17.

Kat ran out to meet him as he pulled up in front of the house. Shoeless on the gravel driveway, breathless, clutching his phone. He was out of the car before the engine stopped shuddering.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Frankie. She’s all right.’

She hadn’t said it. He was just seeing what he wanted to see.

‘Frankie,’ she said again, then finger-spelled the word: F. R. A. N. K. I. E.

He reached for her arm. ‘She’s OK? She isn’t in hospital?’

‘She sounds fine. I’ve still got her on the line.’

‘Did she …? No, wait, give her your Skype name, I want to talk to her.’

Kat nodded, but looked like she remembered his previous attempts at video calls. He ran into the house and hunted for the laptop. Not on the bedside table, not under the bed. An entire week. Why hadn’t she called before now? What could have happened? Not in the kitchen. Try the living room. Had she been concussed? Held hostage? There it was, on the couch.

Kat wandered into the room, deep in conversation. ‘Yeah, I’m a bit surprised, too.’

‘Did you give her your Skype name?’ Caleb said.

She nodded as she curled onto an armchair. ‘I know, but there’s this crazy hope that he’s changed.’

‘Kat, will you hang up?’

‘Hang on, he’s getting snotty. Ha, yeah, you’re right, a little vein on his forehead.’

He plucked the phone from her hand. ‘I’m hanging up. Skype me straight away.’

Frankie must have been near her computer, because the little blue sign began to flash almost immediately. Her pale face filled the screen; hair flat against her skull, skin like over-washed material. A fading bruise yellowed one eye.

His throat tightened. ‘Fuck, Frankie. Are you all right? You look like shit.’

She raised a grim smile and launched into speech.

‘A bit slower, Frankie.’

She spoke again. Something about a kettle and a pot. Was she cooking? Still drunk? And then he got it – pot calling the kettle black. This was going to be slow.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve been a bit crook. I’ll catch you up in a minute. What about you? What happened?’

‘… fucker … arsehole … the fucking prick …’

‘Sorry, could you say that again, Frankie? A bit slower.’

‘… kitchen … fucker … arsehole … on the head … the fucking prick …’

He could feel the tension radiating from Kat. Her hands were clasped to prevent them from flying to his aid.

‘It’s always bothered me.’

He turned to her. ‘I’m just missing the odd word. Could you …?’ His face was as stiff as her back.

‘Sure.’

‘Once more, Frankie. Kat’s going to help me.’

‘I’m fine,’ Kat translated. ‘Just a bit bruised. Some prick snuck up behind me in my fucking kitchen. Unfortunately for him, I’ve picked up a few of your ninja tricks – felt the breeze as he moved. Didn’t even think, just turned around and whacked him on the head with a bottle. Followed it up with a knee to the balls on his way down.’

He had the same fighting style as a 57-year-old woman. Excellent.

‘But you’re all right? There was blood.’

‘Yeah, he didn’t stay down the first time, so he got in a couple of jabs, gave me a blood nose. He was a bit wobbly by then, though, so Mr Bottle and I finished him off without too many problems.’

‘He didn’t have a knife?’

‘Knife? Fuck no. Why would you put that image in my head? Jesus.’

‘You get a good look at him?’

‘Yeah, wiry little fucker, bit sick looking.’

‘I think we might have met. I call him Grey-face.’

‘Yeah? I call him Cunt-face.’

He blinked, a little impressed with Kat’s translation skills. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been going crazy. Even the cops have been looking for you.’

‘Shit, really? I’ve been staying with an old mate from my drinking … well, an old mate.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you ring me?’

‘I did. I’d forgotten you’d lost your phone. Only remembered this morning when I snuck back home for mine and found about twenty messages from your new number.’

‘And you didn’t think to call again when I didn’t answer? Jesus, Frankie, I’ve been shitting myself.’

‘I just assumed you were pissed off. Not that I blamed you, I’m pretty pissed off with myself, too. Six fucking years. But enough about me, what’s been happening with you? Why are you in the Bay? Apart from the obvious, that is?’

He gave her a quick rundown of the past week. When he’d finished, she ran a hand through her hair, but didn’t manage to return it to its usual spikiness. ‘Jesus. I’ll jump on the train and come down.’

‘No. Stay in Melbourne.’

‘Give me a fucking break, Caleb. I stuffed up, but I’m back on track now. I haven’t had a drink in forty-eight hours.’ Her expression was uncomfortably close to pleading.

‘There’s no point coming down, I’m coming back up.’ Eventually. ‘Take a bit of time to sort yourself out and we’ll work out what to do next.’ He scanned the room behind her. Bad print of a bush landscape, beige curtains, beige bedspread. Budget motel.

‘You pay cash for that room?’

‘Cash? No.’

‘You’d better move, then.’

‘Mate, don’t you think that’s getting a bit paranoid?’

‘I think Gary’s dead and the only reason we aren’t is down to blind luck and some over-confidence on their part. Text me the address. We’ll talk soon.’ He reached out to disconnect.

‘Cal. Mate.’ Her mouth moved slowly enough for him to catch the words. ‘I’m sorry.’

He should say something forgiving. Something healing.

