‘Destined to...’ 2-Book Collection: Destined to Play, Destined to Feel. Indigo Bloome

them at the time — no kids, no house, no mortgage … Would I honestly want life to be any different from what it is now? Not really, a bit more fun and carefree every now and then wouldn’t go astray, but I am reasonably happy with my life as it is now. Not my sex life admittedly, which has been less than average since Jordan was born, or pretty well non-existent if I’m perfectly honest. That thought is a shock. How have I missed this? Have I been too busy in life to notice this key element has gone missing? Isn’t it even more concerning that I haven’t considered it an issue? No wonder I’m sitting in the back of a taxi in a state of latent, lustful desire. A vision enters my mind of sleeping beauty awaiting her sexual awakening after decades of sleep, which is quite sweet until I realise her face is mine and the prince is Jeremy. But the kids, remember the kids … Would it be worth the risk? I resolutely block my mind from receiving any more of these unproductive thoughts.

      It feels good having the first lecture successfully behind me. The feedback and questions have given me more food for thought in respect to further investigative and academic research. I think ahead to my weekend. Catching up with my old school friends over a glass of wine, their careers, their social lives and family news. Who’s still with whom, who has moved on, and I’m sure there are a few more babies I have missed since being based in Tasmania. Then catching up with my siblings and nieces and nephews for a BBQ on Sunday. It’s a shame Jordan and Elizabeth won’t be there, as they love catching up with their cousins, but next time perhaps.

      With my trip down memory lane and thoughts about the weekend ahead, I’m a little surprised how quickly we have arrived at the destination. I quickly check my lipstick and hair and decide I will definitely need to refresh in the hotel lobby. As I pay the taxi driver, the butterflies previously asleep in my stomach announce their tumultuous arrival and my palms moisten as I gather my bags together.

      That memory has certainly destabilised me more than I would have liked. Stay calm and composed, you are a professional, married woman, a mother of two … Enough with the self-talk!

      I head straight through the lobby of the five-star hotel to the ladies room in an attempt to stabilise my stomach. What is going on with me today? I shake my head and try to pull myself together. The tingle down below is certainly not helping to calm my nerves nor my ability to control my physiology. Quite frustrating to say the least. How is it that I felt perfectly comfortable lecturing to hundreds of people just hours ago, yet now my fingers are trembling so badly that I can barely unwind my lipstick?

      I gaze into the mirror while both hands grip the basin. I notice the slight wrinkles around my eyes. Were they there last time I saw Jeremy? Maybe I should have taken my friend’s advice and given Botox a try, in her words ‘before it’s too late!’ I shudder at the thought of it. I can’t stand anything around my eyes let alone the idea of an injection piercing through such sensitive skin. Oh well, I think to myself, I’ll just have to put up with what I see in the mirror until they come up with something a little less invasive.

      Distracted and flustered, I can’t decide whether to leave my hair up or take it out. I’m grateful my hair is still dark and as yet I haven’t managed to find a random grey strand, although I’m sure that day isn’t far off. I figure I will stay with the more professional look and leave it up; I am in a suit after all. Right, all ready to go, or at least as ready as I will ever be. Not too bad for thirty-six. I take a final glance in the mirror, and think it could certainly be worse, as I desperately search for a positive spin. Deep down, I am very much looking forward to catching up with Jeremy. So I let myself run with that emotion as my mind takes me on another quick trip down memory lane …

      Jeremy and I were at university together, although he was two years ahead of me. My cousin introduced us during my first year, as they were both in the same water polo team. I’m not absolutely sure how our acquaintance evolved but he was a lot of fun and as we spent more and more time together we eventually became best friends, almost by default. As time went by we explored drinking, drugs and sex — as many uni students do. Partners came and went throughout our years of study but we were always there for each other, first and foremost. It was difficult for people to describe, let alone determine, our relationship with each other, more than likely because it was also impossible for us. After a while, our friends didn’t bother to try and label us and just accepted that Jeremy and I would be friends forever, whatever came our way. Funnily enough, over time, we eventually accepted it too …

      Life took us in different directions post-university. Jeremy continued his studies before getting his pilot’s licence and joining the flying doctor service for a truly Australian outback experience, which he loved and I was always a little jealous of (the pilot’s licence anyway). I worked in London focusing on building strong financial foundations before further exploring psychology in the workplace.

      We caught up in various locations around the globe over the next decade, particularly in Europe where his medical research brought him regularly to London. We had many short funfilled flings that are treasured memories, before we embarked on the serious responsibilities of life. Although we knew our relationship was significant in our lives, we understood that it would never be long-term, or at least I knew that Jeremy was far from ready to settle down, unlike me. It was the ‘unspoken word’ between us, although, deep down, we knew it to be a fully acknowledged reality.

      His career was of paramount importance to him and I desperately wanted to start a family and our differing worlds drifted apart. Jeremy was offered a lucrative research scholarship at Harvard to further his studies and moved to America. I met my English husband, Robert, in London and we returned together to Australia. I knew I needed to put my explicit sexual past with Jeremy behind me and settle down to start a family and pursue my career academically. Which is exactly what I did.

      Although we caught up for the odd dinner here and there, for the next decade or so, we were essentially on opposite sides of the planet. And our lives continued separately …

      I pull my mind back to the here and now and tell myself firmly that camping out in the ladies is just wasting the precious time we will have together — so get moving! I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, straighten my shoulders, hold my head high, swing open the door and walk confidently out toward the man who is my best friend and my ex-lover.

      As my eyes sweep the lobby bar, my confidence evaporates as quickly as it had been conjured up — he is not here. Disappointment washes over me with such ferocity, I have to lower my hand to the lounge to maintain my standing position. Typical, I think to myself; I started the day with butterflies and ridiculous thoughts, like a teenager anticipating seeing their ultimate pop idol for the first time, and ended it talking to myself in the ladies room of a flash hotel.

      I do know how hectic Jeremy’s life is and that his schedule is ever-changing. Of course it would be highly unlikely for him to catch up with me just because we both happen to be coincidentally in Sydney this weekend. I am disappointed that I have wasted so much nervous energy for nothing, yet a part of me feels pleased that I am still able to feel those sensations when I had thought they were long gone. It serves me right really; I should have stayed and had drinks with Samuel and his colleagues. But I eagerly declined knowing I would be meeting with Jeremy and didn’t want to be late.

      Jeremy’s assistant had said he would be caught up in meetings most of the afternoon. Just as I think to check my phone for messages, a man in uniform with a concierge badge on approaches me.

      ‘Excuse me. Doctor Alexandra Blake?’

      ‘Oh. Yes.’

      ‘A gentleman asked me to pass this message on to you and convey his sincere apologies that he is unable to meet you here.’

      My heart sinks as my fears are now confirmed; he can’t make it. Disappointment washes over me all over again.

      He hands me an envelope. ‘Thank you very much, Doctor Blake. If there is anything I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

      I smile as much to myself as to the concierge. Jeremy always insisted on calling me ‘Doctor’ once I graduated with my PhD, even though he is the true medical doctor and I am the philosophical kind. He knows I’m not good at medical emergencies and have an inherent fear of