33.

In the early hours he lurched awake, mouth dry, the sensation of falling. A high ceiling, sketches pinned to the walls: Kat’s spare room. She was next to him, curled on top of the bedclothes in the T-shirt and shorts she wore as pyjamas. The weight of her arm across his chest. Holding him while she slept. No memory of her coming in to comfort him, but the shadow of the nightmare lay on him like a bruise. A new one this time: the pier and lowering sky, Frankie’s fading eyes.

A car went by, headlights running across the walls and bed, the familiar planes of Kat’s face. Smooth skin and dark lashes, the hint of smile lines at her eyes. A face he used to wake up to every day.

Last night they’d talked for hours in the kitchen, drinking cup after cup of sweetened tea while he’d tried to separate Frankie’s lies from the truth. Horror in Kat’s expression. Impossible to know how much of it was at Frankie’s betrayal and how much Kat’s fear for a young child. For his part in it all.

He eased the quilt from under her and pulled it across them both. She shifted sleepily against him. He held her warmth to him, staring into the darkened room, willing sleep to come.

***

Kat’s side of the bed was cold when he woke up, but the tea on his bedside table was still hot. The burn mark from Frankie’s bullet pulsed on his upper arm. A few inches to the right and – Had she meant to miss, or had he moved just in time?

He dressed in yesterday’s clothes and put his aids in, checked the sketches on the wall. Preliminary drawings for a new work. Another white-bellied sea eagle; different from her usual style, but still undeniably fierce, undeniably hers. Plywood ribcage and legs, outspread wings. Kinetic and alive, as though it could take flight. Looked like she was playing around with moveable joints. If he was reading her scrawled numbers right, the sculpture would be nearly her height. No wonder she was excited.

As he went to find Kat, the thuds of a busy house vibrated beneath his bare feet. Georgie must have stayed the night, offspring in tow. By the time he’d got inside last night she’d disappeared, no doubt shooed away by Kat.

He didn’t get further than the kitchen doorway. A large room with a wide central table, walls filled with Kat’s pencilled doodles. No Kat here now, but all three of her sisters, along with assorted nieces and nephews. Six kids including Georgie’s neighbour’s son, all under twelve; eating toast and frying eggs, the twins stacking saucepans in the corner. A rising and falling jumble of voices. Hard to believe the place would be spotless when they left, and the fridge full.

Georgie was halfway through pouring the kettle. Dark hair pulled back in a serviceable ponytail, the same clear blue eyes as Kat’s, not quite as forgiving. Just turned forty, moving comfortably into the role of community elder. People in the Bay had already begun calling her Aunty. She gave Caleb a long look. ‘The prodigal is-he-or-isn’t-he husband.’

So Kat hadn’t told her the reason for his late-night visit, or the state he’d been in. Georgie might be terrifying, but she wasn’t unkind.

‘Hi, Georgie. School holidays?’ Not yet, surely?

‘Curriculum day. Come join the fun.’

Amelia and Helen had turned from the table. More blue eyes, more up-and-down looks. He was suddenly very aware of his three-day growth, bruised forehead, stale and ripped shirt – and the fact he was supposed to present as a good partner for their baby sister.

Georgie switched off a radio he hadn’t realised had been on. ‘Come and have breakfast. There’s heaps.’

About to be quizzed. He wouldn’t get away with pretending not to understand them: all three sisters knew how to make themselves clear. Very clear.

‘I’m right, thanks. Where’s Kat?’

‘Dunno. So, how’s it going? You good?’ Georgie’s gaze moved to the bruise on his forehead.

‘She gone out?’

Amelia patted the empty seat next to her. ‘Sit down, tell us how you’ve been doing.’ Her cheek dimpled. ‘What you’ve been doing.’ The youngest of the three, she was usually his best ally, but he wasn’t stupid: if Kat hadn’t told them why he’d spent the night, he wasn’t going to do it himself.

‘She say when she’d be back?’

Georgie ditched any attempt at being subtle. Her hands went to her hips, a pose so habitual he’d made it her sign name. ‘So you’re staying over these days?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Just last night.’

‘You’re not –?’

‘– are you –?’

‘– in with –?

‘– Katy?’

He held up a hand. ‘One at a time, or nominate a spokeswoman.’

Georgie raised a finger, waited patiently while he decided whether to see it or not. How did they have the time to be sitting around Kat’s kitchen on a Friday morning? All of them professionals, mothers, foster carers. Homes and workplaces three and a half hours away in Resurrection Bay. Defied the laws of time and physics.

‘OK, go,’ he told Georgie.

‘Does Katy want you to move back in?’

‘You’d have to ask her.’

