10. Holly, Melbourne

Caleb's bar is busy and I've just circled the crowd, testing out my new flash unit under the dim lighting. ‘How good is this?' I say to Nat, topping up my wine glass from our shared bottle.

Nat nods as she swallows her mouthful of wine. ‘It's excellent you've got a paid photography gig, and this wine is delicious.' The pile of thin silver bangles on her wrist slips along her arm as she drinks.

‘I think Caleb will like these.' I show her the camera screen and flick through some images – wine bottles, charcuterie boards, guests captured mid-chat.

She brushes a strand of hair from her face and takes a quick look, nods her agreement then drains her wine.

I place my camera back in its bag and pick up my own glass. ‘Tough week?'

‘Just full-on. Work, day care, housework, cooking. It's relentless,' she says with a heavy sigh.

‘At least Marc helps you.'

Her face softens, the way it always does when her husband is mentioned. ‘He does.'

‘Tom does fuck-all.' I slice off a wedge of brie and squish it onto a cracker.

‘He mows the yard,' Nat offers.

‘Mmm.' I finish chewing. ‘That takes about fifteen minutes because it's so small.'

‘Everything okay at home?' she asks.

I sip my drink and glance out the window at the bustling laneway as I think about the best way to answer that. ‘Has Tom said something to Marc at work?'

She shakes her head. ‘No. Not that he's mentioned, anyway. You said you'd been arguing a bit, and…' Her eyes fill with concern. ‘You just seem really down lately, Hols.'

I stare into my pinot gris. I haven't told Nat the full extent of my feelings about my relationship, but she knows me too well not to pick up on it. ‘I guess I am a bit.'

‘Are you unhappy? With Tom, I mean.'

‘He's just … not what I want. He's lovely. But our lives are just so bland. We hardly go anywhere because he never wants to spend money. I feel like I do everything and he takes it all for granted. Never a thanks or let me help with that or let's go out for dinner. And now there's his kid. His kid, for fuck's sake.'

Nat frowns as she listens to me vent.

‘I don't want to be a stepmother to an eight-year-old who hates me. Or even to one who likes me.' I sigh. ‘Tom's a good guy, and he looks after me. He makes me feel safe, but it's not enough. I need passion and someone who can't get enough of me and brain-shattering sex. At least for some of the time.'

Nat lifts a brow and one side of her mouth lifts.

‘I'm being unrealistic, aren't I? I should be happy with what I have.'

‘Well, to have that stuff all the time is a little unrealistic, but it's okay to want more from a relationship.'

I peer into the crowd and a woman at the bar meets my gaze. She's attractive, with smouldering eyes, thick, dark hair and glossy red lips. She gives me a sultry smile and turns her attention back to her friend.

‘Jesus, how sexy is she?' Nat says. ‘I think you've got a fan.'

‘She smiled at me. I don't think that means I've got a fan.' But I sneak another glance at her as I sip my wine.

‘Do you miss being in a relationship with a woman?' Nat asks, following my gaze. ‘Is that it?'

‘Sometimes,' I admit. ‘I miss Lily. The way we were before it fell apart.'

Lily, the one who helped me trust again. The one I was ready to spend my life with, until she started pushing for marriage and children. ‘We're too young and my dad is so ill, let's wait,' I'd said. But she was a few years older and didn't want to wait, so she found someone else. She just forgot to break up with me first.

I brush the thought away and change tack. ‘Tom's already hounding me about finding a new job.'

Nat rolls her eyes. ‘Christ. You only lost your job yesterday, with a year-and-a-half pay! Take some time out. Now's the perfect opportunity for you to think about what you actually want.'

‘I have thought about it.' I fiddle with the H pendant on my necklace. ‘I want to pack a bag, take my camera and go somewhere.'

Nat loads some prosciutto and oily artichoke onto a crispbread. ‘Like, for a couple of weeks?'

I shake my head. ‘Like a one-way ticket and see where it takes me.'

Nat stares at me, wide-eyed, until she finishes chewing. ‘You really are unhappy.'

An emptiness unrolls in my chest. ‘Yesterday afternoon was the best I'd felt in a long time. I spent hours walking around the city, finding the most interesting things to photograph. I was so focused that I didn't even think about losing my job. It reminded me how much I loved taking photos when I travelled. Then on the walk home, it hit me that I could travel again, if I wanted to.'

