The Housemate

by Sarah Bailey

  ‘Of course. Beats drinking alone.’

  Her sister hangs up, and tension settles across her shoulders. ‘Probably not a great idea,’ she mutters.

  Lily and Shaun live in a sprawling Californian bungalow that’s in desperate need of work. It has four bedrooms, three of which were physical markers of the former Mrs Monroe’s fertility failures. These empty rooms became such a problem that Shaun ended up putting locks on the doors and sealing them off.

  ‘I mean, it’s not his fault she couldn’t have kids,’ Lily says, leading Oli down the wood-panelled hallway a few minutes later. They lift their legs high to step over a collection of paint tins and rollers. ‘Wine?’ Lily is already holding a bottle.

  ‘Just the one.’

  Oli looks around the kitchen. Despite the wear and tear, the appliances are modern. A Thermomix takes pride of place on the bench; Lily regularly boasts that she uses it to make everything from cocktails to muesli. Photos plaster the fridge—Lily and Shaun in all kinds of exotic locations, shots of Lily and some women Oli doesn’t know dressed up at the races.

  Lily hands her a generous glass of wine, and she looks at it doubtfully before taking a sip.

  ‘You’re not pregnant, then?’ Lily folds her arms disapprovingly.

  Oli blinks, then looks back at the glass in her hand. ‘What? No. Jesus, Lily.’

  ‘Well, you better not wait too long, Ol. You’re not young, and you’ll want to get Dean on board while he’s still besotted with you enough to consider it.’

  ‘The twins are a lot already.’ Oli squeezes the glass so hard she worries it might break. ‘I don’t think you realise.’

  Lily rips open a box of crackers, spilling them all over the bench. ‘I mean it’s true, I’m a childless ignoramus.’

  ‘Come on, Lily. I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘Well, that’s how it sounds,’ she grumbles. ‘But seriously, take it from someone who knows, if it’s important to you then make sure you get on with it. I figured Shaun would come around to the idea of a baby, but I had no idea how scarred he was from the whole fertility rollercoaster with Rebecca. He’s just not interested now.’ Lily speaks bluntly, her sleek blonde hair swinging around her pretty face, but Oli detects the disorientation beneath, the sense that she took her eye off the ball and misread the play, stuffing up an easy catch.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s that important to me,’ Oli says quietly. ‘Or to Dean.’

  Lily swallows a giant gulp of wine and looks hard at Oli. ‘That’s not what you said at my bachelorette party.’

  Oli cringes. What a disaster that night was. It ended with her vomiting repeatedly after consuming what felt like gallons of vodka punch. She had felt so disingenuous, the heralded sister who barely knew Lily anymore. Meeting stranger after stranger who told her Lily was a dream friend. Desperate to fit in, Oli uncharacteristically threw back glass after glass. She remembers laughing with Lily’s friends at a local bar, then being deeply engrossed in conversations in Lily’s kitchen and later in the lounge. The night culminated with a handful of women standing around a hastily made fire in the backyard at dawn, writing down their dreams and yelling them into the sky before throwing them in the flames, which was apparently a karmic wishing well.

  ‘Things change,’ Oli says dismissively.

  Lily arches an eyebrow. ‘That was less than a year ago.’

  Oli’s cheeks flush. ‘Well, if I remember correctly, once children were off the table, you were going to sell this place and live overseas.’

  Lily fixes her gaze on the bench. She doesn’t speak, and Oli worries that she is about to cry. ‘I’d still like to live in Europe at some point,’ she says, ‘but Shaun’s work is going great guns so we’re staying put for now. I guess that’s what marriage is all about, right? Compromise.’ It’s impossible to miss the irony in her tone.

  ‘Lil …’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m honest with myself about where I stand. Shaun and I talk about it. We’re getting a puppy. And a cat.’

  ‘Okay. That sounds good.’

  ‘Come on, talk to me. I know you want to have a baby. Is it Dean? He doesn’t want more kids?’

  Oli closes her eyes and pictures the twins, their faces so much like their mother’s. ‘It’s not that. It’s complicated. The girls have been through a lot, and we’re all still getting used to each other. It’s not easy slotting into their lives.’

