At dusk on Friday night, we stood near the tall entry gates to the memorial park, Tom’s fingers linked in mine. The lantern parade, kicking off Gundara’s Autumn Fest, made its way down the main street, the big, colourful lanterns glowing in the fading daylight. Huge bamboo-and-tissue-paper constructions bobbed over everyone’s heads – animals and flowers, fish and birds, some needing two pairs of hands to hold them aloft. A glowing possum sailed past us, followed by a sulphur-crested cockatoo and then a huge red fox. Streams of school kids held smaller offerings, flowers and stars they’d made in community workshops. It was a dazzling spectacle of colour and light, and the mood of fun was infectious.
The parade entered through the park gates where it broke formation, the lantern-bearers merging with the crowds and heading across the bridge to the band stand where later there’d be live music. We walked down to the blazing fire pit, finding a space between some goth-looking uni students and an older hipster couple. A girl with pink hair and nose rings went by lugging a baby on her hip, and when her big gumnut lantern bopped Tom on the shoulder, she eyed his crutches and apologised. Tom laughed and tickled the baby, and the girl drifted off, smiling.
He caught my look. ‘What?’
‘You old charmer.’ I slipped my hand behind his head and leaned close, claiming a kiss. ‘Never picked you as a baby guy.’
‘Yeah, I’m full of surprises.’
‘What else have you got up your sleeve?’
‘You’ll just have to wait until we’re back under that magnolia tree to find out.’
His laugh was absurdly lewd and it started me giggling like a tipsy teenager. He grabbed my hand again and drew me against him, but didn’t kiss me, just held me there and smiled into my eyes.
‘You look ridiculously beautiful tonight.’
I disentangled myself and did a twirl, making my vintage Diane von Furstenberg flare above my knees. Colourful lanternlight swirled around me, and when Tom pretended to swoon, my heart soared. Was life supposed to feel this way? Loose-limbed and free, deliciously giddy, the night full of glowing flowers and birds, and beautiful men who tickled babies and made me laugh?
I linked my arm in Tom’s. ‘I love the parade. It’s my favourite thing all year.’
‘You look happy.’
‘Yeah, you too.’
Tom’s gaze broke from mine, and he nodded over my shoulder. ‘Do you know that woman? She keeps looking over here. I think she’s trying to get your attention.’
I twisted around. Coral Pitney stood beside the mulled wine stall, a crying child clinging to one hand and a rumpled sheet of paper in the other. She was staring right at me.
• • •
He was in trouble. Serious trouble. As he watched Abby weave between the partygoers, the sight of her transfixed him. The swish of her bright, body-hugging dress and the glimpse it provided of her long, sexy legs. A feeling came over him that went way beyond admiration. He had managed to convince her to stay a few more days, even though she’d sent off her interview on Wednesday. While tradies drifted in and out repairing the fire damage in his room, he and Abby had set up a makeshift camp under the magnolia tree. Abby had thought it romantic, and Tom wasn’t going to argue with that. He liked seeing this side of her – the funny, tender-hearted person she was behind her no-nonsense façade – and the more he got to know her, the more he found he wanted to know. He was in trouble, all right . . . and he’d never felt happier.
‘Tom Gabriel?’ A blonde woman with a diamond nose-stud grinned up at him. ‘I’m Kendra Nixon-Jones. Abby’s boss at the Express. Enjoying the parade?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Smashing interview. Abby made you sound like a real star. And that picture with your gran? Aw, Tom. It’s a real showstopper.’
Tom forced a smile, but something in the woman’s tone raised his hackles. ‘Abby’s a terrific writer. The Express is lucky to have someone of her calibre.’
‘It’ll be in tomorrow’s paper, if you’re interested. We’re doing a bigger print run to cater for festival visitors, and it’ll be online too. Exciting, eh?’
‘Hmm.’
Kendra smiled, her tongue licking briefly against her bright red bottom lip. ‘Do you get out much, Tom?’
‘Not any more.’
She eased closer. ‘Pity. Why’s that?’
‘Guess I’ve lost touch with that part of my life.’
‘Oh?’ Her eyes widened, lips parting again. ‘How did you let that happen?’
Tom was lost for words. Hammering out dialogue on a typewriter was easier for him than holding an actual conversation with another human being. Small talk left him for dead. He shrugged, opting for the truth. ‘Divorce.’
