28.

He hit the road early and was back in the Bay by mid-morning, fuelled by a bowl of dry cereal and a watery coffee made from the last of his beans; at some stage he’d have to stop and do some shopping. He couldn’t quite face Vicky Graham’s brand of smiling racism at the EezyWay, so he filled up at the tiny service station where he’d dumped McGregor’s ute, a single-bowser place with a shop that stocked dead flies along with its dubious-looking chocolate bars. Common sense told him not to consume anything from the place, but there was a coffee machine, and he was in desperate need of caffeine. He ordered a long black and checked his phone while he waited. His heart gave a little loop of joy: a message from Kat. He’d sent her a short text late last night, an I’m-thinking-of-you message that had taken him an embarrassingly long time to compose. It didn’t look as though Kat had had the same concerns in crafting her reply.

—all good prob good to see you pm xx

The Rosetta Stone of a long relationship was needed to translate that one: she was busy but hadn’t wanted to ignore his text; probably free to see him this afternoon. God, he hoped so. Less than twenty-four hours away from her, and his arms felt empty.

He put his phone away and realised that the barista-cum-petrol-station-attendant was glaring at him. A thin-faced man in his sixties, with plenty of wrinkles and very few smile lines.

‘Sorry, what?’ Caleb said.

The man scowled at the takeaway cup sitting on the fly specked counter. ‘You want hot water with that? It’s strong.’

Caleb looked at the coffee without much hope. It was thick and black, and topped by a layer of perfect golden crema. Like finding the Holy Grail in a public toilet.

‘Jesus,’ Caleb said.

The bloke sniffed. ‘So you want water?’

‘God, no. It’d be sacrilege.’

He got a sudden, gap-toothed smile for that. ‘New machine. Never used to touch the stuff, but the girlfriend put me onto it. They take it pretty seriously where she’s from.’

‘Italy?’

‘Nah, Coburg.’

He made sure no Harley-riding men were lurking around the bowsers, then returned to the car, turning off his phone and removing the SIM: nothing like a cautionary chat with a homicide detective to make you up your security game. He savoured the remaining drops of coffee and started the car. Time to hunt down Rat-tail Luke. No guarantee that the boy would lead him to Blondie, but he was feeling confident of his chances. Or caffeinated, at least, which was almost the same thing.

There was no sign of Luke anywhere, but Caleb eventually caught sight of a familiar figure hanging around the foreshore toilets: a dark-haired teenager about sixteen years old. No court of law would accept the ID, but it was Blue Bandana Boy, the one who’d chucked the half-brick at him. The kid he was talking to had been in the riots, too, carrying a cricket bat and running down the middle of Bay Road.

Caleb parked under the Norfolk Island pines that lined the foreshore and directed the fan towards his face. He calculated that he had five minutes before he either died from heat exhaustion or fused with the seat. Five minutes was probably the cut-off time for grown men to hang around watching teenage boys outside public toilets, anyway.

The two boys were popular, with a constant trickle of people stopping by for a chat. A couple of words, a shake of the hand, and the customers left happy. Enterprising. Back in his day, the favoured pastime for teenage gangs had been throwing stones and thumping the shit out of people like him. The dark-haired kid was obviously the minder, the smaller one doing the selling. A little bit of genius to the set-up. People barely saw teenage boys, couldn’t tell them apart, expected them to be hanging around public places. And if they got caught smashing windows or selling a few grams, they’d probably get off with a bit of community service.

A flash of blue to the right – Rat-tail Luke riding up on his BMX, the black backpack swinging from his handlebars. He skidded to a dusty stop beside the two boys and jumped off. A cursory check to ensure no one was watching, then he opened the backpack. The smaller boy grabbed handfuls of cash from his pockets and dropped them inside. So Rat-tail was the money man. He was leaning against the toilet wall now, looking as though he was up for a leisurely chat.

Caleb pulled onto the road and drove around the corner. He doubled back on foot, keeping the toilet block between him and the boys. The building was made from grey Besser blocks, with a high band of latticework that was a bad choice for the Bay’s frigid winter winds but a great opportunity to spy on nearby teenagers. Caleb slipped around the back to the entrance closest to the boys, then stopped. There weren’t too many places in this world where a white man couldn’t confidently venture, but the women’s toilets was one of them. Then again, only the bladder-challenged and tourists were brave enough to use these toilets; he’d probably be able to get in and out without being seen.

