Sabeen pushes herself off the bed and comes to stand beside me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to pose as Henry and write Missy a message.’
‘Umm …’ Raf says, joining us at the desk, ‘are we sure that’s wise?’
‘We’re sure,’ I say. ‘How else are we going to find out who Missy is?’
I start typing.
‘Hang on, hang on,’ Sabeen says. ‘Don’t you think we should show this message thread to someone first?’
‘Like who?’
She shrugs. ‘Sergeant Doherty?’
‘Why? He won’t do anything about it. He’ll only add it to “Henry’s file”—’ I make air quotes with my fingers, ‘—and sit on it. Meanwhile, we could actually get somewhere.’
Sabeen sucks in a breath through her teeth. ‘Yeah, but there are proper channels for doing things, right? I mean, this must be all kinds of wrong.’
My fingers move across the keys and Raf leans over. ‘Oh man. What are you saying?’
He reads the line I’ve written.
Hey. How’s it going? Long time no chat.
I glance at him, my finger hovering over the Enter key.
‘Shit,’ he murmurs, a glint of mischief in his eyes. ‘Send it.’
Sabeen makes a tiny yelping noise as I press the Send button. She doesn’t try to stop me, though. The new message appears in the chat window and we all stare at the screen for a few seconds. There’s no profile picture icon to the right of the message to show it’s been seen.
‘Now what?’ Raf says.
‘We wait.’
Sabeen picks nervously at her lower lip, her round brown eyes flitting between my face and the computer screen. ‘What are you going to ask her if she replies?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘What do you guys think I should ask?’
Raf holds up his hands. ‘Hey, this is your show, lady. We’re just along for the ride.’
As I start to say something else, Missy’s profile pic pops up beneath my message.
‘Holy crap,’ I blurt. ‘She’s read it.’
Three flashing dots indicate Missy is replying. Her one-word message pops up, begging me to engage: HENRY??
Raf nudges me. ‘She wants you to respond, Henry.’
‘I guess it’s showtime,’ I say, and start typing.
Henry: Hi.
Missy: Where the hell have you been? Are you in Sydney?
Henry: Why?
Missy: We need to meet. In person. I’ll meet you somewhere.
Henry: Um, okay.
Missy: Can you do it tomorrow? Or Sunday?
Henry: Yeah, tomorrow’s fine. What time?
Missy: 11. At Hyde Park. There’s a big fountain. Archibald Fountain. You can’t miss it.
Henry: I’ll find it.
Missy: Will you definitely be there?
Henry: Of course.
Missy: You really need to come. Please turn up.
Henry: I will. How will I know who you are?
Missy: I’ll be wearing a red coat. You wear something red too and stand right next to the fountain.
Henry: I’ll find you.
Missy: Henry … don’t freak out. I might not be what you’re expecting.
Henry: I might not be what you’re expecting either.
Ten days before the storm
Mason checked his phone again. Another text from Rina. Nothing from Tom. Tonight would be the first time the whole group had been together since Boxing Day, and Mason had no idea how things were going to go. It had been nearly a week since Ivy cut her hand and dripped blood all over the kitchen floor. It was only superficial in the end, not even deep enough for stitches, but she had made enough mess for Henry to completely freak out. In some ways that was Mason’s fault for shielding his brother from so much of Ivy’s behaviour over the years. If Henry had cleaned up after her as much as Mason had, it probably wouldn’t have come as such a shock.
Henry wasn’t speaking to him, and Mason couldn’t really blame him. He hadn’t yet apologised for pushing Henry off Devil’s Rock. By the time he’d got home that day to deal with his mother and the mess, the shame of what he’d done had well and truly caught up with him. He’d crawled into bed with a piercing headache and didn’t even hear Henry come home. Mason could lie to himself and pretend there hadn’t been an opportunity to bring it up in the days since. The truth was, he was struggling to find the words.
Why was that? Part of him felt bad about it, yet another part of him felt … nothing at all.
His phone dinged with a new text. Rina. Again.
I’m here. See you soon.
