Katy is the first to arrive at the tapas bar where she and Mike agreed to meet. It’s a small place and immediately obvious that her date – although she shouldn’t really be using that term – isn’t here. She sits down at one of the tables, and a waiter who reminds her of Luke – same height and build – takes her drinks order.
It doesn’t matter if he stands me up, she tells herself. I’ve nothing to lose.
She has been stood up more times than she cares to remember. Nowadays she has a policy of waiting for no longer than twenty minutes. Time enough to allow for transport problems or other genuine reasons for being late. Time enough to finish one drink and look as though she is the kind of girl who regularly goes out on her own.
The waiter arrives with a large glass of sangria. She takes a long gulp. Checks the time on her phone, then notices a movement by the door. He’s here. Relief.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he says, even before he reaches her table. ‘Babysitter problems.’
Katy is attracted to him straight away. Average height. Dark hair. Pale skin. An athletic body from working out at the gym or some other regular sport. She stands up. Offers him her hand.
‘I always allow my students one chance,’ she says, only half joking.
‘What happens if they’re late a second time?’ Even his smile is attractive, encompassing his whole face, shining through his dark brown eyes; she could get lost in his eyes if she looked for too long.
‘Detention. Or clean-up duties. As well as being in my bad books for the rest of the year.’
He laughs and pulls out a seat to sit down. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
The waiter reappears and Katy thinks of Luke again. If her calculations are correct, Luke and Aaron should be getting on a plane quite soon. She offered them the use of her spare bedroom during their visit but Luke declined. Apparently, Aaron wants to stay in the family home, which is admirable but potentially disastrous.
‘Can I get you something to drink, sir? A beer or some wine?’
Mike nods at Katy’s sangria. ‘I’ll have some of that.’
‘How about a jug to share?’
Katy and Mike exchange a quick look. They both know that they’ll be here for more than one drink.
‘Sounds good,’ Mike confirms. He begins to talk about his sister, who is the babysitter tonight (and ninety per cent of the time). According to Mike, she’s the flakiest babysitter in the world, so chances are he’ll end up in Katy’s bad books again sometime in the future.
Sometime in the future.
The casual assumption that they’ll meet again makes her feel disproportionately happy. She tells herself to get a grip.
She asks him about his son, who was in some of the photos he sent for the yearbook. He promptly shows her more photos on his phone: Toby on a scooter, Toby at the beach, Toby with a soccer ball in his hands.
‘I’m a big believer in recording everything. Photos. Videos. Writing down the funny moments as well as the not-so-funny moments. It can be gone so quickly.’
Katy’s heart aches. For Mike. For four-year-old Toby, who will grow up without his mother. For Brigette, who will miss out on all his milestones, and even the everyday things like nagging him to clean his room and brush his teeth.
They both realise how hungry they are and order some tapas. She learns that he doesn’t like chorizo, and he discovers her weakness for pork flatbread. He asks her a million questions about school, her students, her timetable, her colleagues. She asks him about his work: the security firm that he owns, the type of security they provide (building security solutions) and what he likes and dislikes about it.
‘I like that it’s so broad. Every building is different, every client is unique, no two jobs are the same. What I don’t like is when there’s an after-hours incident. It’s difficult with Toby, especially if it’s the dead of night.’
Katy can see Toby curled up in bed, his dark head resting on his pillow, a soft toy held loosely in his arms. ‘What do you do if that happens?’
‘Drop him at Mum and Dad’s. Or a neighbour’s house.’
‘Not your sister?’
‘Emergencies aren’t her thing. I’ve told you, she’s flaky.’
They both laugh and then order another jug of sangria.
Mike becomes serious after that. ‘So what’s the latest about the yearbook and the mysterious messages?’
Katy almost forgot the reason they’re here in the first place: to see if he can get to the bottom of what’s going on. ‘I had a missed call from Zach Latham earlier today. It sounds like he got another note, a really nasty one.’
‘So has everyone in the year group received messages?’ His question is slow and thoughtful. He comes across as someone who doesn’t rush in, someone who’d be calm and measured in a crisis.
‘Not everyone. A certain group. What we used to call the popular group ... And, quite strangely, me.’
‘You weren’t part of the popular group?’ He seems to find this hard to believe.
‘I had bright orange hair and loved science,’ she says drily. ‘What do you think?’
He laughs, deep grooves forming at the sides of his mouth.
‘As far as I know, six people have received messages,’ she continues. ‘Annabel, Grace, Luke, Zach, Melissa and me.’
As Katy calls out the names, she realises that Jarrod is missing from the list. Does this mean something?
