14

It was Ray who answered the door at Faye Montgomery’s place in Louisa Road, Birchgrove, running a hand over his grey, Brylcreemed hair. Wearing a white shirt, brown cardigan and navy-blue cords, looking relaxed and casual, man about the house. Jack gave a quick guilty smile but got only a disappointed shake of the head in return.

‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, okay, but —’

Ray held up his hand, closed his eyes.

‘You’re going to make me suffer? What about if I come by the shop tonight, help with the last bit of cataloguing? And I supply the booze?’

‘It’s all done now, thank you. Faye assisted me.’

‘So you didn’t want me to be there anyway?’

‘Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have called.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure that was on your mind the whole time.’

‘It was the possibility of you arriving that irritated me the most.’ Ray glanced behind him, said in a lower voice: ‘Messed up all my moves.’

‘Why didn’t you call me then?’

‘And have her overhear me?’

‘All right, fine. My deepest apologies for messing up your moves and next time I’ll be sure to call.’ Jack pointed at his friend’s feet. ‘Nikes? Since when?’

‘I have injured my toe.’ Ray did not want to talk about it. ‘So where were you anyway?’

‘Last-minute shooting, so it slipped my mind.’ He left his meeting with Claudia out of it.

‘Would you care to try that again?’

‘Somebody popped one off at Ziggy Brandt. Cops wanted to chat to me about it this morning.’

‘It wasn’t you, was it?’

‘He’s still with us.’

Ray sighed. ‘Is that what you told them?’

‘I told them I was with you.’

‘Oh good. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a perjurer.’

‘Little white lie, Ray. Just like the realms, ten cents an acre.’

‘Can I ask where you actually were?’

‘Taking Lois for a walk.’

‘Jack …’

‘It’s okay, don’t worry.’ He looked over Ray’s shoulder. ‘So how’s Faye?’

‘She’s getting ready. Come on then, I’ll show you the private entrance.’

Jack followed Ray through a wooden gate and along a gravel path down the side of the house.

‘I told Faye you were a respectable businessman.’

‘Just don’t bring her around to the shop.’

‘I’m not that stupid,’ said Ray. ‘It’s just down here.’

Jack was still not convinced that he wanted to live in somebody’s backyard. Let alone around the corner from Duncan goddamn Beaumont. That morning he had been thinking about caravans again, about getting out of town and shrugging off the rent and the bills and the business of clapped-out books, and the cops and Brandt and all the rest of it. The wisdom was all there in his little green book on caravanning every time he picked it up and opened another page. Just before leaving Susko Books to come here, page 78:

There are many people who would benefit by living in a caravan for a few years: one learns what is really necessary and what can be thrown away.

‘So what do you think?’

Jack took in the view. It was not a caravan, but just about. Square, white weatherboard cottage with a blue corrugated-steel roof. Quarter-drawn ruffled curtains in the wood-framed windows. About the size of a horse float. All it needed was wheels.

‘Shall we have a look inside?’

‘Why not?’ He was getting a feeling.

An open-plan living area with a sleeping alcove in the corner and a kitchenette opposite. Separate bathroom and toilet. The ceiling slanted at an angle and there was a row of windows across the vertical, letting in the day’s bleak light. Timber floors and exposed beams and not a lot of room in which to swing a sarcastic cat.

‘Cosy, huh?’ said Ray.

‘Like a helmet.’ There was some wear and tear about the joint. But he liked it. ‘When’s it available?’

‘Whenever you want. Now.’

He nodded, trying to imagine his stuff in the limited space. A tight fit, but he could see it being at home. The place had a nice feel, almost like it was in the country. Trees and shrubs filled the windows and a rectangle of luxuriant lawn stretched out front. Across it, a crooked line of flagstones led to the corner of the main house and the path that climbed up to the street. Sydney Harbour was right behind, blocked by a barrier of dark-green hedge, but its presence still felt in the sound of lapping waves and the diesel rumble of boats and ferries.

‘You like it, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Faye’s great, Jack. You’ll love her.’

‘Like you?’

‘So far so great.’

Jack smiled. ‘I’m glad, Ray.’

‘Me too. Let’s go and say hello.’

She was putting cupcakes onto a plate when Ray led Jack through the sliding door into the kitchen.

‘He’s here.’

Faye Montgomery looked up with a smile. She was tall, with blonde-grey hair clipped into a short ponytail. Pale-blue eyes, a wide mouth and strong nose, in a face that had seen some years and was happy to wear them. She came out from behind the kitchen bench and whipped off her apron. Light-grey pants and a maroon fine-wool jumper. An amber pendant hung on a chain around her long neck. Graceful and mannish at the same time, like an antipodean Katharine Hepburn.

‘Hello, Jack,’ she said and reached out to shake hands. ‘Welcome.’

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Montgomery.’ Her grip was firm and cupcake warm.

‘Goodness, call me Faye.’

‘Done.’

She clapped once. ‘Oh, I can see we’re going to get on like a house on fire!’ Her voice was educated, all the grammar in the right place and the pronunciation smooth and precise. Jack could feel himself liking the woman already, and smiling because it felt natural to do so around her.

She narrowed her eyes a little. ‘Can I ask you a question, Jack?’

‘Of course.’

‘The flat is not too small?’

‘Perfect for one man and his cat.’

‘I see.’ She went back behind the kitchen bench and began filling a kettle with water. ‘And living in an old woman’s backyard? That suits you, too?’

Jack half grinned, not sure how to respond.

Faye nodded. Her face became serious. ‘I mean to point out, Jack, that I’m not the mothering type. If that’s what you see here.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘What are you? Thirty-four? Thirty-five?’

‘Thirty-six.’

‘In my experience, handsome young men of your age who come looking at my little garden flat here have, nine times out of ten, been just divorced, just dumped, just left, or just stupid. If you fall into any of those categories, Jack, our situation would simply not … gel.’

The straight talk braced the room like a sudden draught: but it was fresh, not cold, and Jack sensed that Faye had a touch of the theatre about her. ‘I’m single,’ he said.

She thought about that and frowned. ‘So what’s wrong with you?’

Jack brushed some hair across his forehead. His good feelings were still there but getting a little confused. ‘I must have one of those faces.’

She placed her palms down on the bench, like a barrister about to make a concluding speech to the jury, and looked right into his eyes. ‘Can I trust you, Jack?’

‘Are you about to ask me to help get rid of a body?’

Faye turned to Ray. ‘I like him,’ she said. ‘When can he start?’

‘Don’t be rash. He’s not joking about the body.’

‘Oh, Raymond. It would only make him more interesting.’

‘Yeah. Why don’t you shut up, Campbell?’

‘Well said!’

‘Now I’m wondering why I ever suggested the idea. Must be mad.’

Faye walked over and placed a hand on Ray’s cheek. ‘It’s why I love you.’ She kissed him on the forehead. ‘Now, let’s sit for a nice cup of tea and a chat. Jack can tell me all about himself while I steal some of his cigarettes.’ When she looked over at him again, her eyes had misted over. ‘My late husband used to smoke. I haven’t smelt it on a man for a long time. Not in here, anyway.’

Jack reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the pack. ‘Whenever you want, Faye. Don’t even ask.’

She poured hot water into a teapot. ‘Very good,’ she said, then sat down and patted the seat of the chair next to her. ‘But now. You must tell me all about Lois.’