“Hey, George, Em.” She kisses us both on the cheek, pulls up a chair and sits down with us.

“You’re in for a treat tonight, George. Roman’s back in town, and he’s a right spunk.” I spit my wine at her term, remembering the word spunk means something completely different here.

“Mum, Georgia’s English, remember? That place where you come from, where spunk means sperm, semen, jizz? I don’t think Rome would appreciate being referred to as any of those things.” Jax shakes his head as he talks to her, and Kathy turns back to me and winks.

“Shut up, Jax, I just forget sometimes. Georgia, Roman is well fucking fit and his singing ain’t bad, either,” she says in her best cockney accent, which isn’t bad considering she’s lived in Australia for over twenty years. “We only get the pleasure of him during peak season; he works in the mines the rest of the year, but takes four months off and sings all around the local bars while he’s home, ours being his first port of call. Should be a good crowd tonight. I’ll have to introduce you to him. He’d be just your type.”

I smile back at her, I know she means well, but it’s far too soon for me. I’ve not even thought about other men since Sean, and I’ve not had a single stirring of desire in me. I wasn’t sure if that was to do with having my womb removed, or if it was because I was still grieving, but either way, I hadn’t felt the need for sex once, not even with myself.

“Oh, yeah, George, Roman is definitely hot,” Emily agrees. Jackson raises his eyebrows and looks at her. “But not as hot as you, baby. I just meant for George, not for me. You’re all I need.” I’d actually heard different to that. Brooke had told me that Jackson and Em have a pretty out-there relationship and often have threesomes with both other men and women. Oh, well, they seem happy enough; let them live the way they want to.

Kathy stands from the table as the waitress, Zoe, brings our food over. “Enjoy, my lovelies. I’ll send some more drinks over in a bit.” She heads off back to the bar as we tuck into the house special, a world burger.

When I can’t possibly eat another thing, I head off to the ladies room, and as I return to our table, I see him; he’s talking to Jackson. I continue walking towards our table, then he turns his head, his eyes meet mine and it’s instant. I don’t know what it is, but something moves inside me very slightly and my step falters. It’s such a minor sensation, but I feel it and I don’t like it; it unnerves me. He stands up straight as I approach, and his eyes don’t leave mine for a second; they are the most amazing ice-blue, almost grey, and I can’t help but hold his gaze. I reach the table and finally look away from him, and down at my chair.

Before I can sit, Jax says, “George, this is Roman Peterson, a good mate of mine and a bloody good singer.” I look back up and he’s still staring at me. I suddenly worry he knows who I am and my heart rate increases marginally. “Roman, this is my cousin, Georgia. She’s come to stay with us for a while, all the way from London.” He puts his hand out to me across the table, and I look down at it for a few moments before taking it.

“How ya going, Georgia? This would be a little bit different to London at this time of year; a bit warmer, too, I bet.” My smile is automatic, not fake, it just automatically appears on my face and I try to tone it down a bit.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cold there right now, and everywhere would be busy with the build-up to Christmas.” He continues to smile, making the corners of his eyes crinkle; his skin is fairly tanned and quite weathered. ‘Rugged’ my mum would call it.

“Yeah, I studied in London for a couple of years, about ten years ago now. Christmas is manic over there. What brings you to Australia?” I realise he still has hold of my hand, so I very gently slide my fingers away. He puts up no resistance.

“She just needed a break away from it all and decided to visit her favourite cousins. She’ll be helping out around here and the surf school, so you’ll probably see her around.” Jackson speaks for me, for which I’m grateful.

Roman’s smile widens and he nods. “Cool, look forward to it, Georgia; nice meeting ya. I need to go set up; don’t want Big John after me on my first night back.” He turns his head to Jackson. “Jax, Em, keep sending the beers over, would ya.” He winks and walks away. I realise after a few seconds that I’ve remained standing, watching him as he jumps up onto the small stage and undoes his guitar case. I flop down into my chair.

“Told ya he was hot, George,” I hear Emily say, but I keep staring at Roman. His hair is blond and long, pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. He’s slim, but not as slim as Sean, and he’s muscular, but not as muscular as Cam. He must be around six-feet tall. Why I’m comparing him to Sean and Cam, I have no idea. Jackson says something from beside me, and I drag my eyes away and look at him.

“What?” I ask. He frowns at me. “What did you say?” I ask.

“I never said a word, darl, not a word.” He smiles and I narrow my eyes.

“You did in your head and I heard it. What’s that look for? What were you thinking?”

He gives a little chuckle. “So, you can read minds now, can you, George?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t say I read your mind. I said I heard it. You were thinking something about me, and you were thinking it so hard that I heard it.”

He shrugs. “Okay, I’ll tell ya what I was thinking, but you’re not gonna like it.”

I stare back at him for a few seconds. Dare I ask, knowing how direct and to the point Jackson is? Dare I ask what he was thinking? I drain the last of the wine from my glass.

“Come on then, tell me, for fuck’s sake; what little analytical observation have you made or think you’ve made?” I feel like a science project at the moment, a case study.

He laughs again. “Just go with it, George; that’s what I was thinking. Don’t fight it; if you’re feeling it, then the time’s right. Don’t fight it and don’t beat yourself up over it. Just let it happen and see where it goes.”

I play with the stem of my wine glass as my eyes fill with tears; I don’t want to hear this. Jackson’s hand shoots across the table and stops mine from worrying the glass any more.

“Hey, look at me.” I shake my head and try to stop my bottom lip from trembling.

“Look at me, George.” I raise my eyes to meet his and tears fall from my lashes onto my cheeks. “Stop that. Stop feeling guilty, stop beating yourself up. Like I said, if you’re feeling it, then the time’s right.” He gestures towards me with his chin. “You felt anything like it before, since Sean, I mean?” I shake my head. “But you felt something then, between you and Roman?” I nod very slightly. If I nod less, will it make my guilt less? “Then the time’s right; something might happen, nothing might happen, but just go with it and just see. The worst thing you can do is try and fight it. The biggest lies we tell, George, are the ones we tell ourselves.” I nod, understanding what he’s saying but not agreeing. It’s too soon. It’s not even been a year yet. It’s wrong. I’m a bad person. A bad wife. And it’s wrong.

My uncle John appears at our table with another bottle of wine. This is how I get my wages. I refuse to let them pay me; I don’t need their money and I’m more than happy to help out, so they let me stay in the apartment and eat and drink at the bar for free. I get a kiss and a cuddle from John before he heads back to the kitchen. The place is now packed. Every table is full and people are eating at the bar. Every bit of standing room is taken and the place is noisy.

Roman strums his guitar a few times, makes some adjustments and the noise from the crowd fades.

“Good to see you all, people; another year older, but none the wiser, I see.” He looks right at me and starts singing “Drops of Jupiter” by Train.