by C. A. Larmer
“Hey, settle down. Now you’re being a prick.”
“And you’re being a pain in the arse!”
Again Tom went to go, but Harry’s next words caught him by surprise.
“Scarlett saw her, man.”
He stopped, did not turn back.
“She saw her leave.”
Tom’s heart sank. He closed his eyes.
Harry was holding a palm up that he didn’t see. “She hasn’t said a word—it’s your business, right? But get your shit together, Tom, for everyone’s sake.”
***
Standing in the hallway of his old wooden house, Tom couldn’t get his brother’s words out of his head.
“Get your shit together. Make a bloody effort.”
Harry was right. He had to move past his own anger, his bitter disappointment, and make some progress. Do something to find his wife.
It was just after eight in the morning; he should be heading to work. Instead, he returned to his bedroom, their bedroom, although it hadn’t felt like that in a long while. They hadn’t had sex in a year. Maybe two. God, was it coming up to three?
He stared at her side of the bed and tried to find clues, answers, something. There were a few things he hadn’t noticed before. When had he stopped noticing?
Amy’s bedside table was cluttered with books and discarded jewellery and several glossy women’s magazines—Vogue, Eve, Grazia. There were lotions too, and he saw a giant tub of something and picked it up. Anti-aging cream. It made his throat hurt. Amy was still as stunning as the day he had met her. Why did she need that snake oil shit? Was she that insecure? Was that his fault too?
He glanced at the magazines, his brow furrowing. They probably filled her beautiful head with that ugly nonsense. They were all about looking younger, being thinner, finding a better match, like every woman could be Gwyneth Paltry or whatever her bloody name was.
Amy had started in that inane industry, and while she spoke of it fondly, he was proud of himself for rescuing her from all that, giving her a proper sense of purpose. Again he had to wonder if he had done the wrong thing. Was she bored? Was that it? Was that why she wanted to take off?
Was she after some higher purpose?
He was just reaching for one of the magazines when the doorbell rang. He groaned and strode back to the front of the house, swung the door open, expecting it to be Harry, contrite, a loaf of Scarlett’s homemade bread in hand, perhaps. What he got was Belinda Mann. Another mum; one of the flirtatious ones.
“Hey honey, how are you holding up?”
“I’m okay thanks, Belinda. How are you?”
“Oh I’m fine!” She giggled at the question. “Listen”—she peered behind him—“I thought I’d grab Phil and get him to school for you, take one job off your plate.”
He stretched his lips into a smile. “Already done.”
“Oh? Already?”
Polly beat you to it, he wanted to say, but he knew it would set her off. He knew what these women were like. “Yes, but thanks,” he said instead.
She smiled. “Okay, good, if there’s anything I can do, anything at all…”
The way she said that, the way her words slithered out made him take a step back, as though her tongue might suddenly flick out along with it, and that’s when he spotted Scarlett across the driveway, piling her kids into her station wagon, turning her head, looking up.
She raised a hand in what appeared to be a wave or perhaps it was a Stop sign. In any case, he quickly turned and shut the door on Belinda’s startled face.
SARISI
The seagulls had better keep their bloody distance, Nicholas thought as he flung his fishing line back out again. They’d been getting the better of him lately, but he had a new trick. He would outwit them this time. Sniggering, he wound the line back in a little and let it settle, repositioning his feet, checking the tide mark. He’d been washed off the rocks once before. Never again. He’d barely survived that first time, but then Kostas had appeared like an angel from heaven and wrenched him from the swirling sea, swearing and laughing as though he’d pulled him from a water slide, not certain death.
They became firm friends after that. “Friends for life!” Kostas liked to say, and Nico liked to retort that if he’d known that was the price, he would’ve let the sea take him. But he loved Kos like a brother now, the brother he never had. He was one more reason he’d hung around well past his use-by date.
Nico glanced casually back towards the shore, and that’s when he spotted someone reaching down towards the rocks. The Aussie woman, had to be her, this time in dark sunglasses and more appropriate clothing.
“Oi!” he cried out. “What’re you doin’?”
His voice must have carried elsewhere in the wind as she did not appear to hear, and he was about to yell out again when she recoiled with such speed, he also started. Even from this distance he could see her reach for her throat as she stumbled back, falling hard on her backside.
Curious, he began to reel his line back in, too hastily, knowing he was stuffing it up, sneaking glances back to watch as she struggled to her feet, crab walking backwards, still staring into the rock pool.
What had she seen? Was it really that horrific?
Clambering across the rocks with ease, Nicholas made his way towards her, his rod like a harpoon at his side. When he was almost upon her, he called out, “You okay?” and she was startled all over again.
Eyes wide, lips parted, she managed to straighten up and began to move away from the rock pool as though distancing herself from a crime. Or was it from him?
He kept his tone light as he called out, “Not pinching my dinner are ya?”
She stopped and shook her head furiously, clasping her arms around her chest. “I thought… I thought they were… stuck.”
“Yeah they are stuck. It took me long enough to catch them. I don’t want them going anywhere.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She glanced back towards the rock pool where several fish flapped in the shallows, blood billowing out from behind them, like distress flairs, clumps of seaweed nearby. She edged away again.
