I moved from London to Sydney for a man I had spent six days with – of course it was a mistake

‘It was on the ferry ride back from Manly beach – my skin sandy, buttery from sunblock and salty from the sea – that I met a brown-eyed Kiwi whose thighs were covered with tattoos that crept under the hem of his shorts.’ Photograph: James D Morgan/Getty Images for P&O Cruises

It began with a boy, a boat and a trip to Summer Bay in February 2015 when I was on a three-week holiday in Sydney with one of my best friends, Lindsay. The grey, looming skies of London where I had lived – and worked – for half a decade felt like a world away from our views of Sydney’s sparkling harbour and the languorous afternoons we were spending on the beach.

It was on the ferry ride back from Manly beach – my skin sandy, buttery from sunblock and salty from the sea – that I met a brown-eyed Kiwi whose thighs were covered with tattoos that crept under the hem of his shorts. We got chatting, and soon after the ferry docked in Circular Quay, swapped numbers, but given I was flying to Melbourne three days later to see some friends from London, I didn’t think very much of it.