‘You walked all the way to Hawthorn from the city? It was freezing yesterday.'

‘I needed the thinking time. I can't breathe here, Nat. I don't think I can be with Tom anymore. I can't look after his child, and it's breaking me to watch Mum deteriorate. My whole twenties were spent helping to look after Dad until he died, then Mum, and then that horrible break-up with Lily. Now I have to look after Tom and Jack?' I shake my head. ‘I'm thirty-one and I feel like I'm fifty-one.'

Nat gives a sad smile. ‘Then you have to do it.'

I feel a swell of gratitude that she gets where I'm coming from. ‘You think so?'

She nods. ‘I hate the thought of you not being here, but if you don't go, you'll always think about it, and you'll become more resentful.'

‘But Mum … I worry about leaving her.'

She gives my hand a squeeze. ‘She might be like this for years yet. And you can't sit around and wait for her to completely go. Maybe talk to Adam and see what he thinks?'

‘He'll tell me to go.'

She releases my hand and picks up her glass. ‘Well, then. It's decided. So, where will you start?'

I drink the last of my wine and splash in some more, then top up Nat's. ‘Germany, maybe. I'd like to go back to Berlin.'

Nat's eyes widen. ‘Berlin? Oh, you mean an open ticket overseas? I thought you meant to Perth or something.'

‘Nope, Europe. I've been a few times, but there's so much to see and capture on film.'

Nat narrows her eyes suspiciously. ‘I remember you telling me once about a Berlin fling when you were there for uni. Are you still in touch with her?'

Heat rises in my cheeks. ‘No. I never saw her again.' What I don't say is that experience affected me in ways I can't explain, and I need closure if I'm going to get on with my life and find someone to be truly happy with. ‘But she hurt me badly,' I continue. ‘And I couldn't enjoy Berlin after that. I want to create new memories and enjoy the city again. Kind of reclaim it, you know?' I shrug. ‘Then I'll go somewhere else. Vienna. Paris. London, visit Aunty Carol and my cousins. Might even go to Wales to see some of Dad's relatives.'

‘Then go. It might help you put things in perspective.'

‘Thanks, Nat.' I survey the bar crowd, suddenly remembering why I'm here. ‘Oh, shit.' I grab my camera. ‘I'm getting paid to take photos. Back soon.'

Just as I stand, Caleb appears and puts another bottle of wine on the table for us.

‘Another one!' Nat says. ‘Someone is going to have to carry me out of here.'

Caleb points to a buff bloke behind the bar. ‘Have you seen the muscles on my hubby? He could carry both of you at the same time.'

Nat laughs and tops up our glasses. ‘In that case…'

‘I've got some great shots so far, Caleb,' I say, flicking through the images.

He grins as he looks at the monitor. ‘I knew you were the right choice.' He gives me a wink and heads back behind the bar.

The woman from earlier watches me as I move into the crowd. I hold her gaze and lift my camera. She stares down the barrel of the lens, her mouth forming into a sexy half-smile, and I shift to the right so that the low light above falls across her face in a soft shadow. I press the shutter several times and walk away, not trusting myself to speak to her when I feel a longing in my soul and a fire between my legs.

I pull three plates from the cupboard and clatter them down onto the benchtop.

‘I can't find my work shirt,' Tom calls from the hallway.

‘Look in the laundry,' I shout back, pulling the frying pan off the hotplate.

‘Not in there,' he yells.

I toss the steak onto the plates. ‘I'm busy here, Tom!'

‘I'm hungry!' Jack says from the table.

I clench my jaw and take a slow, deep breath. ‘It's coming, Jack. I'm serving it now.'

‘Mum gives me dinner at seven.' He points to the clock on the wall. ‘It's half past seven. I'm hungry!'

‘Tom!' I call. ‘Dinner!' The TV blares and the cacophony of noise grates on me.

Tom shuffles into the kitchen and sits at the table – the table that isn't set. ‘Not in the laundry.'

For fuck's sake.I grab the cutlery, stomp across the tiles and drop it in the middle of the table, along with the salt and pepper, then turn off the TV.

