Where the Dead Go

by Sarah Bailey

  ‘Not here here.’ She smiles with her trademark sass but I sense some nervousness. ‘He’s finding you hard to navigate and wanted my advice, but I don’t know what to tell him. You’re a total nightmare.’

  I glance over and can see the side of his leg and his Italian leather boot.

  ‘You need to talk to him, Gemma.’

  I try to smile. ‘Candy, he obviously wants to talk to you right now, not me.’

  ‘Get over there now or I’ll go into labour and make you deliver this baby with your bare hands.’

  She gives me a little shove.

  Mac holds his Breitling watch taut between his hands, turning it in a slow circle.

  He looks up.

  ‘Gemma!’ He half stands, then realises he’s wedged behind the table. Eyebrows raised, he turns to Candy.

  ‘What a coincidence!’ She grabs her bag and wiggles her fingers at us. ‘I guess I’ll be off. Bye, kids!’ She manoeuvres her belly around a group of women at the front counter.

  I slide in opposite Mac, adrenaline wrestling with my weary limbs. ‘Hi.’

  He looks flustered; he’s buttoned his shirt wrong and the collar is lopsided. I’m making him crazy. I stare into his familiar eyes, trace his full lips with my gaze and let the sounds around me blur into a steady buzz while I simply focus on breathing in and out.

  ‘I know I need to stop showing up like this,’ he says, ‘but I’m finding it hard to stay away from you.’

  Tears fill my eyes. ‘I don’t think anyone has ever shown up like this for me before.’

  ‘Gemma?’

  Mac takes my hand. After a few seconds, I grip his back.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s talk.’

  Acknowledgements

  When I started writing The Dark Lake, my goal was to finish it and maybe, just maybe, pitch it to a publisher. Now there are three published books. Suffice to say the whole thing still feels completely surreal most of the time, and I appreciate I’m fortunate to have had the opportunity to develop such a wildly complicated character as Gemma.

  It turns out, however, that this writing business does not get easier, so it’s lucky I have people on hand to keep me on the straight and narrow, or rather, the twisty and layered.

  Particular thanks to my agent, Lyn Tranter, my publisher, Jane Palfreyman, and my editor, Kate Goldsworthy, who did all but pull the words out of my head. This book would not exist without you, or, if it did, it would be a shadowy version of its current self.

  Thank you for all of your ideas, advice, encouragement and patience.

  Whether via practical help or lofty esoteric conversations about narrative and characters, my personal support team all contribute to my writing getting done. The key members are: my kids, Oxford and Linus, Tom, my parents, my sister, my work colleagues and my friends. It is a pretty special bunch of people and I know I am incredibly fortunate to have them in my corner.

  To my ever-growing gang of writerly friends, thanks for the support, the hilarious stories, the empathy and the inspiration. I am jealous and proud of you all, and making such wonderful friends has by far been the unexpected bonus of this crazy ride.

  I want to thank the police officers and GPs who assisted me with making this book as plausible as possible. I know my ‘but what if ’ questions are tedious and I appreciate your willingness to make my fictional desires work in with the rhythm of policing and the law. It goes without saying that all mistakes are mine.

  A huge shout-out must go to the entire Allen & Unwin crew, who approach publishing my books with contagious passion and who are always so wonderful to deal with. Likewise to the bookselling community—you are all legends.

  This book is dedicated to my parents, Susan and Kevin Bailey, who not only taught me to read and write but who have always encouraged me to aim high and finish what I start. It turns out that all of these skills came in really handy when writing this book so thank you for having the foresight to instill them in me (and for a whole lot of other things, too).

  And finally, thank you for reading.