A Sunset in Sydney Read online

  A Sunset in Sydney

  SANDY BARKER

  One More Chapter

  a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

  Copyright © Sandy Barker 2020

  Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  Emojis © Shutterstock.com

  Sandy Barker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008390020

  Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008390013

  Version: 2020-05-11

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  PART TWO

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  PART THREE

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Eight months later …

  A Note from the Author and Acknowledgements

  Also by Sandy Barker

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  For my bestie, Lindsey.

  I couldn’t have done it without you.

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  “So, you took yourself off to Greece on a gorgeous holiday, adamant that you didn’t want to meet someone, and you actually met two someones?” My sister, Cat, peered at me from the other end of her couch with what seemed like a mix of admiration and disbelief. I tried not to be insulted by the latter.

  “Yep,” I replied, my wine-soaked brain unable to conjure something more eloquent.

  I watched her expression evolve into something else. Wait, was that pride? She plonked her empty glass on the coffee table, then flashed me a huge smile. “Well, good for you, Sarah.” Pride it was! I grinned back at her like the idiot I was.

  We were ensconced in her London flat—she, the little sister who had lived in the UK for a decade and me, the big sister, who was visiting from Sydney.

  Ten days before, I’d embarked on a trip to Greece, sailing around the Greek Islands on a yacht. I’d booked it right after a heinous break-up with Neil the cheating bastard (a.k.a. Neil the fuckhead), hoping to give my tepid, stagnant life a kick up the bum. I’d envisioned sun, sea, lots of reading and thinking, and eating my bodyweight in Greek salads.

  What I didn’t expect—and didn’t want at the time—was to meet someone.

  When I left for Greece, I was still in the “all men can bugger off and die” stage of post-break-up blues. But it turned out that fate did not get the memo and I had returned from the trip with two “suitors”. It’s an awful word, really, but I’d got it from Gerry, one of my new friends from the trip, and it was actually the perfect way to describe Josh and James—the cute American and the silver fox—because I was romantically entangled with them both.

  Josh was on the sailing trip with me, along with five other people, our floating family. We first met on the pier in Santorini, each a little lost and on the lookout for the right sailboat. On board, we became fast friends, his quick wit and thought-provoking discourse winning me over immediately. And then there was the attraction. Even though I’d doused myself in man-repellent, and Josh was single and celibate by choice, our attraction had taken hold.

  We were the Ross and Rachel of the Greek Isles, the “will they, won’t they” of our ten-day friendship-cum-romance, driving me, him, and everyone else on our trip a little batty. So, how had we left things? Consummated and confusing. He was back home in Chicago, I was in London (and soon to be Sydney), and all we had were tentative plans to meet up in Hawaii for New Year’s—four months away.

  And then there was James, the silver fox.

  I first met James in Santorini, too, though I had no idea then that I’d see him again. I was on my own, sightseeing just before joining the sailing trip, and he engaged me in conversation. We chatted for a few minutes, then he told me I was beautiful and invited me to lunch. Yes, really. That may sound somewhat sleazy of him, but he wasn’t like that at all—he was charming and polite. And I was tempted too. James was gorgeous—in the same way that those fifty-something Ralph Lauren models are gorgeous.

  In the end, I didn’t show up to lunch—all men could bugger off and die, remember? I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, but guess who was an old friend of our skipper, Duncan? And guess who was in Naxos at the same time as us and wanted to meet up with Duncan and the gang? If you’re terrible at guessing, it was James.

  When we encountered each other the second time, surrounded by my floating family, he was amused, and I was gobsmacked. This time, though, I accepted his invitation for a date. We left the others to their after-dinner plans and he took me to meet a friend of his. It was a fun evening, and I discovered that James was an art dealer who travelled a lot, and he was single, with room in his life for “someone special”. I won’t lie—I totally let myself fantasise about being that someone.

  And boy could that man kiss.

  It complicated things with Josh, of course, but in my defence, we were in a “won’t they” slump at the time—and it was Josh’s doing. Only moments before James showed up, Josh had been extolling the virtues of a life of bachelorhood.

  It also complicated things with me.

  I DIDN’T WANT TO MEET ANYONE!

  So, of course I had met two men—very different from each other, but in their own way, each making me feel … well, making me feel. I’d been sleepwalking through life for months after my break-up with Neil, but I had returned from Greece with a renewed verve for life, and both Josh and James had contributed to that. They’d affected me.

  But now I was in the midst of a full-blown love triangle. It was like some terrible modern take on a Jane Austen novel—only it was my life.

  “So, now what?” Cat asked as she got up from the couch, taking the empty bottle and glasses with her. She didn’t bother to stifle a loud yawn while she pottered around the kitchen tidying the detritus of our late-night, post-airport-pick-up snack. I didn’t take the yawn personally; it was well after midnight.

