Rachel

Rachel was carried by the crowd out of the venue and into the precinct. She felt like she was in a dream, in which someone she loved was walking too fast and she was being left behind no matter how hard she tried to keep up. She was alone, untethered, fighting claustrophobia; she’d never been good with crowds.

She drew in deep gulps of cool night air to calm herself. What would she say to the kids if Rory wasn’t at the meeting spot? They were too old to accept a flimsy excuse; she needed something rock solid. Perhaps that Rory had suddenly felt sick. Or needed to rush back because of Sean. Of course, whatever excuse she used would only buy her time until they got home. If Rory wasn’t there, her lies would be immediately exposed. Her lies and her treachery.

The crowd pressed in around her, buffering her from what lay ahead. Everyone seemed to be going in the one direction, towards the footbridge, which provided the main walkway to the buses and trains at Central Station. Had Rory gone off somewhere to lick his wounds? A pub, or a friend’s house? In that event, should she be honest with the kids and admit that they’d had an argument? Bridie, in particular, was astute about such things. She’d notice her mum’s red eyes and know that she’d been crying.

But there he was, his curly head and broad shoulders coming into view. The man she’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago, a stationary figure amid all the movement, standing next to the sandstone monument as they’d agreed. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Of course he wouldn’t abandon the children, or leave her to deal with their questions. Loyalty was ingrained in his DNA.

‘Any sign of them yet?’ she asked as she drew up alongside him.

No response. And no surprise that he was persisting with the silent treatment. But the kids would be here soon. They’d have to act normal or be prepared for scrutiny.

‘I’m sorry,’ she tried again, her voice choked with tears. ‘Can we talk when we get home?’

No answer. He scanned from left to right, searching for the kids, avoiding eye contact.

She shivered and rubbed her arms. She was tired, upset, ready for home. Maybe tomorrow would be a better time to talk. How were they going to move past this? What if he insisted on a separation? Bloody Amy. Breaking her confidence hadn’t been accidental or naive or well-intentioned. From where Rachel was standing, it looked a lot like malice.

Rory raised his hand to wave; he must have spotted the kids in the throng. Sure enough, Emmet surfaced moments later, flushed cheeks, eyes darting around him.

‘Is Bridie here yet?’

Rachel blinked.

Rory responded before she could. ‘Bridie is meant to be with you, mate.’

‘She went to the bathroom.’ Emmet’s voice was high-pitched and guilty. ‘About a half-hour before the concert finished. She couldn’t hang on.’

Rory sighed loudly. ‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you go with her? Wasn’t I clear that you were meant to stick together?’

‘She insisted, said we’d meet here as arranged. I thought it was okay.’

It should be okay, Rachel reassured herself. Bridie was old enough to navigate her way here or seek help from security if she got lost.

‘I’ll call her,’ Rachel said, taking out her phone. She had one missed call, from an unknown number. No messages or calls from her daughter. She held the phone tight to her ear to shut out the background noise.

You’ve reached Bridie. Leave a message. Thanks heaps. The recording captured the youth in her daughter’s voice, the sweetness.

‘Bridie, it’s Mum. We’re waiting by the monument. Call or text to let us know you’re on the way.’

‘Is her phone switched off?’ Rory asked, his first verbal communication to her in hours.

‘Switched off or dead.’

Rachel again reminded herself that Bridie was resourceful enough to navigate her way to the meeting spot. Nevertheless, she decided to ring the unknown number, just in case their daughter was trying to get in contact via someone else’s phone.

Her call was picked up immediately.

‘Rachel, we need to talk. I have something—’

Nico! She should have known. She hung up, unable to meet Rory’s eyes, or quell the foreboding that shivered down her spine.