He ducked into the cubicle by the wall and stood on the toilet so he could peer through the latticework. The tops of three floppy-haired heads came into view. He was still trying to make himself comfortable when the cubicle door swung open. A woman and a six-year-old girl stared up at him, their mouths open.

Shit: Milly Howard, one of Kat’s old high school friends – loud, opinionated, not a huge fan of his.

‘Hey, Milly, how’s it going?’

She gripped her daughter’s hand and bustled away. Well, that had gone pretty much as he’d expected it to, minus the yelling.

He turned back to the boys. They obviously had a lot to say to each other, jostling and gesticulating, but none of them was thoughtful enough to turn his head towards Caleb.

A man in his forties approached them, rubbing at his arms, raising red welts on already scabbed skin. ‘You got me?’ he asked.

The smaller kid shook his head and said something.

The man’s face crumpled. ‘No, I don’t want that.’

The boy stepped forward, waving his arms in a clear ‘fuck off’.

‘C’mon,’ the man said. ‘I’ve gotta get off this. I want me. I’ve got the money.’

Caleb craned his neck to try and get a better view. He’d obviously got a word wrong there, possibly more than one. He’d have to ask Ant for a translation. Ask him who he should be talking to about the drug trade while he was at it. Maybe –

A tap on his leg.

He lurched backwards and stepped into the toilet bowl.

Kat was looking up at him, a shopping bag over her shoulder. She made the OK sign, her single raised eyebrow making it both a question about his wellbeing and a comment on his lack of judgement.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘What are you doing here, is what Milly Howard would like to know. She came running up to me in the supermarket, shouting at the top of her voice that you were lurking inside the women’s loos. She’s probably round at the police station by now.’ Kat examined his dripping foot. ‘Would you like to dry off in Joe’s while you avoid them?’

The yellow walls and lace curtains were a little faded, but not much else had changed in the fourteen years since he’d first taken Kat to Joe’s Café. There were only a few other customers: an elderly couple lingering over their cappuccinos, and Bert Manningham, the owner of the EezyWay. Bert was a man with a worrying fondness for khaki and the thick-headed ability to unintentionally turn any conversation into a racist slur. Caleb steered Kat to a table on the furthest side of the room.

A waitress slumped towards them with a fuck-you air that promised unintelligible speech. Caleb straightened. Excellent. The last time he’d been in here with Kat, they’d had a massive argument over his unwillingness to reveal his deafness when faced with an incomprehensible waitress. This time he’d be ready to admit defeat at the first muttered word.

The waitress drooped to a halt in front of their table and pulled out her notepad. ‘What can I get you?’

Damn. Perfect enunciation, her voice neither too high nor too low but just right – the Goldilocks of elocution. Kat would never believe he couldn’t understand her. He gave his order, then watched as Kat set about ordering the entire dessert menu. Something was different about her: eyes shining, a zing of energy to her movements.

She grinned at him as Goldilocks left. ‘You had a whole victory-in-defeat speech planned, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m sorry, babe, I’m sure someone will come along and mutter at you soon.’ She patted his arm.

Her hand – there was ink on her fingers.

An easing in his chest, like breath returning after a bad fall. ‘You’ve been drawing.’

‘Yeah.’ She smiled and he caught a glimpse of the old Kat, the Kat who’d taken all the sorrow in her life and wrought something beautiful from it. ‘I started last night. It was incredible. This idea just appeared in my brain, and I had to get it down. It flowed onto the page like it had been waiting for the right moment. God, I’m so relieved. I could just cry, you know.’

He did know. Might do it himself right here in the café. He took her smudged hand and kissed it, then pressed her palm to his face.

She rubbed her thumb across his cheek. ‘You look tired. Bad night again?’

‘No.’

A frown crept onto her face.

‘Really,’ he said. ‘I was up early. I popped back to Melbourne yesterday.’

‘That’s quite a pop. Is this still about Portia Hirst?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And your public toilet stakeout too?’

