He craned his neck to look up at her from his squatting position near the beans and held out his hand.
‘Luciano,’ he said, giving her an appraising look that wasn’t unfriendly, but wasn’t warm either. She couldn’t get a read on him. She took his hand, feeling her heart tapping nervously. He squeezed her hand just right – not too hard or slack, but confident. They hadn’t talked long. Or, more precisely, she hadn’t talked long, because he was evidently not a big talker, and this dark and broody mood was something she’d come to know as one that could descend suddenly and then vanish just as quickly.
Now, she still knew little about him. He’d had an animated discussion with Kyle about football – he also supported Richmond – and he was always particularly polite to Lin, which Gabby really appreciated. You could tell a lot about someone by the way they treated the lowest ranking staff in a business. She’d heard him have many long phone conversations in Italian with Marco, their coffee trader. And the man sure knew how to roast a bean. Yet often when she spoke to him it was as though he stared through her for a second before pulling his mind back from far away.
She watched him now as he scooped gorgeous chocolate-coloured beans from a bucket and onto the scales to weigh them. She considered calling out to him, determined to keep trying to build some sort of connection with him, but decided to wait until he was less busy. Instead, she turned back towards the front of house with the cream in her hand. She pushed open the swing door. Her eyes darted to the table by the wall, where the woman with the pink shawl had been sitting just moments ago. Her chest squeezed tight, almost to the point of pain.
Running.
She was running down a dark alley.
A streetlight cast a sickly pool of orange.
Her breath rasped noisily in her ears as cold air scraped down her throat.
Fear spiked her blood.
Bright lights.
She was trapped.
2
Krystal bundled the four boys onto the tram for the short ride to Richmond Library, where they were heading for a free nature talk. This was her gift to Roxy for her thirty-third birthday: one whole day free to do whatever she liked. Roxy had had a difficult time choosing between staying in bed eating cream buns and watching Netflix all day, or doing something a bit wild like riding a motorbike or jetskiing.
In the end Krystal had made the decision for her, paying for her to ride the Colonial Tramcar Restaurant, where she would enjoy a decadent four-course lunch and plenty of drinks as the plush tram trundled through the city. Her bestie was the kind of person who loved alone time and had no qualms about eating on her own.
Roxy had thrown her arms around Krystal’s neck and almost cried with delight. ‘I won’t have to share my food with anyone,’ she’d whimpered. ‘I can drink all I like and get a cab home. I won’t have to talk to a single soul!’
Krystal was still glowing with the gratifying feeling of getting a special gift just right. These days, aside from her own two boys, Roxy was the most important person in her life.
She sorted the boys into two-person seats on each side of the aisle. Roxy’s eldest, Kyan, sat at the window, Krystal beside him with her youngest, Olly, on her lap, and Roxy’s youngest, Austin, sat with Jasper on the other side of the tram. They were best friends, both in the same prep class, which was how she and Roxy had first met.
The tram left the station. Olly swung his little feet, bumping his heels first against Krystal’s jeans-clad legs, then tapping the seat in front of them.
‘Don’t kick the seat, sweetheart,’ she said, putting her hand on his thigh.
‘Why?’
‘Because it will annoy the person sitting in front of you.’ The woman in the seat ahead adjusted her peach-coloured hijab and turned slightly to smile at Krystal, the kind of smile mothers gave each other to say they knew only too well what little kids were like. Krystal smiled back, grateful.
The tram clattered along the road while, beside her, Kyan played a handheld plastic game that was filled with water, jabbing at buttons to shoot rings up through the liquid and try to hook them over plastic spikes. Across the aisle, five-year-old Jasper and Austin were chattering and laughing about monster trucks with laser guns and lava tanks. Olly reached his hands up behind him and looped them around Krystal’s neck, and she rubbed her face against his light brown hair and soft cheek, breathing in the scent of Vegemite.
She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the feel of Olly in her arms, trying to stop the endless cycle of ruminations that had kept her awake most of the night after seeing Gabriella McPhee in the flesh yesterday.