“You lost?” he asked, leaning down to cover his catch with the seaweed, then back up at her, his tangled fringe half obscuring his sleepy brown eyes.
The woman stared at him now as though she were staring at a ghost, her eyes widening, her skin paling a little.
“Seriously, you don’t look so hot,” he said, but she had already turned away.
“Hey!” he called out, but she was clambering back towards the beach.
This time she didn’t miss a step as she made her escape.
EVE
As the day continued, Alex tried hard to ignore the steady stream of raised eyebrows that heralded the arrival of each staff member, and she hunched over Amelia’s computer, attempting to focus.
Yes, people, it was all very shocking—someone other than Queen Amelia was on the throne—but somebody had to get the magazine out.
She had finally finished editing the self-defence story and vastly improved on Melissa’s morbid text and boring heading—Alex was the Queen of Alliteration!—and was just emailing it to the design team now, adding the note:
Don’t make it look too scary! We want this to feel empowering!
Then she swivelled towards the window, taking a few minutes to soak up the extraordinary city skyline again.
I could get used to this.
As Monty watched Alex daydream out the window, she wasn’t sure she could be any angrier than she was right that moment with her old buddy Amelia.
How could she leave that incompetent fool in the Big Chair?
She glanced at her digital inbox. Oops, spoke too soon. There was another story from the deputy waiting to be laid out, and this one took the cake. Dubbed Seven Simple SOS Steps! it appeared to be about self-defence but was way too upbeat and perky. And Alex’s accompanying note was beyond the pale.
Seriously? She expected the design team to make an article
about sexual assault look like a positive thing for women? Monty wondered if she’d misunderstood the story completely and began wading through the text.
Feeling threatened? Facing a man with a knife? Here are seven simple steps to not only survive but to come away so much stronger!
* SOS Step 1: Run, ladies, run for your lives!
“No! Really?” Monty said, speaking aloud to the screen now. “I thought you’d hang around to see what pops up.” She glanced at the byline and couldn’t believe Mel was getting paid to write this drivel. Couldn’t believe Alex had just signed off on it.
She kept reading.
Can’t get away?
* SOS Step 2: Scream, girls, scream like your lungs are on fire.
I’ll give you screaming, Monty thought, checking her mobile yet again in a vain hope that Amelia was sending an SOS of her own. The empty screen felt like an assault.
Nobody coming to save your soul?
* SOS Step 3: Keep the bastard talking.
This one got Monty thinking, and she glanced around to see if Brianna was at her desk. There was no one closer to Amelia than the editorial assistant-cum-PA. And she wasn’t referring to friendship. The young woman sat inches from the editor’s office. She had to know something!
Monty strode across the large room to find Brianna tapping furiously at her keyboard. She shook her head slowly, not even glancing up until she’d typed the last few words then clicked send.
“Sorry. Just updating Amelia’s social media, pretending like everything’s hunky-dory.”
“It is hunky-dory! Or it will be.” She hoped. “But that’s a good point; has she added anything? Any posts on Facebook? Instagram?”
“Not even a like, but then I do most of it anyway, so she probably wouldn’t. She hates this stuff.”
Monty nodded. Yeah. They had both narrowly missed out on Digital Native status. Born a few years too early, yet it felt like they were generations apart from the likes of Brianna, who probably tweeted in her sleep.
“Listen, I was wondering about Amelia’s last day,” Monty began, perching on the edge of the desk. “I want to know everything that happened the day before Amelia took off.”
“You mean Monday?”
“No, I mean Friday.” For heaven’s sake, Brianna, keep up. “Amelia was here last Friday when I got in at seven. She was already at her desk. I had to get some gear from the fashion cupboard for the trip. I said a quick hello and then I took off for the airport with Fleur. What happened after that?”
What did you all do to her?
“Nothing… really.” There was something in Brianna’s tone that sounded a little off.
“Was she here all Friday?”
“Yes, at least until I left at five thirty.”
On the dot, Monty wanted to add on her behalf but bit her tongue.
Brianna was the office enigma, the puzzle none of them could solve. The twenty-year-old editorial assistant was famous for only ever giving just enough. In at nine, out at closing time. Never missed a lunch break, never sweated any blood or tears, and Amelia expected both bodily fluids from her team, especially during deadline week. She had little tolerance for those with other priorities, and it ensured a constant turnover of staff, but for some reason she held on to Brianna, even fought for her at one point, something Monty never understood.
It was like there was only room for one slacker in the office, and that was Brianna’s job. She seemed untouchable, and Monty wondered about this now as the other woman stared at her dumbly.
“Okay, so you left at five thirty and she was still here then, right?”
“Right. Oh, hang on. That’s right, sorry, I forgot, she needed me to stay back and check the ad placements, so I had to do that.” Her tone was like an eye roll. “I didn’t actually get away until just after six. I missed my usual train, late for dinner. Mum not happy.”