‘No, that’s just a hobby.’

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She hesitated, then asked, ‘Why are you so obsessed with her?’

‘I’m not obsessed, I’m focused.’

‘Do you think you might be –?’ She broke off, scowling at something behind him.

Damn, Bert Manningham was swaggering over for a chat. When he reached their table, he stopped and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his excessstock army pants. He was pink and fleshless like a skinned rabbit.

‘Nice to see you two getting along.’

‘Hi Bert,’ Caleb said, through gritted teeth. ‘On a short break, are you?’

‘Yeah, just a quick one. No rest for the wicked, hey? I’m a bit surprised to see you in here, Kathryn. I thought you’d be helping your lot clean up.’

‘My lot?’ Kat echoed, her face impassive.

‘Yeah, after the –’

‘How’s business, Bert?’ Caleb asked.

‘Oh well, could always be better.’ Bert turned back to Kat. ‘Hear your mum had a bit of trouble at that place of hers, too. Terrible stuff. But only a matter of time, I suppose.’

Caleb jumped in again. ‘That CCTV you put in at the EezyWay must’ve cost a bit.’

That got Bert’s full attention. ‘Spent a bloody fortune on it. Though maybe I can sell it now Jai’s gone. Gave the boy a chance, but he brought enough trouble with him.’

Kat became very still. ‘Jai caused the trouble?’

Anyone with a scrap of sense would have backed away. Bert doubled down. ‘Oh yeah. We had a fair bit of vandalism while he was around.’

‘So it was Jai’s fault that he was targeted? That he was killed?’

‘Well, if he was mixed up in something stupid…’ Bert shrugged.

‘Time to stop talking now, Bert,’ Caleb said. He put a bit of diaphragm support behind the words to make them carry.

Kat kept her eyes on Bert. ‘And my mother? Did she bring it on herself, too?’

‘Oh well, I dunno what happened there. Maybe one of her patients, hey?’

‘One of her Abo patients?’ Kat asked.

Bert’s rabbit face twitched. ‘Yeah, well, anyway. Best be off to work.’ He gave a nod and scurried away.

‘Racist shit,’ Kat said, watching him go. ‘And as for you –’ She jabbed a finger at his chest.

Caleb sat up. ‘Me? What about me?’

‘Don’t do that. I can fight my own battles.’

‘It’s my battle too.’

‘No, it’s not. Your role is supportive bystander.’

‘Jesus, Kat. I’m not going to sit there and let some prick insult you. Are you a bystander when people are arseholes to me?’

‘That’s different.’

‘How? You once stood in this very room and ripped shreds off Howard Green for saying that I was a menace to society for driving while deaf.’

Her jaw jutted. ‘I don’t want you getting involved.’

‘And if we have kids? Will I be allowed to get involved then?’

She jerked back.

Fuck. What was it about him that made him say such monumentally stupid things? Kat had lost two babies in late pregnancy, and he threw imaginary children into the fight.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was a really stupid thing to say.’

‘Cal.’ Her eyes were too bright. ‘I don’t even know if I…’

He waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t know what? If she could bear the pain of losing another pregnancy? If she still wanted to have children? If she wanted to have them with him?

Goldilocks appeared with their coffees and a platter of cakes. She took her time laying out the food, Kat seemingly fascinated by the process.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said when the waitress had finally left. ‘Can we start over? How about I take you out to dinner tonight? I can practise eating without putting my foot in my mouth.’

Kat finally met his eyes; her face was tight. ‘Do you think we’ve maybe rushed into things a bit?’

He’d caught a fish hook in his calf once. Eleven years old and fishing alone by the creek. A similar feeling – the sharp bite of pain, wanting to yank out the barb, but knowing he had to push it deeper into his flesh.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘I’m only just back and we’re both still dealing with a lot of stuff. You in particular. It’s probably not a good idea to go rushing into things.’

‘Is this about me butting in with Bert?’

‘God, Cal, of course not. I just think we should slow things down a bit.’

‘Slow things down? You were gone for four months.’

‘Yeah.’ She pushed back an imaginary strand of hair. ‘So let’s just slow it down, see how we go.’