‘No!' Jack yells.

‘It's loud, Jack. And we're about to have dinner,' I say.

‘I want it on! Mum lets me have it on.'

I look at Tom for support, but he just gives a ‘kids, hey' shrug.

I grit my teeth and switch it back on but reduce the volume, then place the plates on the table and sit down.

‘Oh. Um…' Tom says.

I cut into my steak and glare at him.

‘No mustard?' He peers at the contents on the table, moving his head from side to side as though the mustard will reveal itself if he looks for long enough.

Twisting, I look at the fridge behind me, which is only about four steps away, three with Tom's long legs, and then back at him. ‘You know where the fridge is, don't you?'

He stares at me a beat. ‘Oh. Right. Yes.' He hops up, grabs the mustard and slathers it on his steak in less time than it took to ask me where it was.

Jack gazes at the TV while he mindlessly shovels in small bites of meat, leaving the salad. Tom occasionally glances my way while he eats, accompanied by a quick smile. I watch both of them as I work through my own meal, seething over the ingratitude, and with each passing second, my soul withers.

Within ten minutes, Tom snaps his cutlery together in the middle of his empty plate. ‘Thanks, Holly. Lovely.' He yawns, not covering his mouth in time to disguise the food stuck in his teeth. ‘Sorry. Such a long day.' He rests his hand on my shoulder. ‘I don't suppose you could find my work shirt?'

I stiffen. Now that I have no job, I'm even more of a housewife.

He takes his dirty dishes to the sink, gives them a quick rinse, places them in the dishwasher and heads back to the lounge. Jack jumps off his chair and rushes after him.

A sourness curdles in my belly, deep in my core, and I blink back tears. ‘I'm done,' I whisper. I ignore the kitchen mess, find Tom's shirt and place it on the ironing board, then head to the bathroom for peace and a hot shower.

As the warm water soaks my skin, my mind shifts to the conversation with Nat last night. An open ticket across the world sounded like a good idea with my camera in hand, heady from bottomless wine. This morning the guilt and fear took hold. I told myself that it was irresponsible to travel when I have no job and that I shouldn't leave a good relationship or Mum. But when Adam and I were in his back garden this afternoon, warming ourselves in the winter sunshine, he told me to go.

‘Shit, Hols. If I were you, I'd be gone,' he'd said, face tilted to the sun.

‘You don't think it's a bit irresponsible?'

He shrugged. ‘You've basically been given a year off. There'll be heaps of time to look for jobs down the track.'

‘It's Mum too, though.'

He glanced back at the house where Mum was playing cards with Meg and the kids. ‘It's not like you can do anything to change her situation. Besides, you can call and FaceTime as much as you want. The world's small these days, and it's not like she remembers much of the day-to-day convos anyway.'

‘I guess so.' I paused. ‘Then there's Tom.'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You can't tell me you're happy with Tom.'

‘No, I'm not. But I don't know how to end it.'

‘Mmm. Not sure I can help much with that one. I've always been the dumpee,' Adam said.

I laughed. ‘Me too.'

‘I reckon you make it quick and leave. He talks you round a lot – he'll talk you out of breaking up with him, and he'll definitely talk you out of travelling. Just rip off the bandaid.'

I hung my head. ‘It makes me feel so guilty.'

He slipped his arm around me and pulled me close, his body warm in the cold air. ‘I know. But go and live, Hols. Tom's a grown man and we're here for Mum.'

That conversation was four hours ago and it's all I've thought about since. Out of the shower and dressed in flannelette pyjamas, I grab my laptop and crawl into bed, then rummage in my bedside table for a photo. A wave of longing washes over me as I look at it. It's one of the photos I took of Casey and me on the last night we spent together. There's an intensity to the image, a contrast of buttery yellow light and grey shadows. We're facing each other, our heads on the pillow. She's gazing at me, her eyes tender with what looks like love. But art is subjective and that's what I want to see.

I touch my fingertip to her face. ‘What happened to you?' I whisper.

The date on my phone reads 18 August. I drum my fingers on the laptop as an idea germinates. If I'm going to do this, then I want to be there on 23 August – the day. Before I lose my nerve, I flip up the screen, fire up a travel website and within fifteen minutes, I've booked a flight to Berlin.