He glanced towards the entrance of Eliza Park, where a number of people were strolling in from Railway Parade. Locals, tourists and visitors from smaller neighbouring towns were all here tonight. It was the first year The Shallows had put on such a huge New Year’s Eve event – food stalls, fireworks at nine-thirty, a few carnival rides rolled in on the back of trucks. Mason heard Jack Doherty was responsible for most of the organisation on behalf of the local council, which meant he probably screwed the vendors on fees and skimmed a hefty cut off the top. Mason assumed everyone knew Jack Doherty was crooked – Stu and the other mechanics talked about it all the time at the workshop – but his fellow council members were either clueless or pretended not to notice. And now Darren Foster had weaseled his way into becoming Jack Doherty’s errand boy, acting like they were The Shallows’ answer to the underworld or something.
Mason caught sight of Rina trotting towards him in heels too high to be grass-friendly. She was dressed in a fitted black top and leather-look pants, her curly hair loose and framing her heart-shaped face.
‘This is going to be so fun,’ she said when she reached him, turning her face up to his for a quick kiss. Her skin had an artificial shimmer around the nose and cheekbones, severe eyebrows and long false eyelashes. It all seemed a bit much considering how naturally pretty she was underneath, but what did he know? People were turning to stare at her in admiration, both guys and girls. It probably should have made Mason feel lucky or proud or maybe even mildly possessive. Instead he felt like an actor playing a role, trying to summon feelings so his performance would seem authentic.
‘You look really nice,’ he said, and she beamed.
They wandered into the small market area, a mix of food stalls, local artisans and overpriced showbags. Rina put on a brave face every time one of her heels sank into the grass. Mason spied Jack Doherty a few marquees down, paunchier than his cop brother, with thinning hair and skin like an old leather boot. He had a clipboard in his hand and was barking orders at his new sidekick. Foster had squeezed himself into a tight black T-shirt and security lanyard like a puffed-up nightclub bouncer.
‘There’s Sabeen,’ Rina said, tugging his arm towards the takeaway food area. The Nolans had set up a white market tent with a portable pizza oven so they could sell pizza by the slice. While Sally and Liv were working in the prep area up the back, Sabeen was taking payments and Raf was retrieving orders from a glass food warmer that took up most of the trestle table.
‘Hi you two!’ Sabeen said, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. ‘Did you just get here?’
Raf peered over the food warmer. ‘You want a slice? Pick anything, on the house.’
As always, Mason was grateful for the Nolans. They were quick to forgive and didn’t appear to hold the Boxing Day incident against him. When he ran into Raf at the service station earlier in the week, things were slightly awkward, but Mason sensed Raf felt uncomfortable for him rather than around him. Sabeen, of course, just wanted everybody to play nice and brush their differences aside.
Mason hoped this would be the case with Tom too. He was worried, though. Tom’s last message was three days ago and he hadn’t replied to any of Mason’s texts since. Mason tried not to be hurt by that, or the fact that it had taken Tom a couple of days to text him back after Boxing Day. He’d said in his message he’d wanted to give Mason some space
because he seemed stressed out and probably wanted time alone. Mason couldn’t think of anything worse than more solitary time to reflect on his life, his choices and his prospects. He agreed with Tom anyway, to make things easier on him. It must’ve been difficult for Tom to be loyal to such an absolute train wreck.
Since then … nothing. Mason didn’t want to think what might’ve been going through Tom’s head. He scanned the crowd, wondering if Tom was here yet.
‘Henry’s with Chloe,’ Sabeen told him, misinterpreting the way Mason was looking around. ‘They’re lining up for those inflatable orb things over near the playground.’
Mason nodded. He’d been at the workshop all day and hadn’t even seen his mother or brother. He assumed Henry would be with Chloe, the same way he expected his mother would be parked on a bar stool at the pub down the road.
‘Can we take you up on that slice later?’ Rina said. ‘I want to go and say hi to my mum.’
She grasped Mason’s hand firmly and he let himself be led past the row of food tents to a small stage area with spotlights. Rina waved at her mother, who was herding a troupe of young children in glittery hip-hop outfits onto the stage. Families were already parked on picnic rugs eagerly awaiting the performance, and it wasn’t long before the kids were in formation and waiting on the music. Mason’s attention was drawn to a raucous burst of laughter at some nearby tables behind a white picket fence. Poor event planning meant the alcoholic drinks tent and beer garden was situated right next to the stage.
