After the Ferry

by C. A. Larmer

  The English woman smiled. “You can’t avoid the past forever, Effie.”

  Effie stopped, heartbeat rising again.

  “And you certainly can’t hide the truth,” Zoe continued. “But then I think you already know that, my darling, don’t you?” Then she took a large bite of one apple, smiled again and turned away, unable to see Effie’s terror through the dark sunglasses but sensing it anyway.

  ***

  As the witch of Mikro walked away, a man was watching from the esplanade. He had been waiting to talk to Effie for days. But now he hesitated.

  Did he really want to bring it all up again? All the recriminations and turmoil?

  He remembered that awful, bleak day, how the police had arrived by the boatload, how they’d swept the island and fingerprinted all the men. They were hunting for a rapist, a single man, yet somehow everyone was left feeling violated.

  Gossip began to surface, suspicion began to grow, and at least two lives were ruined, probably more. Eventually, slowly, things settled down again and Sarisi returned to some semblance of normality. But he knew that the police had it all wrong from the start, and he wasn’t surprised they never found their man. They were looking for evil, but they were hunting in all the wrong places.

  He, alone, had seen the face of evil that night, and it was not an unfamiliar one.

  EVE

  It was ten o’clock Saturday morning on a bustling Sydney street. Most people were heading to the shopping centres or cinemas or the neighbouring parks, but not Monty. It was later than normal and she was wearing jeans, but otherwise it was another work day. There was so much still to be done. As she approached her office building, she glanced up and spotted a light in the eighth-floor window. Eve’s window.

  Monty’s heart skipped a beat. She felt a surge of emotion—part joy, part relief, part something else entirely.

  It couldn’t be, could it? Was Amelia back?

  She raced to the front entrance and rapped loudly on the sliding doors, then tapped her feet impatiently as the overweight security guard shuffled across and slowly unlocked it, drew her to the front desk, insisted she sign in as she’d signed in almost every Saturday since their infamous coup. Like she might have turned into a terrorist overnight.

  Eventually he waved her through, and she raced for the elevator, jabbing at the Up button over and over until the damn doors opened and closed and it began to ascend.

  By floor four, her head went ping!

  It had to be Hank. Hadn’t he mentioned something about popping in to help her get the final pages out?

  Hank rarely worked Saturdays. Monty would not let him; they didn’t pay him enough for that. But she was glad of the offer and hadn’t tried to dissuade him this time. She needed the help, and she didn’t want to work alone.

  By floor six she was sure it was the cleaners.

  They usually came through at night. Perhaps someone had simply left the lights on?

  When she finally arrived at the eighth floor and rushed through Eve’s open doors, she couldn’t have been more surprised.

  “Cripes, Monty, you don’t need to look quite so shocked,” Alex called out to her from the editor’s office at the back. “The editor’s letter’s not going to write itself.”

  Then she swivelled back to her screen while Monty stared at her a moment longer, as if expecting her to vanish into thin air, just as Amelia had done. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the deputy work weekends. Remembered that long, dark day she first refused to come in, the darkness all Amelia’s as she ranted and railed about the “traitorous lowlife” and how she suspected the woman would let her down eventually and how she could bloody well kiss any future payrise goodbye.

  Monty had nodded along, as she always did, and agreed it was slack, because it was, a little. They were always under the pump that final week; the more hands on deck, the better. But it was also incredibly brave, and she secretly envied Alex’s sleep-in, quietly admired the guts it must have taken for her to stay under the covers, knowing the consequences and snoozing anyway.

  Of course Monty hadn’t said any of that to Amelia. She rarely crossed swords with her best friend, and she wondered about this now as she made her way to her desk and brought her own computer to life.

  We were supposed to be friends, she thought, keying in her password and accessing the cover template, but it was an uneven friendship, everyone knew that, a one-way street heading straight to Amelia’s door. They might have started out as equals, but they had soon morphed into something else entirely.

  Something very off-balance.

  As she pulled up last month’s cover and began discarding the old image, rearranging the parts, searching for the model shot she had put aside for this month, it occurred to Monty what she was really feeling when she spotted that office light from the street below. Sure, there was some joy and relief, but there was something darker too. She had felt the bitter sting of disappointment. Not at the thought of Amelia returning (for all her faults she loved her friend, was genuinely worried about her), but at the thought of everything returning to the way it was, of the scales tipping back in Amelia’s favour. Of thinking I’ll say I’m sorry for lying about Angus and I’ll refuse the House job and everything will go back to normal.

  But she didn’t want to go back. Not now. Not ever.

  “You finally finished the SOS story,” Alex said, appearing at her desk. “You did a good job. It looks a little dark, but it also looks so empowering.”

  Monty nodded. “You didn’t make it easy.”

  The other woman laughed. “I learned from the master! You can blame Amelia for that.” Her smile dropped. “I honestly thought we might see her here today. I don’t know why.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you have any idea where she is? Has there been any news at all? Any clues?”

  Monty dropped her head to one side. “I thought you only wanted to focus on the magazine, Alex.” She knew she was being unfair, but it was the first real sign that the woman even cared.