Monty was blinking rapidly. “Hang on, advertisements? You don’t normally check where they’re placed until the end of the issue, right? I mean, layouts can change, ads can move about.”
She shrugged. She hadn’t thought about it, or maybe she just didn’t care, but it suggested to Monty that Amelia might have preplanned her exit.
“Did anything else unusual happen? Come on, Brianna, think!”
“I honestly can’t think of anything! I’ve really tried. Apart from the ads, it was business as usual. She was a bit cranky, busy with the latest issue, but then she’s always busy.” Always cranky she would have added if it were anyone but Monty asking. “She got a few phone calls—”
“From?”
“God I can’t remember!”
“Think!”
“Okay, um, her mum, that’s right, somebody from Chanel, some woman called Amanda Buggsly? I think she’s from that domestic violence charity. A guy called Wilkins or Wilson or something. Oh and Lizzie called down about the meeting with Gerry, but apart from that—”
“Meeting with Gerry? What meeting?” As far as Monty knew, executive meetings were rarely if ever called close to deadline week. Amelia wouldn’t allow it, even from the mighty publisher.
Brianna shrugged. “I don’t know. Lizzie rang and said Gerry was ready for their two p.m. like it had been prearranged, and Amelia practically ran up there. Super keen. She was there for, oh, about half an hour or so.”
“What was that about, do you know?”
“You’ll have to ask Gerry. Or Lizzie might know.”
Monty shuddered at the thought, not sure which of the two would be more terrifying.
“Okay, so who else was here after knock-off time, do you remember? Fleur was with me on the shoot, but where was everyone else?”
“Um, let me think… It was just Amelia and Alex by then. That’s right, Mel took off for the train without me, biatch, and Hank and Beatrice were out doing the still-life shots. Never came in on Friday.”
“And she never came in at all on Monday either? Amelia?”
“Not that I saw. As far as I know, no one has seen her since Friday.”
“Okay, so if I’ve got this right, Alex was the last to see her on Friday arvo?”
She nodded but again there was a slight hesitation, a not-quite-meeting-of-the-eyes that piqued Monty’s curiosity.
“What are you not telling me?”
“What? Nothing!”
Monty stared at her. Hard. “Did something happen between Amelia and Alex?”
There was a whiff of hesitation before Brianna said, “Well…”
“Brianna.”
The editorial assistant glanced around, then lowered her tone and said, “There might have been a little tiff. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Between Amelia and Alex? What about?”
She shrugged, then waved Monty closer. “All I know is they were having a quiet chat but then things started to escalate.” She held up two palms. “I don’t know what it was about but then…” She waved Monty even closer so their noses were almost touching and whispered, “I heard Alex say something about her husband and how he’d kill her, and then she stormed out.”
“Hang on. Kill who? Who was Alex’s husband going to kill?”
She shrugged and leaned back. “Amelia, I assume, but she obviously didn’t mean it literally.” She batted her eyelids. “Did she?”
Monty scowled. “Oh this is ridiculous.”
She did a U-turn and headed straight for Alex, who now had her legs up on Amelia’s desk, riding this self-promotion for all it was worth.
“Got a minute?” she asked, keeping her tone civil.
Alex dropped her legs to the floor. “Did Amelia call?”
“No, I just want to ask you a question.”
It was shocking how quickly her legs returned to the desk.
“I’m trying to piece together what happened before Amelia vanished. Do a bit of sleuthing if you will. I heard you were the last to see her on Friday. Anything unusual happen?”
She didn’t want to land Brianna in it; wanted t
o give Alex a chance to ’fess up.
Alex pushed her lips downwards. “Nah, not really. Why?”
“So you two didn’t, I don’t know, have a screaming match?”
Alex’s lips straightened and a look of panic entered her eyes. Or maybe Monty was just projecting.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex said, and now Monty knew she was being evasive.
“You were overheard fighting. Threats were made. Something about your hubby and him not being happy about something.”
Alex shot her eyes towards Brianna, who was already scuttling for the tearoom. She sighed. “It was nothing. You know what we’re like?”
Monty crossed her arms and waited.
“Look, Amelia wanted me to come in over the weekend and finish the issue, that’s all. I told her Tony would never forgive me, he’d have a meltdown, end of story.”
“So did you? Come in and help out in the end?”
“What do you think?”
It was a stupid question. They both knew the answer to that.
A year ago Alex would have been tapping away at her screen right alongside Monty and Amelia, polishing things off. The three of them worked most weekends but especially during deadline. They were the three most crucial elements of the magazine—the axis of evil, Gerry once called them—and they took it seriously. It came with the pay packet; it came with the territory.
Then one day that all changed. Or at least Alex did.
The deputy editor was thinking about it now, too, about the day she finally held up the white flag.
That Saturday had started typically enough. She pretended she would sleep in, her husband coiled around her like a koala in a gum tree, before gently edging her way out of his reach and into the shower. When she stepped back into the bedroom, hair in a towel, her body glistening naked, Tony had reached for her as he did each time and she had laughed him off. As she also did.
“Go back to sleep. I won’t be there long.”
“Come on, baby, for once, can you forget the job and stay home?”