to give up and get myself a proper job?

It feels like everything, one way or another, is coming to a head, and decisions will be made that might decide the next decade of my life.

Perhaps one day I will look upon this day as the day that changed everything.