It didn’t take long for Mason to spot his mother’s blonde ponytail in a large group of adults. He recognised some of them from the pub, including the guy with the shaved head and sleeve tattoos. Judging by the volume of her voice, Ivy was well and truly buzzed.
The stage music started up but it was far too quiet. As Rina’s mother fiddled with the audio equipment, the kids started their dance moves as another roar of laughter boomed from the oblivious beer garden crowd. Mason didn’t want to look, but his eyes were drawn in that direction. Ivy was now standing up and making her way unsteadily around the table. She was talking at the top of her voice, nails-on-blackboard shrill. And while her drinking companions thought whatever she was saying was hilarious, the parents on picnic rugs were unimpressed and restless. It wasn’t long before a couple stalked off and returned with a security guard. Darren bloody Foster.
As Foster snaked his way past tables and patrons in the beer garden, edging closer to Mason’s mother and her friends, Ivy took a wobbly step backwards and toppled over the picket fence. She, along with several fence panels, landed heavily on the grass, narrowly missing a picnic rug occupied by an elderly woman and two small children. There was a collective whoa from the crowd. Mason found himself running to his mother from one direction as Darren Foster closed in from the other.
Foster reached her first.
‘Get up!’ he barked, grabbing Ivy’s arm and yanking it roughly. ‘Your night’s over. Come on.’
‘Hey,’ Mason called. ‘Get your hands off her.’
Ivy struggled to stand, pulling Foster off balance. He jerked forwards, almost falling on top of her.
‘Get up!’ he said again, his fingers digging deep into her upper arm.
Mason closed the last few metres and pushed through the crowd of onlookers who’d gathered to gawk. ‘Back off, Foster.’
Foster glanced at Mason, then ducked his head for a closer glimpse of Ivy. ‘Holy shit. Is this your mother, princess?’ He smirked. ‘She’s so trashed I didn’t even recognise her.’
‘Let go of her,’ Mason said, trying to keep his voice calm. He was aware of how many eyes were on them. There were little kids close by.
Foster smirked again and let his fingers spring open. Ivy fell straight back from her seated position, her head thumping hard against the grass.
Mason lurched forwards and shoved Foster in the shoulder, who took a swing and missed. People around them yelled, ‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Before anything went further, Mason felt firm hands on his shoulders, dragging him away. It took him a second to realise they belonged to Chloe Baxter’s father.
Liv and Sally were running over from their food stall, and in seconds they were helping his mother to her feet. Ivy stared through Mason, glassy-eyed and worse for wear, an afternoon of drinking suddenly catching up with her.
‘Get her out of here,’ Foster said. ‘She’s an absolute mess.’
‘Oh, all right, Darren,’ Sally snapped. ‘Take your little power trip somewhere else.’
Mason scanned the crowd. Faces stared back at him from the beer garden, the picnic rugs, the food stalls. Chloe stood off to one side with Henry, her hands placed protectively on his shoulders. And Tom. Tom was watching from over near the stage, standing beside a horrified Rina.
Mason dropped his gaze, his face burning. He moved towards his mother, but Liv stepped in-between them.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘We’ll take her home. We’ll get her into bed.’
‘I can—’
‘No, love,’ Liv said gently. ‘You stay here with your friends. Enjoy your New Year’s Eve.’
Too late, Mason thought.
As the crowd dispersed, Mason sensed someone approaching quietly from one side. Chloe’s dad.
‘You all right, mate?’ he asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Things got a bit carried away over there.’
Mason’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be bothered making something up, inventing excuses for his mother’s behaviour. What would be the point? Mr Baxter saw the whole thing. It wasn’t even eight o’clock and Mason was tired. He was exhausted by this whole year and he needed it to end.
‘Listen,’ Mr Baxter went on. ‘We mentioned to your mum earlier that we’ll bring Henry home with us and he can stay the night.’
‘Okay.’ Mason shrugged. ‘That’s probably a good idea, especially now.’