‘Do you want to?’

They leaned forward, unblinking. Important not to actually show the fear; tricky to pull off with people who’d known him half his life, but he could do it.

‘That’s between me and Kat.’

They laughed. Georgie carried the teapot to the table, still smiling. ‘Katy’s in the shower. Think she’s hiding from us.’ She paused. ‘Or you.’

***

He found Kat’s drill and tightened the screws on the back steps while he waited, keeping them safe till he could get to a hardware store. Kat would be shitty, but at least he’d be able to cross one thing off the nightmare list.

He was finishing the handrail when she appeared holding two steaming mugs. Barefoot, wearing jeans and a loose rust-red top, hair still wet despite the chill. Never seemed to feel the cold, ran even hotter in pregnancy. She came down the steps, disregarding their lack of structural integrity, handed him one of the mugs. Her toenails were painted red, yellow and black. ‘The tiddas said you might be out here.’ Speaking out loud, but she was the easiest person to read, in words and expression: worried and decisive. Once she’d put the tea down so she could sign, she’d tell him exactly what he should be doing and why.

‘Did they use the word “hiding”?’

She smiled. ‘They did, actually. Were they being particularly mean?’

‘How would I know?’ He sat next to her as she settled on the bottom step, bracing himself when her eyes went to the drill.

She set her cup down and signed, ‘If you’re in need of handyman therapy, you can tackle the mould in the bathroom next.’

A generous pass, coupled with a warning shot. He tried the tea – black with a hint of vanilla, nothing to be deduced from it.

‘How you feeling?’ she asked.

‘Fine.’ He stopped, made himself try again. ‘Don’t know. Numb. Sorry about the nightmare. Waking you.’

She shook her head. ‘You still having them a lot?’

‘First one in ages.’ He caught her frown and said, ‘Seriously. I’m solid. Well, scaffolded, I guess. I’ll call Henry if I need to.’ He thought through what to say next. Their reconciliation had nearly failed because he’d pushed a case too far; if Kat didn’t want him to keep looking for Tilda, he was going to have a major problem.

She touched his knee to get his attention. ‘You have to talk to Tedesco again.’

‘What?’

‘I know he’s hard to budge, but you need help and you can trust him.’

‘Yeah. I was going to try again this morning. So you’re OK with me looking for Tilda?’

‘God yes, how could you live with yourself? I can’t stop thinking about her. She must be so scared.’ Kat pulled a slip of paper from her pocket, handed it to him.

C West, room 310

‘What’s this?’

‘Maggie’s room number. I rang the hospital, she’s awake.’

His blood congealed. Kat talking to people, Kat getting dragged into things; the horrors of the last time that had happened were written on her skin.

‘Don’t panic,’ she said. ‘I know the drill. Rang from a public phone, didn’t use my name. The nurse said they’re allowing ten-minute visits from family. Sounds like Maggie’s pretty groggy, but it’s worth a try. If she can tell you who’s got Tilda, you’ll be halfway to finding her.’

A churn of emotions, most of which he’d have to deal with later. Concentrate on making sure Kat didn’t get drawn in any further. ‘When are your sisters going back to the Bay?’

‘Soon as they’ve finished hassling you.’

‘It’d be good if you went with them. I’ll be able to help Tilda a lot better if I’m not worried about you. I’ll pick you up Thursday so you can be back for the ultrasound.’ What arguments hadn’t he touched on? ‘It’d save your sisters from making the trip up here. They must be busy.’

‘You can stop laying it on so thick, I’m already going.’

A catch there somewhere, had to be. ‘Really?’

‘I’m working with Jarrah. He’s got a big studio down there.’

Caleb tried to keep the grimace from his face. ‘The plywood bird?’

‘Yeah.’ Her face lifted. ‘Jarrah’s going to do the mechanical stuff. He’s got a degree in engineering.’

Of course he did. A degree in engineering, a happy nature, a shit-eating grin.

Time to have the conversation. ‘What’s the story with you and Jarrah?’

Her eyes were on him, clear blue in the morning light. It took her a few moments to answer. ‘Just colleagues these days.’ So there’d been something, in the long months after their marriage imploded; divorce papers waiting, communication ceased, Kat recovering from two miscarriages and an uncommunicative fuckhead of a husband.

‘Serious?’ he asked. Did some part of him enjoy pain?

‘Couple of months. Then you turned up again.’

Not sure how to take that, except to put it on the steadily growing deal-with-it-later pile. ‘Couldn’t resist my rugged good looks?’

A smile. ‘Plus your modesty.’ She picked up her tea and drank, gazing at the garden. Millimetres from him; too far.