The tram lurched to a stop and she guided the boys out the door, Kyan continuing to play his game, making squawks of excitement as he neared completion. Jasper wore a bright yellow and black long-sleeved tee with an image of Thor on the front, while Austin had a T-shirt with Ant-Man. The boys shared a love of Marvel comics and all superheroes, though both Krystal and Roxy cringed at the extreme violence in them.
She paused for a moment and gathered the four boys together, waiting until the yellow and green tram had departed before they started moving. She held Olly’s hand in one hand and Jasper’s in the other. Jasper had Evan’s floppy dark hair and treacle-coloured eyes. She simultaneously couldn’t wait for him to grow up so she could see how much he looked like his father, and wanted him never to grow up at all, never leave the safety of her nest. What had happened to Evan had forever altered her, made her nervous of her boys ever leaving her sight.
‘Austin, take Jasper’s hand while we cross the road,’ she said. Austin did as she asked and the two boys grinned at each other, her heart swelling at their precious friendship. ‘Kyan, just give your game a break for a moment while we cross the road, okay?’
‘Okay,’ he grumbled, clearly thinking that at eight years of age he was too old for this mollycoddling.
They crossed the road for the short walk to the library in the brisk spring weather, the kind that fooled you with deep blue skies and bright sun but had a sneaky cold breeze that would shoot through your clothes. She was wearing her black puffer vest over a long-sleeved white tee, but the wind still slipped in around the edges and made her shiver.
Inside the library the atmosphere was engaging and noisy, so different from what libraries had been like when she was a girl. She ushered the boys to the kids’ area, which was bustling with children on school holidays. A man in a green ranger’s shirt stood before a line of aquariums with frogs, tadpoles, tiny fish, turtles and crickets. He called for the children’s attention and they scurried towards him, forming a waist-high mosh pit. In a corner, three stressed library attendants argued quietly among themselves as to the best arrangement of egg cartons and paint pots for the after-show craft activity. The ranger began to pluck out animals from tanks to show the kids.
Krystal perched on a vinyl seat at the periphery, her eyes on the four boys, watching their excited faces. Her body was here, trying to be a good mum and friend, but her mind was undeniably elsewhere, over at the cafe with Gabriella McPhee.
She’d spotted her easily enough, recognising her from the photo in the newspaper; her bright-red hair was an instant giveaway. Krystal had barely been able to order her coffee, so strong was her magnetic pull to the woman. From a table against the wall, she’d watched as Gabriella talked to another woman, one who looked quite similar and had the same red hair – her sister, she guessed. She watched Gabriella move about the cafe in her boho-style wrap dress, soft jersey material in muted autumn tones of caramels and earthy reds, all swirls and florals. She took in her knee-high brown suede boots. Her long, gold gypsy earrings. Her laugh, coming from deep in her chest.
Her chest … Krystal could barely breathe imagining what lay beneath.
Squeals erupted from the children as a green frog leapt from the presenter’s arm and onto the carpet. He rushed to snatch it up before it could be trampled by little feet. Jasper followed, eager to help, his eyes bright with excitement. She hope
d he wouldn’t turn out to be one of those boys who loved frogs and reptiles. She really couldn’t cope with snakes and lizards in their apartment.
She pressed her hand to her forehead as the children cheered, her mind spinning with memories of Gabriella McPhee.
What was she going to do now?
Roxy arrived at Krystal’s apartment at five o’clock, wearing black jeans and boots and a maroon velveteen jacket. Her spiky bleached-blonde hair showed dark roots. Her grin was a mile wide.
‘That was just the best!’ she said, throwing herself on Krystal again. ‘You are the best! I ate duck, chicken liver and kangaroo and I’ve never eaten any of those before in my life. I wasn’t even squeamish. And that was just the entrée! I had beef for the main.’
‘So, you basically ate a whole farmyard of animals,’ Krystal said, laughing and beckoning Roxy inside.
Roxy spun around with her hands on her cheeks. ‘And oh, lord, the cheese board!’