‘Can you get me copies?’ Mike asks. ‘Sometimes there are obvious clues when all the evidence is seen together.’
‘I think so ... I’ll ask everyone. Some of the content is sensitive – both Annabel and Grace were quite upset – but hopefully that won’t stop them from sharing.’
Should she mention Jarrod? Jarrod would hardly send his own wife a nasty email, would he? But it’s odd that he hasn’t received anything. Maybe he did and decided to keep quiet?
‘Some of the messages are emails, others are physical notes,’ she says instead. ‘I don’t know if that’s important.’
Mike stares at her. ‘Seems important to me. A note means they know where to find you.’
Her eyes widen. ‘Now you’re scaring me.’
‘Sorry.’ He reaches across the table and briefly squeezes her hand. ‘I don’t mean to freak you out.’
Katy is distracted by the sound of a chair scraping on the floor. She looks over her shoulder and sees that the staff are stacking chairs on tables and casting meaningful glances in their direction.
Mike seems just as surprised as she is. ‘I didn’t realise the time.’
He calls for the bill, and offers his credit card without giving her the chance to see what’s owed.
She puts fifty dollars on the table. ‘This is for me. I pay my own way.’
It’s one of her rules. Just like the waiting thing. Always pay your share, because you don’t know the financial status of your date, and you don’t want to create any false expectations about some form of ‘payback’.
He looks at the money, then looks at her face, no doubt seeing the determination there. ‘Can’t you pay next time?’
Once again, the suggestion of the future makes her heart miss a beat.
‘No, thanks.’ Then she grins to take the edge off things. ‘Besides, next time could be somewhere more expensive.’
He takes the money and the awkward moment passes.
Outside the restaurant is surprisingly busy for a Thursday night. Pedestrians and revellers walking past, cars whizzing by on the main road, a police presence outside the pub a few doors up.
What now?
Even as she is thinking the question, he draws her close. His lips are soft and questioning. She melts into the kiss, answering the question: yes, yes, yes.
‘Your place isn’t far from here?’
‘A few minutes.’
‘Let’s go. I’ll walk you.’
‘You should get home to Toby.’ She doesn’t know why she is dissuading him. She would love him to walk her home.
‘I can spare a few minutes.’
He takes her hand in his and they cross the road. For the first time they’re quiet. Katy is absorbing details that she didn’t notice at the restaurant: the slightly rough skin of his hand, the smell of his aftershave, the upright manner in which he walks.
It’s over far too soon.
‘This is me. Thanks for seeing me home.’
There seems no point in inviting him in. He must get home to Toby. And she has a rule – something about not letting strange men into her apartment – although she is sorely tempted to throw her rulebook in the gutter.
He kisses her again. A deeper, more intimate kiss. A kiss that makes Katy feel both weak and strong. They’re both breathing heavily when they finally stop.
‘Gotta go,’ Mike says reluctantly. Then he adds, promises, ‘I’ll call you. Don’t forget to get those copies for me.’
‘Goodnight.’ Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It’s squeaky, feeble. ‘I won’t forget.’
She watches him retrace his steps down the street. He turns to give a last wave before disappearing from sight. She swings around to go inside and nearly jumps out of her skin.
‘Howdy, Katy.’ It’s Jim, her neighbour.
‘Jesus, Jim. You gave me a fright. What are you doing there?’ He’s standing half in the shadows. Was he watching her and Mike?
‘Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to startle you. Just taking out the rubbish. Did you have a good night?’
Katy can see he’s keen to chat but she desperately wants to get inside, to be alone, to examine everything that has happened tonight and rejoice over it.
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘No more strange notes under the door?’
‘Nope. Night, Jim.’
She turns on all the lights when she gets inside. Pours herself a glass of water. Sits on the couch with a smile that will not be suppressed.
He likes you as much as you like him. Unless you’ve got your signals mixed up.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’s got it wrong. A wonderful, promising first date followed by ... nothing.
No, this is different. Sometime in the future.
She realises that she hasn’t checked her phone for hours and retrieves it from her handbag. Dead. She sets it to charge and begins to get ready for bed. Her phone has come back to life by the time she emerges from the bathroom. There are several missed calls from Zach and another voice message.
‘Hi, Katy. Zach Latham again. We’ve been playing phone tag. Give me a call when you get this message.’
It’s almost midnight. Obviously too late to call now. And too late to text Nina, to tell her about the incredible night she’s just had.
Sometime in the future.
Katy climbs into bed, lies in the dark replaying every moment, and falls asleep with a smile on her face.