  Lily snorts. ‘Nothing is easy, Ol.’ She eats another biscuit. ‘Mum’s worried about you. She thinks you’re shutting her out.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Oli mutters. ‘I’m just busy.’

  ‘She’s a nightmare, I know, but I would appreciate it if you’d call her—or, even better, take the girls over there and let her pretend she has grandchildren for a few hours. Get her off my arse.’

  ‘I’ll call her.’

  ‘My therapist says that it makes sense you gravitated toward an instant family.’

  ‘What?’ Oli rolls her eyes impatiently. ‘Why is your therapist talking about me?’

  ‘Sometimes we talk about you when I’m avoiding my own issues.’

  ‘I really wish you wouldn’t do that.’

  Lily shrugs. ‘You can go to therapy and talk about me.’

  ‘Fuck off, Lily.’

  ‘Hey.’ She puts her hands in the air. ‘You should go to therapy, and you know it. You never unpacked everything that happened with dad. Nor did you work through why you ditched Rusty and rushed into things with Dean.’

  ‘Dad has nothing to do with Dean!’

  Lily folds her arms across her chest, causing her collarbones to flex above her white singlet top.

  Oli is tempted to slap her across the face. ‘I did go to therapy. Several times. I just didn’t feel the need to talk about it.’ She remembers the awkward hours spent in the psychologist’s room.

  Lily splashes more wine into her glass. Her wrist is so fine, her fingers long and thin. The bigger Oli gets, the smaller Lily gets. Her father’s old chant rings in her mind: Pretty Lily, jolly Oli. He sensed a weakness in her, something that didn’t exist in Lily. Is it still there? Is she walking around inviting people to take advantage of her?

  Sipping her wine, Lily cocks her head. Little lines form around her lips, making her look alarmingly like their mother. ‘How is your work going, anyway?’

  Oli looks at her, surprised.

  ‘I read your articles, you know. All of them.’

  ‘It’s fine, it’s busy.’

  ‘I wonder where she is. The housemate, I mean. Nicole Horrowitz.’

  ‘I don’t know. Doing what she does best, it seems—running away.’

  ‘Maybe someone is helping her hide. There’s probably plenty of sickos out there who’d get a thrill out of harbouring a fugitive. People looking for some excitement in their lives.’

  ‘Maybe you should ease up on the therapy.’

  ‘I’m serious! You reckon she has a kid now, right? Maybe they’re holed up with the father. Or she could have blackmailed him to help her, threatened the life of the kid if he refuses—I mean, she’s clearly a total psycho.’

  ‘Lily, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you see the news tonight? They might both be dead at the bottom of the Yarra!’ ‘Nah, the car was a ploy. And she’s as guilty as sin, I’ve always thought it.’

  Oli rinses her wineglass, puts it in the sink. ‘Unfortunately, I’m only interested in facts.’

  ‘Well, that’s your issue right there.’ Her sister laughs. Her voice is nowhere near as deep as Oli’s, but her laugh has always been throaty, nice to listen to. ‘But, seriously, something was obviously going on with those girls.’

  Sensing her sister is about to launch into amateur-detective mode again, Oli says, ‘I have to go, Lil. Thanks for the drink.’

  They walk back down the hallway in silence. Lily opens the door and rests her head against it. ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Oli. I just wish you would talk to me.’

  ‘We j
ust spent an hour talking!’

  Lily crosses her arms, pursing her lips.

  ‘I’m absolutely fine.’ Oli smiles broadly and steps forward to hug Lily. She smells familiar, like rain and roses. ‘Honestly.’

  They pull apart. Lily looks sad. ‘Night, Oli.’

  Oli eases the front door closed and slips off her shoes. She washes her face in the downstairs bathroom, then makes her way upstairs.

  ‘You’re late.’ Dean’s voice floats out from the dark, not a hint of sleep in it.

  ‘Sorry to wake you.’ She undresses, slips into bed.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep. I was waiting.’

  She turns to face him. The light catches the outline of his face, the shimmer of his eye. ‘You didn’t call.’

  ‘I figured you were working. I didn’t want to hassle you, I know you don’t like that.’ He kisses her, setting off little sparks all over her bare skin. ‘Were you just at the office tonight?’