‘I’m so glad. You really deserved it.’
‘Hi, boys!’ Roxy called to the kids in the lounge room. They called back cheery hellos but didn’t stop playing their game of Operation. Olly was obviously struggling, judging by the sound of the buzzer and his disappointed wails.
Krystal ordered pizza via Uber Eats, fed the ravenous small people, then let them return to their game while she and Roxy ate more slowly.
‘I’m really not sure why I’m eating at all,’ Roxy said, biting into a slice of Meat-a-tarian. ‘I’m already so full.’
‘It’s your birthday.’ Krystal shrugged. ‘You may as well go the whole hog.’
‘I think I may have done exactly that by the end of today. There’ll be nothing but trotters left.’
Kyan had taken centre stage in the middle of the lounge, entertaining the younger three by acting out horrible Viking tales. He had a particular love of Viking history, the more bloodthirsty the better.
It made Roxy cringe but she nevertheless scoured second-hand shops and brought home boxes of books describing battles and massacres to indulge his passion, good mum that she was. The Wise People said that, with boys, it was important to get them reading and keep them reading, and to let them read anything they wanted to, just as long as they didn’t give up.
‘But what if they want to read about, I don’t know, heinous crimes, or how to shoot and butcher your own cow, or porn?’ Krystal had once wondered.
Kyan roared savagely, and the three young ones squealed and fell back against the blue couch that had seen better days. Krystal closed the lid on the remains of the triple cheese pizza in the box in front of her. Suddenly, her mood fell. As much as she loved Roxy and their combined brood of boys, and the welcome company they provided, her mind was like a terrier on the hunt for rats – obsessed.
Roxy must have noticed. ‘Tell me what happened yesterday,’ she said quietly, shoving the pizza box out of the way to give Krystal her full attention.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing.’
‘It’s your birthday.’
‘And I’ve had a great one. Your turn. Spill.’
Krystal took a deep breath. ‘I think it’s her.’
Roxy raised a dark eyebrow. ‘How do you know?’
‘I just do,’ Krystal said, shrugging.
Her friend eyed her levelly. ‘Did you speak to her?’
Krystal shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. She came towards me but I panicked and took off.’
Roxy gave her a small, sympathetic smile but waited in silence for more.
‘I want to go back there,’ Krystal said, not even having to think about it. ‘I have to go back there. I’m burning all over with a need to …’ She swallowed. To get close enough to Gabriella to touch her was what she was thinking, but to say that out loud would make her sound mad. ‘I barely slept last night. It was all I could think about.’
‘That’s understandable. The kids are back at school next week. You could go back then. Make a time to see her and have a proper chat.’
‘I could,’ Krystal agreed. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her upper arms. ‘I’m itching, literally, like a complete nutjob. I want to go there now, even though I know the cafe will be shut, even though I know she won’t be there.’ She paused, trying to untie all the knots in her mind. ‘That’s how messed up I am about this woman. I know it sounds crazy.’ She felt tears sting her eyes and blinked them away. She needed to do something. She needed to open the valve on the pressure cooker of unanswered questions in her head.
‘If you really feel like you have to go now, I can stay here with the kids,’ Roxy said. ‘It wouldn’t take you long to get over there at this hour.’
‘I can’t leave the kids,’ Krystal said, lowering her voice.
‘Of course you can. You’ve had them all day while I’ve gone and wined and dined myself – the best date I’ve had in decades, by the way.’ She nodded towards the kids. ‘I don’t think they’d even notice.’
Krystal looked over at them, giggling and playing happily, with full bellies. If she put on a DVD they would probably simply fall asleep. But it was nuts. All that would happen was that she’d get there and she’d crawl the car past the cafe and it would be locked up for the night. She didn’t need to see an empty cafe; she needed to catch a glimpse of Gabriella, or hear her voice. She needed to know if she had a husband or kids of her own. She wanted to see her walking around, to see her moving, to sense the life she was leading. She could already see herself in her mind, pulling over to the side of the road, letting the Holden idle, staring at the cafe, wishing it would spring to life before her eyes and Gabriella appear from thin air.
