about London was that there was nowhere to go dancing. All the nightclubs were about being eighteen and cool, or they were ghastly pick-up joints with men in white shoes, or Annabelâs, which I really have to be in the mood forâi.e. drunk. And none of my friends have proper parties any more. Theyâve all got children and youâll be invited to hideous Sunday lunches with thousands of kids everywhere, or drink parties where you all leave at nine-thirty and go out and spend £40 a head on dinner, which you donât get until ten-thirty . . .â
I could see his eyes glazing over. âSorry, Iâm going on, arenât I?â
âNo worries,â he said, clearly oblivious. âI love this song. Come on.â
It was a slow one. Donât ask me what it was. I couldnât hear it. All I was aware of was the smell of Billyâs neck, a combination of soap and sunshine and clean shirt, as he held me tightly and slowly moved us round the floor. It was divine. There were lots of slow songs after that and we danced until my knees were practically buckling. I could feel the hardness of Billyâs body pressed against me. He felt like he was made entirely of muscleâhe may have been a stockbroker during the week, but he felt like a farmer. Was it the champagne, the music, the powder plate, or just pure pheromones? Maybe it was the way he was humming along with the music in my ear. I donât know what it was but I would have followed Billy Ryan around on my hands and knees at that moment. I think for the first time in my life I really understood the meaning of the word âlust.â I was practically drooling.
Then the music stopped. Coming back to consciousness, I saw that the room was empty, apart from the DJ packing up, Danny Green asleep on a sofa and his poodle sniffing around the empty glasses and full ashtrays. I could hear naughty giggles coming from one of the side rooms.
âWeâd better go,â said Billy. âI think this party is officially over. Iâll take you home. Where do you live?â
âElizabeth Bay,â I murmured, blinking up at him. âBillyard Avenue.â
âWell, that wonât be hard then. Weâre already in Elizabeth Bay. Iâll just go and get our hats.â
He came back wearing mine and handed me his. I put it on. When we stepped outside the night was still warm and very starry.
âThis city never stops showing off, does it?â I said, looking up at the huge vaulted inky sky, with its unfamiliar constellations.
âMmm?â He didnât seem to have heard me. âDid you say you live in Billyard Avenue? Letâs go the long way round.â
He took my hand and instead of walking straight to my street, he turned left down some steps to a park. It was so peaceful. The water in Rushcutters Bay was completely calm; the lights reflected in it were barely twinkling. Even the air was barely stirring. We leaned on the seawall for a while and then I asked Billy if he could show me the Southern Cross.
âToo right,â he said. âBut letâs get away form these lights.â
He led me to the darkest part of the park, where we lay on our backs on the grass.
âOK. See that bright star there? Thatâs your guide star. Then you just go along and you can see the five stars of the Southern Cross. Itâs kind of upside down at this time of year. See it?â
I did see it. It was beautiful.
âAnd if you draw a line from the head of the cross to the foot and continue overâthat bright star is called Achenar. Now come back in a circle towards the Southern Crossâsee those three stars in a row? Thatâs called the Peacock. Donât ask me why.â
âWhatâs that very bright one there?â
âThatâs Sirius. Aborigines call him the Eagle. Come across from there . . .â He was holding my hand while he said all this, tracing the direction. âSee