  “I’m curious, that’s all,” she replied defensively, but there was a reason behind her curiosity and it lay closer to home. “And I’m not completely heartless either.”

  “Sorry,” Monty said. “I’m beginning to feel very stressed. She still hasn’t called her parents, and she always calls her parents. I’m wondering when we should start panicking.”

  Alex brought a hand to her lips. “You’re seriously worried. Do they think… Is there any chance something bad might have happened to her?”

  “Oh God, I hope not.” Oh God, she couldn’t handle that, not again. “Her dad says he’s calling in the police if she hasn’t contacted anyone by tomorrow.”

  Alex’s hand shook a little and she dropped it back down, but it wasn’t Amelia she was now worried about.

  “Anyway, the fact still remains, you were right about one thing,” Monty said. “Worrying about Amelia won’t get this magazine done. It’s just you and me now, Alex. You think you’re up for it?”

  The deputy quickly nodded. Good idea, she thought. Let’s focus on that.

  “Oh, and Hank’s coming in, too, a bit later. To help out.”

  “Great,” Alex called as she walked back to her desk. “He better be bringing coffee and chocolate.”

  Hank brought nothing but his knack for hard work and innate design talent, and as they pulled together to tweak the last designs, create a cover in record time, and help Alex pull off her first-ever Acting Editor’s letter, Monty promised herself she’d brave Lizzie again and demand Gerry hire Hank as her replacement. He was so much more than eye candy. He deserved the senior role at Eve.

  And she deserved House & Feather!

  Monty was still no closer to understanding why Amelia had upped sticks and vanished, but she would do as Beryl insisted and start looking out for herself again.

  It was time to jump ship.

  ***

  As the last of the afternoon light filtered through th
e office, the three colleagues stood in the centre of the room, coffee cups in hand, and stared at the large internal wall. The entire issue, including the cover and advertisements, had been copied onto small, A6-sized pieces of paper and pasted up in order of how it would appear. Monty did this every issue to see how the designs worked, if any sections jarred, and to get a feel for the overall flow.

  “Not too shabby,” Hank said, and Monty flashed him a smile.

  Yeah, they’d done okay, considering.

  “When will you go down to the printers?” Alex asked Monty. “First thing Monday?”

  Monty surprised them both by shaking her head. “Amelia usually checks the cover, so you can fly to Melbourne this time, Alex.”

  Hank looked as stunned as Alex at the suggestion, but it was Alex who had to hide her face in her mug lest they see the tears that were welling in her eyes.

  Later, after Hank had waved them farewell and raced to meet friends for the night, the two women remained in the belly of the darkening office, something holding them there, something pulling them together.

  “Why do you hate her so much?” Monty asked, watching as Alex sipped from the mug again, this time swallowing something much stronger.

  Monty had a secret stash of vodka in her desk’s bottom drawer and ignored Alex’s raised eyebrows as she produced the bottle and proceeded to pour them both a shot.

  “What are you talking about?” Alex said.

  “You’ve never liked Amelia. Why?”

  “It’s not that I don’t like her,” she replied, a blush creeping into her cheeks. Then, to Monty’s own arched eyebrows, a quick, “No seriously, it’s not that. It’s just…”

  “Fear and loathing?”

  She raised a shoulder, stared out at the encroaching darkness. “Something like that.” She thought about it more seriously. “She’s so rigid and demanding. So obsessed! Slightly psycho, perhaps.”

  She smiled but Monty could tell she wasn’t joking.

  Alex said, “I get that you need to be tough to be a good editor, but I don’t believe you need to play favourites or demand that your team give up their own lives, their own loves, to make a magazine successful. Like you.” She waved her cup at Monty. “You’ve given up everything for this magazine, don’t you sometimes wonder if it’s all worth it?”

  Monty laughed, surprising them both. “If you’re referring to my ‘spinsterhood’, you can take your mind out of the 1950s, Alex.”

  “No, it’s not just that. We’ve all wondered why you stayed; we know you’ve been headhunted time and again.” She took another sip and winced, not used to hard liquor. “No offence, but Eve would survive perfectly fine without you, and so would Amelia for that matter.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it’s true. There’s a backstory, yeah? There’s stuff you don’t know.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “I’m sick of hearing that! It’s utter bullshit!” Her voice was rising, the blush replaced by splotches of anger. “I don’t care what your background, nobody should act like a God, wielding power over their minions, forcing us to work ridiculous hours and make choices between family and work. Family and her, is what it really is. Every single day was a test, and every single day I failed.”

  Now Monty tried not to roll her eyes. “Oh, diddums! You’re still here aren’t you? You’ve got an amazing job. She gave you an amazing opportunity.”

  “Yes, and she never let me forget it.” She sighed. “Sorry, but you got it good from her. You were one of Amelia’s favourites, you and Brianna—and God knows why she liked Brianna so much—so you’ll never fully understand, but she treats the rest of us like we’re inconsequential, dispensable. Without talent.”

  “She doesn’t believe that. She admires you all. Says you’re the best writer in the building.”

  Alex looked shocked by that, not quite believing the sentiment. “So why not show it?”

  “She has her reasons.”

