I woke up for the simple reason that I was used to sleeping alone, taking up all the space, so I rolled over and ran into him.

I jerked awake perplexed and vague, blinking at the male back obstructing my view. In the light through the venetian blinds Viggo looked even more warmly brown than New Zealand sun had made him. There were faint bruises from filming colouring his back. He always threw himself into it. Reckless disregard for personal safety. Threw himself into everything. He was so brave, living his life. I didn't think he'd see it that way, but it wasn't important that he did.

I smiled, and levered myself up onto one elbow to peer over him. He was still asleep, hair over his face stirring on his breathing. I slid out of bed as surreptitiously as I could, still naked. My nightgown was underneath the pillow; I tugged it out and put it on. My robe had been tossed over the end of the bed, but it was on the floor now. I put it on as I left the room, closing the door quietly behind me with one arm in the sleeve.

Water was just what I needed. I drank a glass standing at the sink, and refilled it to water Eric. He was looking a little wilted, I noticed. A little yellow. It wasn't really the sunniest spot, there on the windowsill. Maybe I should move him.

First things first, though; I put the coffee on, and went to assess the damage in the living room.

It wasn't too bad, really. The extended Fellowship weren't wholly inconsiderate. There were the usual beer bottles, most empty, none spilled save the early casualty of the rug - I took it outside to hang over the verandah railing - and a few plates with crumbs and crusts of pizza. Behind the armchair under the window I found one of Elijah's shoes. But only one; I didn't turn up the other one anywhere. I took it back into the kitchen with me and left it on the bench while I disposed of the rubbish.

I was pouring the coffee - heavenly aroma; it's half the enjoyment - when I heard the bedroom door open, and footsteps paired with the sound of a body stretching out the kinks.

"Yes please," Viggo said behind me.

I looked over my shoulder; he was standing in the doorway, wearing only his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, and blinked slowly. "Sugar and milk?" I asked.

"Neither." He scratched at a rib as I poured another cup. "Why is there a shoe?"

"Lij left me a gift." I passed him a steaming mug, and he stepped into the room to take it. "I want to know how he managed to get home with only one shoe on."

Viggo laughed, and sipped at his coffee. I picked up my own - with milk and sugar - and took a mouthful, leaning back against the counter.

"How are you, Miranda?"

I looked up and met his gaze, direct and interested but not necessarily concerned. I smiled at him, over my coffee. "I'm fine. I'm great."

He smiled back. "Great," he echoed.

We lingered over coffee, standing in my kitchen as morning sun filted past Eric in the window. I offered breakfast - eggs, bacon, pancakes - but we weren't up to much, either of us. We had toast, and bickered over the jam pot, butter-knife fencing with little conviction.

Viggo helped me clean up a little more, and he took Elijah's shoe with him when he left. "I have an idea," he said, with a mischievous smile that made me laugh. He kissed me on the cheek as I was still grinning, a chaste peck and a friendly hand on my arm.

"Thank you," I told him, and he grinned and took the stairs down from my verandah two at a time. I watched from the doorway as he got into his car, tossing the shoe onto the passenger seat. He waved before he drove off, and I waved back, then closed the door behind me as I went inside.

I noticed the phone handset was on the floor, stretching its spiralled cord. I picked it up with a laugh; it must have been like that all night, since I knocked it out of Viggo's hand when he suggested calling Bean. I replaced the handset on the phone, but the cord was hopelessly pulled out of natural shape. His empty glass was still on the table, and I took it back to the kitchen.

After a shower, I felt human again, or at least close enough to make a good impersonation. I got dressed and let my damp hair fall down my back. It could dry naturally for a change; it'd be good for it. I bundled up the bedsheets to be washed, but didn't remake the bed just yet. I wasn't suddenly transformed into a paragon of domestic virtue, and it could wait until later.

I stood at my back door, drinking a second cup of coffee. The back garden at this place was really quite nice. Nothing fancy, just a couple of spreading trees and some sunny garden beds. Nothing fancy, but beautiful nonetheless.

I took a sip of my coffee, and looked back into the kitchen, where Eric sat on the windowsill. Maybe I could plant him out in the garden. There was a nice sunny spot along the back fence where there was an empty patch in the shrubbery. Made for him.

The coffee was finished by now, and I took the empty mug to the sink to rinse it. I rubbed one of Eric's leaves with wet fingers. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea of planting him out. Sure, the garden wasn't mine, but it was gorgeous, a wonderful place for him, where he could thrive. Even after I was gone.

I carried him outside in his pot balanced on one hip. I thought I remembered seeing a little gardening trowel thing on the hose reel around the side of the house; sure enough, it was still there, old but still perfectly fine. I set Eric down near the garden bed, settled myself on my knees in the grass, and started to dig.