  For a moment she considers telling him she saw Lily, but she doesn’t want to recap their conversation. ‘Yeah. It’s been a long day.’ ‘I bet.’ He’s annoyed. ‘Were you working alone or with the pain-in-the-arse colleague?’

  She flips over and arches her back against his body. ‘Alone.’

  Although he traces down the upper side of her arm, his body remains rigid.

  ‘How are the girls?’ Oli asks.

  ‘They’re fine. We had a nice dinner.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She feels a clench of jealousy at the thought of their night at Mary’s. No doubt it churned up memories of Isabelle.

  Clasping his arm around her waist, he pulls her close, then hooks his leg between hers and pins her against the mattress.

  ‘I have to leave early in the morning,’ she says lightly. ‘It’s going to be another crazy day.’

  He tenses again. ‘But what about the swimming carnival? You know I’m presenting at the board meeting with Nathan.’

  Oli’s head begins to pound. ‘That’s why I’m starting early, so I can leave the office early without any hassle.’

  ‘I wish you had more time for us.’ He presses hard into her. Grabs her breasts.

  Her breath catches in her throat. She wants him so badly, just her and him like it used to be. ‘I know, but there’s a lot of pressure lately at work. I want to do a good job.’

  Pushing her onto her back, he climbs on top of her. He cups her chin in his hand and strokes her hair, caressing her scalp. She is wide awake now, her mind racing, the events of the day charging into her brain. She ignores them all. She just wants this.

  ‘I just don’t like it when you’re not here, Oli,’ he says. ‘I want you all to myself.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THURSDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER 2015

  THERE’S AN UNIDENTIFIABLE CORD IN THE CAR CONSOLE. OLI examines it while she waits for the garage door to open. It’s definitely not hers, so it must be one of Cooper’s. He seems to have at least ten on him at all times. She sends a photo of it to Cooper. Hopefully this one isn’t critical?

  Pulsing dots appear on the screen. Nah, I’ve got tons of spares.

  She reverses onto the quiet street, flicks on the headlights and heads toward the office. The grey sky churns, making rain. It’s only just gone six, so Cooper is up early. When Oli was starting out as a journalist, the pre-dawn hours almost killed her. She recalls struggling to stay awake in editorial meetings and falling asleep on the couch at night watching TV. Cooper is clearly a different breed of young person, one of those spring-out-of-bed types. Plus, he probably isn’t partying as hard as Oli used to; he seems more likely to be in bed early with a cup of tea.

  Up ahead, the light turns red and she slows. There’s not a car in sight, so she just sits there staring at the road. Lily tapped into a truth last night, one that Oli has been ignoring for months. The rational part of her brain knows that because she put Dean on a pedestal for so long and yearned for his affection so much, his sudden availability in itself was intoxicating. When Isabelle died, being with him suddenly became a possibility, and Oli grew obsessed with the idea. Even though she didn’t actually pursue him, the eight years of progress she made in the quest to get over him was instantly null and void, her feelings for Rusty collateral damage.

  Oli breathes out, barely daring to acknowledge the nasty little thought clawing at the edges of her mind. It isn’t what you thought it would be.

  And that’s just it. She hurtled into her fantasy future at an alarming speed, going from her simple carefree life to one of pressure and predictability. Dean is so intent on being a unit, desperate to avoid repeating his mistakes. But it also feels like he believes the only one of them who needs to compromise is Oli. She probably should appreciate his wealthy lifestyle, but instead she feels trapped in the stupidly large house and frustrated that her career seems suddenly expected to take a back seat. Kate and Amy bring out an awkwardness in her, an oafishness that makes her feel not only completely inadequate but also hopelessly inferior to her predecessor. Isabelle.

  Her presence lingers in the house like the fragrance of a secret lover, her death still as shocking as a slap. If Isabelle was alive, she and Dean would be together. Everyone must think it, but it’s not something Oli can talk to him about. Expressing her feelings about being runner-up to a ghost is impossible.