But the cafe would stay dark and silent and give nothing away, just like everything about the night Evan died.
‘No, it’s okay,’ she said, breathing out. ‘You’re a star for offering. But I’ve got to try to keep my head about this, no matter how hard it might be.’
3
‘Do you want to see a picture of my new man?’ Pippa said, her smile lighting up her green eyes.
Irish eyes, their father liked to remind them. Monty was deeply and embarrassingly proud of the fact that the McPhees were of Irish descent. Australian, Dad! Pippa would say. Just Australian now. The sisters’ near-identical colouring came from their mother, though Lottie’s red hair had been a rusty grey when she passed away swiftly last year from a stroke, just a couple of months after the opening of The Tin Man. Lottie had been an enthusiastic supporter of the business venture and was the one to suggest that Gabby could use the family home as security against the bank loan.
‘What are you talking about?’ Gabby failed to hide her shock as she pulled up a chair. This was a big leap from their conversation at the cafe two days ago. Also, she was thrown. She’d come here to talk to Pippa about the disturbing vision. She wasn’t sure she could handle an excited declaration of an extramarital affair right now.
They were in her sister’s rather fabulous ‘She Shed’ in the garden, the feminine equivalent of a Man Cave, positioned away from her husband and children. It had to be fabulous: it was Pippa’s work-from-home office and sometimes her clients visited her here. With four children, she and Harvey had needed a big house and Ringwood was an affordable location, but not exactly one known for its trendiness. The She Shed gave Pippa a decidedly chic space to make her own. The decor was styled on French boudoir colours and furniture, with pale blue walls and white trims, an ornate distressed white writing table, a chandelier and duck-egg blue textured pillow shams.
Pippa’s personal appearance was also, as usual, flawless. Today she was wearing a drool-inducing sleeveless 1950s-inspired dress. Beneath the deep V-neck, a fitted panel showed off her gym-toned waist and the skirt flared over her hips in structured box pleats. Blue and white diagonal stripes gave the feeling of yachting somewhere exotic. A bolt of pure envy flashed through Gabby. Once upon a time she could have worn that dress too. The sisters were so alike that they’d shared clothes from the
ir late teens on, when Pippa had almost caught up in height. But these days Gabby’s weight fluctuated so much depending on the medications she was on and the resulting inflamed skin and fluid retention, that she now collected loose, bohemian style clothes that could accommodate anything from size twelve to size sixteen. She cast an eye down at her dark brown maxi dress with elasticised waist and 1970s orange floral print, feeling vaguely disappointed. Before her operation, she’d worn more structured clothes. Now everything seemed to hang shapelessly. At least she could still indulge in good boots.
It wasn’t just Pippa’s clothes that she coveted. Gabby sighed audibly with relaxation every time she climbed the two steps to the tiny porch of the She Shed. It poked at the occasional pang she had to have her own space again one day, away from her childhood home and out from under her dad’s feet. Not that she wasn’t thankful. Truly, she couldn’t be more grateful, but, nearly two years post-transplant, she was starting to hope that she was finally okay and could be trusted on her own with the kids. Besides, Charlie would be sixteen soon. It was unfair to expect him to be responsible for the girls, but it did give her more confidence to know that an almost-adult would be in the house with her if anything did go wrong. Plus, there was the dog, a trained service animal after all.
On the other hand, Monty was in his mid-seventies and his eyesight was diminishing. He’d never quite regained his spark after Lottie had died. Gabby often found him staring vaguely into space. He was thinner, his skin looser, his face paler. Her parents had been her carers for years but soon she might need to be her dad’s, and she certainly owed him that after everything she’d put them through. When the virus had attacked her heart, it had attacked them all.
‘I didn’t expect to fall in love so quickly,’ Pippa admitted, a small flicker of doubt pinching her forehead. ‘But he’s so fabulous. Look!’ She thrust her mobile phone at Gabby to show her the photo.
The Gift of Life Page 2