‘You want to as well?’ he asked. ‘You don’t have to stay at our place, of course – you can have one of the motel rooms.’
Mason averted his gaze again and mumbled, ‘I can’t really afford it right now.’
‘No, mate.’ Mr Baxter stepped forwards. ‘You can stay there free of charge. I’ll leave a key under the pot plant and you can come home whenever you like. Let yourself in. Room Fifteen’s usually vacant anyway; how about that one?’
Mason eyed him warily. ‘I can just stay there? For nothing?’
‘Whenever you need a bit of space from … you know. Things at home.’
‘Why?’
‘Why not?’ said Mr Baxter. ‘Soft bed, hot shower, TV. A bit of peace and quiet, eh?’
Mason’s face burned. He didn’t know where to look.
Mr Baxter shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Let’s just say I could’ve used something like this when I was your age.’ He kicked the toe of his shoe against the ground. ‘It’s there if you need it. I’ll leave it vacant. We can keep this between us.’
Mason didn’t know what to say. The thought of a quiet, clean motel room, a place to hide out if he couldn’t face going home, was almost too good to be true. What was the catch? He heard his mother’s voice snarling in his head: What’s he want in return, huh? But maybe, like Stu Macleod, Chloe’s dad simply wanted to help.
‘Thanks, Mr Baxter,’ Mason managed, trying to meet his eye so he could see Mason meant it.
The older man chuckled. ‘Call me Dave, for god’s sake. No one calls me Mr Baxter except the bank manager.’
Mason half expected Mr Baxter to clap him on the shoulder or hold out a hand for him to shake. Instead the older man said, ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ and trudged away.
Mason spent the next hour on autopilot, helping out at the Nolans’ pizza stand until Liv and Sally returned, even though Raf and Sabeen insisted he didn’t need to.
‘Please,’ he begged them. ‘Your mums are taking care of my mother right now. Let me do them a favour in return.’
As time ticked closer for the fire
works to begin, Sabeen boxed three pizzas and ordered Raf to grab some drinks and the picnic rug. Liv and Sally tied their aprons back on and shunted all three of them out of the marquee. ‘Go on,’ Sally said. ‘Find your friends and enjoy yourselves.’
Mason felt ready to go home then and there. The hipflask of whisky in his jacket pocket remained untouched, and he didn’t have much appetite for pizza anyway. Even so, he followed his friends to a quieter area, away from all the families. Maybe there was a way to salvage this night. It was New Year’s Eve after all.
Sabeen made a few calls and it wasn’t long before Rina found them. Even as she pulled Mason aside to ask if he was okay, he couldn’t stop scouring the area for Tom. Where was he? Was Tom avoiding him?
Chloe turned up next, a couple of bags of chips under one arm.
‘Where’s Henry?’ Mason asked.
‘He’s with my dad and Tom’s grandparents,’ she said, ‘if you’re interested.’
‘I just asked, didn’t I?’
‘Guys?’ Sabeen said hopefully. ‘Why don’t we all sit down and have some pizza?’
Chloe walked past Mason towards the rug, not bothering to make eye contact. ‘Might have been good to check on him an hour ago,’ she said.
‘I was kind of busy an hour ago.’
‘Yeah,’ she said dryly, placing the chip bags on the rug. ‘I saw. We all did.’
Mason’s jaw clenched. ‘You got something to say, Chloe?’
She made a quiet scoffing noise.
‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Spit it out.’
Tom, of course, chose this exact moment to stroll up to their picnic rug.
Chloe folded her arms. ‘How many times are you going to do this?’
‘Do what, exactly?’
‘Lose control,’ she said. ‘Get violent.’
Mason glanced towards the beer garden where the damaged picket fence still lay on its side. ‘My mother—’
‘I’m not even talking about that!’ Chloe cried. ‘What about what happened at the reservoir?’
Here we go. Mason knew it would come up sometime.
‘Hey,’ Raf said, hanging back. ‘Come on guys …’
‘Do you even regret it?’ Chloe went on, as though Raf hadn’t spoken. ‘Because it doesn’t seem like you lost any sleep over it.’
Deep Water Page 17