  Alex was now beyond eye rolling. She slammed the cup onto the table and stood up. “I’m going home to my family.”

  Monty watched her pack her things and suddenly felt the urge to explain. Perhaps it was time. Perhaps it was long overdue.

  “Amelia was badly hurt by a man once—” she began, but Alex was already moving towards the exit.

  “We’ve all had bad breakups, Monty,” she sang back as she walked. “She’s not the first person to be dumped, and she won’t be the last.”

  “She wasn’t dumped, Alex. She was brutally assaulted.”

  Alex stopped.

  “She nearly died, was in a coma for weeks. Took her years to get over it. I’m not sure she ever has.”

  The deputy had turned around, and Monty was surprised to see the horror in her eyes. What she didn’t know was that it was herself she was horrified by. All her loathing, all her venom now felt misplaced.

  “When… when did it happen?”

  “Oh, well before your time. Many years ago when she was a young thing, travelling overseas. It was extremely brutal and… I wasn’t there to help.” She shuddered. Didn’t want to go into that. “So, you know, she kind’ve shut down after that; it was the only way she could move forward. She put everything into her career, never trusted anyone again. I know it’s wrong, I know what she demands of us all is wrong, but well, there is a reason. She’s not psycho.” She smiled. “Or perhaps she is, a little bit, but there’s a reason for it. And it’s the reason she’s married to the job and expecting everyone else to be too. Because Eve is the only thing that keeps the wolves at bay. It’s the only thing that keeps her sane.”

  Alex blinked quickly, trying to process it all. She sat back down, her bag in her lap and exhaled loudly. “Wow, okay, wow.”

  “Sorry to throw that at you, and I’m sure she’d be furious with me for even mentioning it, but—”

  “No, thank you! My God, I wish I’d known!” They might have had a better relationship if she had.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” Monty said, gathering her own things now. “I don’t know where Amelia is or if she’ll ever return, but if she does I don’t think she’ll want your sympathy. She never handled sympathy very well.”

  Alex nodded, pretended to zip her lips, then stood back up and followed the art director out, shutting off lights as they made their way to the elevator.

  “Try not to give it another thought,” Monty said as they rode the lift down. “No matter what, no matter the reasons, Amelia is a bloody good editor and that’s never changed. You mustn’t treat her differently.”

  Alex nodded but she disagreed. How could she not? Everything was different now. So much of Amelia’s ferocity and determination made sense.

  And now what Alex’s husband did was so much worse.

  TOM

  As the motley search party gathered outside the police station—pulling on hats, slathering on sunscreen—the police commander watched them through the bay window and wondered if this would all come back to bite him.

  It was Sunday morning in Shepperdin, and half the town could not believe he had not called in the hounds earlier. The other half, the half his wife was in, scoffed at the mere suggestion that Amy was officially missing and had come to some dark and devious end. They believed Tom’s theory that she’d taken off, had always known the woman was not a happy camper. “Too good for the likes of us” was how Lennie the publican put it. “Too bloody up herself” was Lennie’s girlfriend’s take on it.

  But what could he do? Amy had been missing for six days now and still no word to anyone, including her parents and her beloved son. As far as Geoff was concerned, that was “officially missing” no matter where you pitched your tent.

  So he watched as the locals from that first camp assembled, frowns on some faces, excitable grins on others—because there was nothing like searching for a body to bring out the ghoul in all of us—and waited while his deputy walked between them, handing out sm
udged photocopies of the search rules and protocols—who knew searching for a corpse could be so fraught?—and wondered again about Tom and why he wasn’t here, helping.

  “On his way to Sydney, mate,” Harry told him when he rocked up that morning, not to search for Amy—he was firmly in the second camp—but to bring in some of Amy’s clothes so they could dress up a look-alike mannequin and erect it outside the train station in case it twigged anyone’s memory. The stationmaster hadn’t been much use. Didn’t recall seeing Amy that Monday but said she often took the train to Sydney, so he’d probably stopped noticing.

  Tom was almost there now, driving Phil to his grandparents’ place so he could remove him from the small-town gossip that had finally infiltrated the schoolyard and caused friction between his friends.

  “Poor kid is shattered by all this,” Harry told Geoff, “and so is Tom.”

  Geoff thought that was a good plan and didn’t blame either of them. The problem was the rest of the town might. It looked like Tom was running away when he should have been stepping up and leading the search.

  Because to believe one thing was fine, to be confident and hopeful was all very well, but until there was proof, you had to keep your options open, and one option was very bleak indeed, whether you wanted to face it or not. He wished his old mate could understand how bad it made him look. How disinterested. How guilty.

  Geoff was just pulling on his hat and glancing around for his own water bottle when a familiar face caught his eye. There was a woman walking determinedly through the crowd, but instead of hiking boots and a sheet of instructions, she wore glittery sandals and a sheepish expression. He recognised that expression, had seen it many times before.

  “Can we have a quiet word?” she said when she reached the station door, and he nodded, ushering her past the other officers and inside.

  Then he told the team to head off without him and dumped his hat back on his desk. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a bit. He had a pretty good idea what this woman was here to tell him, and if he was right, it was about to blow the case wide open.