Simon traced the rings in the pub table where glasses had been put down hundreds, thousands of times. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion had fallen over him, even though he knew he wasn’t tired. He stared at the ring patterns until his eyes went out of focus, until the circles swung and swam together.

‘That’ll be her,’ said Tarden.

Simon was jolted from his thoughts. ‘Who?’

Tarden nodded his head at the nearest window.

Simon saw a wash of headlights, picking out the dirt in the glass. The headlights switched off.

‘Madaline,’ said Tarden. ‘Police.’

A woman came into the pub, wrapped in a large brown overcoat. Simon thought immediately of a detective, the sort in films. She was younger though, younger than his mother. Her face was pale, and seemed lost between the collar of her coat and the helmet-frame of her black hair. As she got closer, Simon saw that one of her eyes pointed slightly inwards.

Tarden got up. ‘Simon,’ he said, ‘this is Mad—ah, Constable—’

‘Senior Constable McKinley,’ said the woman. ‘Madaline, yes. Simon, you can call me Madaline.’

She reached into her pocket and took out a leather wallet. She flipped it open, showing Simon her ID card, a tiny picture of her on it, and smiled at Simon, her mouth lopsided but warm.

‘She’s the local police officer,’ said Tarden.

‘But not in official clothes.’ Madaline tugged at the sleeve of her overcoat. ‘Afraid you caught me just going to bed.’ She smiled again, quickly, before her face fell into seriousness. ‘Now, Simon. Are you all right?’

Simon nodded, not really hearing.

‘I bet things aren’t quite right, though, are they.’ She held out her hand. ‘We’ll go back to my house for a little bit, and we’ll get this sorted out. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ Simon took Madaline’s hand. She put her arm around him. Simon smelled wood-smoke.

‘Thanks, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you get on with your night.’

‘No worries,’ said Tarden. ‘Hope it all sorts out.’ He sat back down at the table. ‘I’ll see ya real soon, Simon. We can maybe go fishing some time. Get some of those yabbies.’

‘Maybe,’ said Simon. ‘Some time.’

Madaline ushered Simon out of the pub. The cold air hit them, and Madaline drew Simon in beside her. ‘You’re staying in one of the motel rooms, aren’t you. Have you got some warm clothes in there?’

‘Yeah,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve got a jumper and stuff.’

‘All right, well let’s walk around there, get some clothes, and we’ll leave your folks a note as well in case they come back.’

‘Okay.’

They went back to the room and Simon put on a jumper. Madaline scribbled a note on a pad she had in another pocket. She ripped it off and placed it on the bed. ‘They might have just lost track of time,’ she said. ‘I’ve given them my number on here, and the number for the pub. They’ll call if they come back. They went off in the car, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll go back to my place and wait there. It’s not far. It’ll be safer there, seeing as your parents have the keys.’ Madaline glanced around the room with a sour look on her face. ‘It’ll be warmer too.’

Simon let Madaline close the door behind them, let her walk him to her car, let her buckle him into the passenger seat. He tried his best to stay numb, to not let his thoughts overtake him.

‘It’s not a police car,’ he said.

‘You mean, no flashing lights?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve got one of those, too,’ she said. ‘Well, my sergeant does. This is still a police car. I know it just looks like a Corolla with pretty bad paint, but don’t let that fool you.’

As they drove—slowly, carefully—Simon scanned the road ahead, lit up in grey, running away beneath the car. He felt empty and cold. Grass and bushes crept past on either side of the road, offering only their ghostly edges.

Madaline’s fingers were ice-white on the steering wheel. Simon didn’t think she seemed as calm as before. She brushed some hair behind her ear. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Our new house is on the Gold Coast.’

‘Oh yeah, which part?’

‘The main part, I think.’ Simon didn’t really know where he lived. It was the third house they’d lived in at the Coast, and the ninth in his life. When they moved in, only a few weeks before, Simon had got out his father’s street directory to try and find their address. His eyes were always drawn to a large blue inlet. Lake Wonderland.

‘Must be nice up there,’ said Madaline. ‘Warm.’

The rattle of the suspension was all that broke the silence. The first unfocused smudges of light rain appeared on the windscreen.

‘I’m from up north myself,’ said Madaline eventually. ‘Used to live out on a property. Can you imagine?’ She laughed, an odd, fast laugh, as if at the strangeness of what she’d said. Simon bunched his fists into the sleeves of his jumper. He didn’t see what was so funny about living on a farm.

The car crawled on. The regularity of smaller side streets soon ended and they reached a dark stretch of road flanked on either side by thick coastal scrub. Madaline swung the steering wheel suddenly and Simon thought they would crash into the trees. Instead the car divided a bowing salute of ferns and ascended a steep driveway. The arms of rainforest plants slapped at the windscreen.

‘Here we are,’ said Madaline. Two wooden lamps lit a porch. A house sat on tall stilts, wide stairs leading from the driveway up to a generous verandah. A man sat beside the door on a bench seat wearing a pea-green coat splattered with a dark pattern of raindrops. He had shoulder-length blonde hair, curled at the ends where it was obviously wet. He stood up as the car arrived.

‘This is my house,’ said Madaline. ‘Let’s go inside and get you something to eat.’

Simon realised he was starving. He wondered what time it was. The clock on Madaline’s dashboard had lost its hands.

‘Come on, then.’ Madaline tapped Simon on the knee and got out of the car.

Simon opened his door just as the man in the green coat made his way down the stairs to meet them. He let his left hand slide all the way down the railing.

Madaline put her fingers on Simon’s shoulders. ‘Hi Ned,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming out.’

‘I parked on the road,’ said the man. ‘Didn’t know how much room you were going to need.’ For some reason, he looked at Simon as he spoke.