  “Well, Josh asked me to meet him in Hawaii for New Year’s.”

  “Wow, he moves fast.” She snorted a derisive laugh.

  Geez, Cat, judgy much? “H
e just wanted to tee up some plans, to make sure we see each other again. Anyway, I like the idea. We both have time off over New Year’s, and Hawaii’s about halfway between us.”

  “Hmm, fair,” she conceded. “And what about James?”

  This is where the conversation got a little tricky.

  It was early September and Cat, who was a teacher like me, had just started term one. She had begged her principal for a week off during my visit and, through some sort of miracle, she’d got a “yes”. And Cat had plans for us—serious plans that didn’t include a handsome art dealer.

  I was going to have to tread lightly.

  “Well, what I didn’t tell you was that James lives in London.”

  “Oh, that’s brilliant,” she replied as she turned on the dishwasher. Then the penny dropped. “Oh, wait.” She faced me, her eyes narrowing. “So, what does that mean for us? You’re going to drop me to spend time with James, aren’t you?”

  I would never have done that. Cat is my best friend in the world, and I only saw her in person every couple of years. Time with her was exceedingly precious to me.

  But I did want to see James again before heading home to Australia.

  “No, of course not. We can still do all the things you’ve planned—except I thought that, maybe on Tuesday night, instead of going to the pub quiz with you and your friends, I could see James. You’ll hardly even miss me and, besides, I’m not that good at trivia anyway.” We both knew that last part was a lie.

  She crossed her little arms—she’s a very small person—and the scowl intensified.

  “Sarah Jane,” she started. Uh oh, she was already using my full given name. I held my breath and my tongue. “I barely got to see you before you went to Greece and now that you’re back, I have the whole week planned out perfectly. You know how much it means to me to have you here, and for you to meet Mich and my other friends—”

  She was right, but I saw an opening and jumped in. “Well, you’re teaching tomorrow, so I can see James then, right?”

  “What?” My logic seemed to baffle her. I think she’d been ready for more of a fight. “Well, yes, of course. I mean, our plans don’t start until Saturday, so …” She cut herself off with a loud yawn. “Sorry, I’ve got to go to bed. I have to be up in six hours.” She crossed the room and smacked a kiss onto my cheek before disappearing down the hallway to her room.

  “Goodnight, Cat,” I called after her in a loud whisper. She flapped her hand in response.

  I glanced at the pile of bedding next to the couch. Both of Cat’s flatmates were in residence that night, and I had been relegated to the pull-out I was sitting on. Normally, that would have been fine, but a lengthy sisterly debrief, the drama surrounding my suitors, and far too much red wine had curdled into a nasty flavour of exhaustion. I didn’t think I could muster the energy to make up the pull-out.

  With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself off the couch and into the bathroom where I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face instead of running through my typical three-step skincare routine, and staggered back to the couch. I plopped a pillow on one end and pulled a doona over me as I stretched out along its length. I promised myself I’d make up a proper bed the next night.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I realised with a start that I hadn’t responded to the text James had sent earlier, asking when he could see me. In a feat of imperfect timing, it had arrived right after I’d said goodbye to Josh and was in a taxi on the way to the Athens airport, steeping in post-trip blues and already missing the cute American boy.

  I flicked my eyes to the clock on the wall. 12:57am. I’d text James in the morning.

  *

  I woke to the sound of the kettle revving up, the promise of tea the only thing stopping me from smothering myself with a pillow. Whose idea was it to open that second bottle of rioja? Oh, right, it was mine.

  “Sez, are you awake?” half-whispered Cat.

  I rolled over onto my back and wiped a stream of drool off my cheek. “Yep,” I replied, wincing at the sound of my own voice.

  “I’m making tea.” Ah, the Parsons sisters’ motto.

  “And here, take these.” She held her closed hand above mine and I gratefully accepted two headache tablets. I knew from vast experience that along with tea, they were the sure-fire way to kerb a massive wine hangover.

  I popped the tablets in my mouth and pulled myself to an upright position. Oh, crap. Water. I needed water. As if by magic, a glass of water appeared in front of me. Have I mentioned how much I love my sister?

  I swallowed the tablets with a gulp of water and downed the rest of the glass. “How are you feeling, Cat?” She was moving around the kitchen, making up two bowls of cereal with yoghurt while the tea brewed.

  “Oh, I’m all right.” I eyed her with concern. Cat didn’t usually suffer from hangovers like I did, but she certainly wasn’t her typical “morning person” self—my doing, I was sure.