  She massages her temples. And what about her? Would she still be with Rusty? Sweet, simple Rusty, who happily ate cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Rusty, who read his star sign every day and drove around on an empty tank of petrol as though it was a masculinity test. Unlike Dean, he wasn’t prepared for every circumstance, but he was sweet. Patient. His problem-solving approach was gung-ho but cheerful. He gave her space and knew her job came first. He just didn’t make her crazy, not in a good or a bad way.

  When she glances in the mirror, she looks surprisingly alert considering her lack of sleep. This story has unlocked some of her old energy, a charged sensation that has her limbs buzzing and her mind alive.

  She puts her foot on the accelerator. A few hundred metres along the road a large truck blocks the road in front of her, and a short, stocky woman in high-vis tilts a stop sign, directing Oli to turn right down a side street. Cursing, she weaves the car along unfamiliar roads, following the detour signs. She comes to a T-intersection on Myer Street and quickly reorients herself, turning right toward the city. She passes a primary school and a community centre. A magpie swoops low, almost hitting the windscreen, and she ducks involuntarily. Her foot goes to the floor, and the car skids to a halt.

  A realisation hits Oli like a ton of bricks. Isabelle died here. Just up from a petrol station, a few metres from the community centre. Struck down and killed on her way back from the gym, where she had submitted her lithe body to sixty minutes of cardio before embarking on the four-kilometre jog home. Her sharp mind would have been alive with endorphins, a day of family activities ahead, her latest case no doubt still pervading her thoughts. Oli has trouble enough switching off, finding a place to put the darkness, but it’s surely nowhere near as bad for her as it is for those on the front line of crime like Isabelle was. Oli often marvelled at Rusty’s ability to seal the evil off, lock away the horrible scenes and conversations in a section of his brain. But Oli gets the feeling that Isabelle was more like her—that the things she saw, the cruelty she witnessed, had her questioning the entire human race, had her wondering if she could trust anyone.

  And she was right to question it: the darkness had got her in the end. One moment Isabelle Yardley was running along, full of life; the next, her body was flying skyward like a plastic bag in the wind. The tragedy of it hits Oli all over again. Isabelle was such a force, so impressive and accomplished. Oli spent so long idolising her, obsessing over her, that her sudden death still fails to compute.

  Dean and the girls were sound asleep at home when Isabelle was killed, about to wake up to a Saturday morning of pancakes and swimming lessons. Oli’s hands start shaking. She stares at the str
etch of nature strip she saw on the news that morning. It’s easy to imagine Isabelle running along the quiet road, clad in sleek gym clothes, her long dark hair tied back from her face.

  Did she see the car coming? In that split second, did she know she was going to die?

  Oli has never asked Dean about that morning, but in her mind’s eye she sees him opening the front door to grim-faced cops who proceed to shatter his world into pieces. Did he tell Kate and Amy straight away, or did he let them live in the bubble for a few hours longer? Did he come here and see Isabelle dead on the side of the road? Did he break down when he identified her broken body in the morgue?

  Was he in love with her when she died?

  And how did Theo Bouris know she would be here? In court he said he’d been watching her for days. A chill runs through Oli. Even though he’s in prison, she doesn’t like the idea of him knowing where the house is.

  She becomes aware of a white ute indicating and overtaking her; the tradesman gives her a curious look as he passes. After scanning the stretch of road one more time, she sets her jaw and drives toward the office, refusing to look in the rear-view mirror.

  Cooper is at her desk again. Oli tenses, expecting to feel annoyed but instead feels relieved. She’s sick of her own thoughts anyway, and Cooper is nothing if not a distraction.

  ‘Morning!’ he trills, removing his purple headphones as she approaches.

  ‘You’re in early.’

  He looks around as if he’s just realised no one else is in. ‘I’ve always been an early bird, actually, even when I was a teenager. Some mornings I’d get up to edit videos at, like, five, and I would—’

  She holds up her hand to stop him. ‘Any news on Nicole?’

  ‘Zilch. I just texted the cop I met yesterday—he’s a really cool guy. The divers worked into the night but turned up nothing. They’ll go again today, but my guy doesn’t think they’re going to find anything. Apparently they’re checking CCTV for footage of the car but, again, nothing has turned up so far.’

  ‘Impressive that you have such a solid source already.’