‘Simon, this is Ned,’ said Madaline. ‘He’s a friend of mine. He’s going to help us out.’

‘Hi Simon,’ said Ned. ‘Why don’t you come inside. I’ve made us something to eat.’

‘Isn’t this your house?’ said Simon to Madaline.

‘Yes, it is,’ she said, again with her strange smile. ‘Ned’s just been doing some supper for us.’

‘Let’s get inside, anyway,’ said Ned, peering up at the sky. Thick spats of rain had begun to fall. He led them up the stairs, into the house, to the living room.

Four mismatched lamps lit the space: the light they cast joined in strange planes, patchworking the walls into random gradations of shadow. There was paper everywhere: manila folders and ring binders stacked in towers on the floor, on a rickety cane hutch, crammed into two giant bookshelves. Even normal-looking books had incongruous pages poking out, swollen with words that were clearly not their own.

‘This is where I get my work done,’ said Madaline apolo-
getically. ‘Messy, but cosy.’ She gestured to the couch, and Simon sat down. She sat opposite in a recliner. Its chocolate-coloured leather had broken into small scales where her arms rested, and where she leaned her head.

Ned cleared his throat. ‘I’ll rustle up some food,’ he said, disappearing into another room.

Madaline leaned forward in her seat, her dark hair reaching down to shadow her cheeks, her fingers pressed together in a steeple. She had a small trail of pink dots up the inside of her arm. Insect bites. She stared right into Simon’s eyes, trying to see inside him. He shifted on the lumpy cushion.

She said, ‘I want you to understand, Simon, that we’ll all be doing our best to find your parents. I want you to know that.’ She leaned over and pressed her palm to his knee. She held it there, and kept looking at him.

‘I want to go home,’ said Simon.

Madaline bit her lip and let out a quick breath from between her teeth. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’

Simon realised no one had told him it was going to be
okay. If it was a movie, they would have. They would make
promises. We’ll find your parents if it’s the last thing we do. Everything’s going to be fine.

Ned came back into the room, holding a large tray. Simon smelled toast and his stomach growled. ‘Brought us some sustenance,’ said Ned, sitting down beside Simon on the couch. The tray had a blue plate in the middle of it, and on the plate was a pile of toasted sandwiches, golden with butter, molten cheese leaking from the edges. An enormous glass sat beside the plate, filled nearly to the top with milk and Milo. ‘Toasted cheese and mustard,’ said Ned. ‘Perfect midnight snack.’ He took a red napkin from under the plate and handed it to Simon.

‘Is it midnight?’ asked Simon. He felt a tiredness lurching inside him.

‘Maybe close.’ Ned glanced at his wrist, even though he wasn’t wearing a watch.

‘Eat up,’ said Madaline. ‘You must be hungry.’

Simon picked up a sandwich, and it was perfectly warm. He bit into it, a small bite. The butter melted gently against the roof of his mouth—he felt it, he could almost see it. The cheese was creamy and the mustard was sharp. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. He smelled the flavours as he ate them and felt a shudder across his shoulders: his senses beginning to return. The rain had come up; now it was hammering a loud pattern on the roof.

Madaline cleared her throat. ‘There’s not much we can do tonight. I’m sure your parents are safe wherever they are. I’ll drive out to the dam tonight, and if I don’t see anything we’ll start a proper search at first light.’

‘You might find them tonight though?’

‘I may do. The car might have broken down out at the lake, or something. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

Simon pictured his parents, huddled together inside the car. Light, in streaks, appearing at the windows: the safety of sunlight, the reassurance of police blue and ambulance reds.

‘Simon,’ said Madaline, ‘you’re going to need somewhere to stay tonight.’ She leaned forward in her chair. ‘I don’t want you staying by yourself in that motel room.’

Simon took a sip of his Milo. He crunched the undissolved malt with his back teeth. He imagined a brontosaurus, grinding branches and leaves.

‘I’ve asked Ned if he can look after you,’ said Madaline. ‘He’s got a bigger house than mine. It’s sort of a hotel, but his family lives there too.’

‘The Gales’ place,’ said Simon. He remembered the name, the image of a strong wind blowing.

‘That’s right.’ Ned cocked his head. ‘You know my last name.’

‘Tarden told us,’ said Simon. ‘At the cafe.’

Madaline put down a corner of a sandwich. ‘You spoke to Jack before your parents went missing?’

‘Yes. At the cafe.’ Simon suddenly remembered the connection. ‘My grandma is staying there,’ he said.

‘Your grandma?’ said Madaline. ‘Where?’

‘At the Gales’ house. That’s why we were coming here.’

‘Who’s your grandma?’ said Ned.

Simon thought this a very strange question. He heard her voice again, in his head, echoing through an empty house. ‘My grandma,’ he said. ‘Iris.’

Ned’s mouth stood open. ‘She’s never mentioned—’

‘We were coming to visit her,’ said Simon. ‘My mum and her haven’t spoken in a long time. But she called us…and she’s sick. All Mum wanted was—’ Simon felt a fire flick yellow in his stomach: not pale like lamplight, but sharp like a flashing sword. He saw a dizzy wide sky, streaked with clouds, and knew his parents were not under it. The world spun. He smelled dust and hand cream. A spider-spout of vomit scuttled at his throat, a warm jumble that fell from his mouth and wet his chest in mustard-coloured clumps.

Madaline jumped from her seat and put a napkin to his lips. ‘Poor thing,’ she said kindly. ‘You poor bugger.’ She put a hand to Simon’s brow.

‘I’ll get a towel,’ said Ned quietly. He got up, and as his arm brushed past, Simon could not ever remember his parents doing this. Tending to him. Simon’s breath was sour and hot when he finally breathed in. His tears, when they came, were cooling.