  “Sorry we drank so much last night—and that we stayed up so late.” I stood slowly, steadying myself before I began folding the doona.

  “Pfft, don’t worry about it. I loved hearing about your trip, especially your suitors, as Gerry would say.” She chuckled to herself, clearly at my expense, but I didn’t mind. If she was teasing me, she was probably okay. I put the folded doona onto the pile of untouched linens and added my pillow, then pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar and sat waiting for my tea.

  “It was such a wonderful trip, Cat—and not just ’cause of Josh and James.” An unbidden smile broke across my face as I mentally transported myself back to the boat, our “floating home” we’d called it.

  Cat handed me a mug of tea and I took a sip—strong and milky, just how I liked it. “Seriously, Greece is sublime. I mean, it’s beautiful. Just being there, seeing those craggy islands with the whitewashed boxy buildings, that pop of Santorini blue, gorgeous bursts of bougainvillea everywhere, it made my heart sing.” We shared a smile across the kitchen counter and I sipped more tea.

  “And time just seemed to go slower there, you know. I really felt like I was squeezing the most out of every day, like each one had a hundred hours in it.” I could feel the tea coursing through me, calming me and easing the pounding in my head. Or maybe it was thoughts of Greece working their magic.

  “I really needed that trip, Cat, that fresh perspective on everything. I’ve been so stuck.”

  “I know, Sez.” Her voice was gentle and her eyes so filled with kindness, I was a millimetre from succumbing to a bout of self-pity and regret. How had I let myself get so lost? How had I let so much time pass without living?

  “I’ll have to take you there someday,” I added brightly, shaking off the strong pull of wallowing.

  “Next time. We need to work out the timing better, though.”

  “Yeah. Sorry ’bout that.” It had been entirely my fault. When I’d booked the trip, I hadn’t even considered Cat’s teaching commitments. All I’d known in that dark moment as I scoured the internet, credit card in hand, was that I needed something to look forward to, something just for me.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I just … I miss you when you’re not here. I wish …”

  She left the thought unfinished, but I knew what she meant. It was a shitty thing living across the world from someone you loved.

  “Me too,” I replied quietly.

  We were back in melancholic territory again and Cat rescued us by changing the subject. “So, what are you and James going to do today?” She pushed a bowl of cereal and a spoon across the counter. There was no one in the world who was a better hangover nurse than my sister.

  “I haven’t texted him yet, so I’m not even sure he’s free. And I have no idea where he lives. He said London, but that could be anywhere inside the M25.” I ate a spoonful from my bowl.

  “True. But if he’s as wealthy as you say, it’s probably somewhere in the single digits.”

  “Mmm,” I said, chewing and covering my mouth. “Single
digits?”

  “You can’t have forgotten,” she ribbed. “We’re in E14—double digits. He’s probably in Kensington or Notting Hill, could be Knightsbridge, maybe Hampstead Heath. Or, he could live in Richmond. It’s double digits, but it’s posh. Oh, I love Richmond,” she added wistfully.

  Cat’s early morning geography lesson was doing my head in and I struggled to keep up. Besides, when we’d lived in London together, our flat was in N8 and that was not a posh suburb.

  “Crouch End has a single digit postcode,” I said, through a mouthful of cereal.

  “Right,” she acknowledged. “Not exactly posh, but it’s brimming with hipsters now. Anyway, you know what I mean. He probably lives in a central single digit. Or Richmond.”

  She was right about Richmond, by the way—it was beautiful. I loved it too, especially the part along the Thames. I had some lovely memories of long afternoons spent at riverside pubs. It also had great charity shops—people with money donate the most incredible things. I’d once snagged a gorgeous, fits-me-like-a-glove, black leather jacket for fourteen pounds from Oxfam on Richmond High Street.

  The whole conversation was moot, however, because I had no idea where James lived. “Yeah, maybe,” I replied noncommittally.

  Cat seemed to be faring far better than me by the time we finished breakfast. As she tidied up the kitchen, she chatted cheerfully about all the plans she had for us. Meanwhile, I considered it a major accomplishment to keep my breakfast down and my body upright. I tried to concentrate on the multitude of details she was spouting, but my mind kept drifting off.

  Finally, and please keep in mind that I adore my sister, she left the kitchen to have a shower and I was plunged into welcomed silence.

  Left alone, I turned my attention to the most pressing matter at hand—replying to James. When I retrieved my phone from my (beautiful and much-loved) leather handbag, I realised I had neglected to charge it the night before. Drunk Sarah is useless at remembering such mundane but necessary tasks. Thankfully, though, it still had 15% battery left. I opened James’s text.

  Hey beautiful. Can’t wait to see you. What day should we get together? Jx