Kendra leaned against his arm, giving him an eyeful of her ample cleavage. ‘Then I’ll have to treat you to a night on the town.’
The perfume wafting off her skin made Tom’s eyes burn. He shifted, reclaiming his personal space. There was something predatory about this woman. Did Abby really get along with her? He glanced over at the mulled wine stall. Abby was talking to the pregnant woman with bottle-bleached hair. Beside the woman a small girl slouched, bopping her rumpled fish-lantern on the ground. The woman’s voice was shrill, drawing glances from passers-by, although Tom couldn’t make out what she was saying. Abby didn’t look happy. She was frowning at a sheet of paper and nodding her head. Should he go over and see what the fuss was? Too late. The woman gave Abby an awkward hug and moved away, dragging her scruffy child with her.
Abby returned to the fireside. She passed Tom a paper cup and smiled stiffly at Kendra. If she was pleased to see her boss, she didn’t show it.
‘I see you’ve met Tom.’
Kendra made a cuddling motion against Tom’s arm. ‘A real dish, isn’t he? I can see why you sang his praises in your article.’
Tom gulped the warm spicy wine, not taking his eyes off Abby. The firelight caught the gold in her hair, flushing her cheeks pink, but her happy smile from before had vanished. ‘You okay?’ he asked.
She glanced back at the stall. ‘That was Coral Pitney. Shayla still hasn’t come home.’
Kendra made a scoffing noise. ‘There’s always drama with that family.’
‘Not this time,’ Abby said. ‘Shayla left a note to say she’d gone to visit her dad on the coast. But Coral’s just spoken to the father today, he reckons he hasn’t seen Shayla. No one’s heard from her in three weeks.’
Tom frowned. ‘And the mother’s just getting worried now?’
Abby bit her lips together and shrugged. ‘Apparently Shayla runs off a lot. Always comes home, or the cops drag her back. When she didn’t show, Coral assumed she was with the dad.’
‘Seriously.’ Kendra sighed. ‘The kid’ll come rushing back the minute she runs out of cash. Same old, same old.’
‘Has Coral gone to the police?’ Tom asked.
Abby drained her drink. ‘Yeah, she’s been at the station all afternoon, answering questions and filling out forms. They said they’d put the word out for Shayla, which means entering her details into national databases and posting on social media. Pretty much the same thing they told me.’
Tom frowned. ‘You don’t sound too hopeful.’
‘What good are databases and social networks if she’s stuck out in the bush somewhere?’
Kendra sniffed and looked at Tom. ‘The local cops have had a gutful of Coral Pitney. She’s a real dirtbag, always up to some scam or another. Not to mention she’s with a different man every week. Each of her five kids has a different father, and she’s taken out more restraining orders than you can poke a stick at. Believe me, Coral Pitney is attracted to trouble like a fly to shit. And her eldest daughter’s no different.’
Abby’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘How can you say that? Shayla’s just a kid. I had a feeling it was her in the campground, and Coral just showed me her photo. It was Shayla all right, and now something’s happened to her. I feel responsible.’ She looked across at Tom, her eyes bright and somehow wild. ‘This is why I need to do the Deepwater story. So that girls like Shayla wake up and stop taking unnecessary risks with their lives.’
Kendra’s cheeks shone red in the firelight. ‘Abby, I know you’re on some weird crusade because of what happened to you as a kid, but I’ve got to think of my sponsors. There’s not going to be a Deepwater story.’
Abby crumpled her paper cup. ‘What do you mean, no Deepwater story?’
‘It’s old news, Abby. Ancient history.’
‘What about Shayla?’
Kendra sneered, light flaring off her nose stud. ‘The Pitneys of this world are not newsworthy, Abby. No one wants to read about people like them. They’re a burden on the system and are better off ignored.’
‘That’s bullshit.’ Tom glared at her. ‘A kid goes missing for three weeks and the best you can do is heap dirt on the mother? Have you any idea why disadvantaged people attract trouble, Kendra? It’s because people like you believe they’re not worth the effort. Not worth educating, not worth listening to. Not even worth a moment of kindness. And,’ he added, gripping his crutches and hauling himself away, ‘feel free to quote me on that in your paper.’