Like I said way back at the start, I don't really have a green thumb. Plants are not my thing. But I'd watched enough fragments of Gardening Australia to have a vague idea of what to do. I dug what looked like a suitable sort of hole with the trowel. I carefully eased Eric out of his pot. Dirt went everywhere, crumbling and scattering and filtering into the creases of my jeans where they were bunched at knee and crotch from my kneeling. I teased out the root system, all tangled and intertwined, like I thought I was perhaps supposed to do. The hole was a touch too deep, so I filled it in a little before placing him in the hole, and pushing the dirt back in around him. I patted it down, but not too much. After unwinding the hose, I gave him a good drenching, until he was looking a little bedraggled.

Had I forgotten something? I didn't know. I was no good at this. But I'd done all I could, and anyway, he was a survivor. Like me.

I left Eric's empty pot by the back door. I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but for now, I was more interested in getting some of the dirt off me. I seemed to be covered with it. I was washing my hands in the kitchen sink - the view was strange now, I could see the vines on the fence next door without Eric to block the vista - when the phone rang. I hurriedly dried my hands on a towel, and ran to get it.

In the mirror above the phone table, I noticed I even had smudges of dirt on my face, run with sweat. Very Eowyn, warrior-maid, and I was laughing as I picked up the handset. "Hello, Miranda Otto."

"Oh, you are there."

I blinked, and turned away from the mirror. "Paul. Hi."

"Yeah, hi." He hesitated, and I could see him in my mind, in the apartment that I used to share with him, or at least cohabit. He'd be staring out the window, free hand in back pocket. He liked the view. "I tried to call you last night, but first you weren't there and the phone was answered by some young Yank, and then it was engaged."

"Oh, sorry. There was a kind of impromptu party, and I went out for a walk, and then I must have knocked the phone off the hook. I noticed it this morning."

"Sounds like you're living the wild life."

I laughed, and leaned back against the wall. "Well, not really, it's pretty relaxed. A great experience."

"Really."

His voice sounded a little short. "Paul -"

"No, I'm sorry Miranda. You sound fantastic and..." He laughed. "It's hard on my ego, you know, but I'm over it already. It's great to hear you laugh like that. You hadn't done that in a long time."

"I hadn't?"

"No, you hadn't."

"Oh." I couldn't think of anything to say, and wracked my memory, trying to think of laughter. But you don't remember just laughing at normal things, at everyday minor joys. You remember the big jokes, the hours spent laughing hard, but that's not natural laughter. I couldn't remember the everyday laughter, and maybe he was right. About a lot of things.

"Anyway, how's life? What have you been up to?"

I shook my head, dragged my attention back to the conversation. "The usual shit of filming. You know how that goes. Learning to get on with the crew and the cast. This and that. Doing a bit of sight-seeing. Oh, and I gardened today."

He was laughing now. "You did not."

"Did too. I planted out the potplant."

"You still have that?"

"Oh yeah."

"I kinda miss it around the place." His voice grew wistful.

I laughed. "You hated it."

"Well, yeah. But I still miss it. How is it?"

From where I was standing in the hallway, I could see out the back door, into the garden. But I turned around, instead, and looked at the mirror. Dirt smudge on my cheek, and another above my eyebrow. "Oh, it's flourishing."

The pause was a little awkward. Then he said: "That's great."

"It is. So, anyway, Dad said you had mail to send to me..."

I was more comfortable talking business with Paul, but there was the ease there, still. We knew each other well. Even if we'd never been truly together, we'd walked side-by-side for a long time.

So as we said our farewells, I added: "I'll give you a call when I'm in Brisbane next. We'll have coffee."

"Oh. Yeah. That'd be great."

We hung up, and I stared at the wall for a long minute, before turning to look in the mirror again.

And look, there was me, looking back.

What had I been expecting?

I turned to face the mirror entirely. Ugh, the dirt needed to go. But I'd barely turned away from the phone when it rang again.

It was Elijah this time. "Mir, hey, how's the clean-up? Did we leave too much mess?"

"You were very restrained. The whole event was fantastic, in fact. Thanks. Pass my gratitude on to Billy."

He laughed. "Someone told you."

I twined the phone cord smugly around my finger. "No, I'm just psychic."

"Yeah, right." He stretched his drawl, and we laughed together. "Anyway, uh... I don't suppose you turned up a red trainer while you were cleaning up, did you?"

I thought about circuses, and Viggo's smirk as he left that morning, and grinned. "Sorry, Lij. Didn't see it."

"Damn. Oh well. You coming to the pub tonight?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"See you there, then."

"See you."



There are some experiences you know, before you begin, are going to change your life.

They never do. Not really. Because it's not about changing your life. It's just about you.