‘Yeah. See you soon.’ He pressed end.

Frankie was alive, that was the main thing. Alive and relatively unscathed. But could she stay sober? Maybe he should go it alone for now. They worked well together, but it wasn’t like he needed her. Sure, he’d miss the odd thing, but he could use technology to cover that. Tape everything and use voice-recognition software to transcribe it. And bouncing ideas off a well-matched mind? Was there a computer program that could replace that?

Kat was watching him. ‘OK?’

Relieved, furious, overjoyed. Furious.

‘Relieved.’

She waited, then said, ‘And Anton? How did that go?’

‘Pretty good. Gaz just called him to ask if the kids and Sharon could stay there.’

‘Oh, that’s great. We need to celebrate. I’ve got a beautiful Earl Grey that’s crying out to be drunk.’

Earl Grey – Kat’s choice for lazy afternoon sex.

‘Sounds perfect.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She melted into him for a moment, then wriggled free. ‘Work first. Let’s see if there are still seats available on that evening flight.’

The Whitsundays. Yes.

‘Is it a small bikini?’

‘Outrageously. I’ll make tea, you book the seats. I’ve got the page open on the computer.’ She disappeared into the kitchen, a hint of tango in the sway of her hips.

One-way tickets were the way to go. Hide away with Kat until everything was over. Maybe longer: they had eighteen lost months to make up for. He pulled the computer onto his lap. Which page? She had fifty of them open in different tabs: travel agents, airlines, telephone directory. Telephone directory. Honey claimed Gary had rung her by accident. Plausible, particularly for someone in a state of panic. Still, it was always good to check the details. He searched for Honey’s number, then Gary’s mother’s – the only similarity was the area code.

Kat appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Any luck?’

‘I haven’t looked yet.’

Her grin faded. ‘Just so we’re clear – now would be the time to tell me if you’re having second thoughts.’ Her eyes held his. ‘About anything.’

‘God no. You’re my first, second and third thoughts. Something’s just bugging me about the case. Do you know Honey Kovac?’

‘Sure. She’s Aunty Vicky’s youngest. You know – Uncle Fred’s cousin’s wife.’

His eyelid twitched. ‘Sure. How well do you know her?’

‘Not that well, but we’ve seen each other a bit since I lost … since I was in hospital. She was the one who brought me all those flowers.’

‘Oh.’ Hospital meant after the miscarriages. He hadn’t realised that had been Honey.

Kat’s eyes were fixed on him. Waiting for something. Probably for him to get to the point.

‘What’s Vince like?’

‘He’s a bible-thumper. Those poor kids aren’t allowed to put a foot wrong. Or Honey. She lost a string of pregnancies after her first and Vince’s idea of support was to quote the Old Testament at her. Apparently it was her fault. She’s had another baby now, though, so that’s great.’ There was an artificial brightness to her smile.

He steered the conversation in a safer direction. ‘Has he ever been involved in anything dodgy?’

‘Vince? Not even before his re-birth. Why all the questions?’

‘Gary called their house the day he died. Honey said he’d misdialled.’

‘So why all the intrigue?’

Good question: why?

He stood up. ‘I need to check something. I’ll be back in a sec.’

‘Now?’

He kissed her forehead. ‘The tea won’t even get cold.’

Honey answered the door holding the baby on one hip. She was dressed in grey tracksuit bottoms and food-stained T-shirt that had lost all its shape.

‘What are you doing here?’ She glanced over his shoulder towards the empty street. ‘You can’t be here. You have to go.’ She swung the door shut and he put his hand out to stop it.

‘I know you’re scared, but I’m not here to cause you trouble.’

‘Well you are.’

‘Is it Scott you’re scared of?’

‘Scott? Who’s Scott?’

Not the expected response. And from what he’d seen of Honey so far, acting wasn’t her forte.

She was scanning the street again. ‘Look, just come in, will you.’

She scraped the back of his heels as she closed the door. From the hallway he could see into both bedrooms and the rear family room. It was eerily neat for a home with two small children. Honey didn’t invite him further into the house, but some of the stiffness had left her.

‘Make it quick,’ she said. ‘Things are bad enough without you hanging around.’

‘Because of Scott?’

‘I don’t know who Scott is, but Vince doesn’t like me talking to people while he’s out. So tell me what you want and go.’

‘Just one question – why did Gary call you?’

Her eyes flicked away. ‘I told you, he rang a wrong number.’

‘The only way he could have mistaken your number for his mother’s is if he had his eyes closed when he dialled. So please, will you tell me why he rang?’

She started jiggling the baby, but couldn’t pretend he was crying this time.

He kept his voice low. ‘Whatever it was, you can trust me.’

A sharp laugh. ‘Trust you? I barely know you, why the hell would I … Look, I’ve told you what happened, just go, will you?’

‘You might not know me, but you know Kat, don’t you? She’s my wife. Ex-wife.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘So you fucked a black woman and left. That doesn’t make you special, any gubba can do that. Fuck and leave, that’s what your lot does.’

She spat each word with a venom that could only come from pain. A thought seeped into his brain, as sour as vomit.

‘Is that what happened to you? You had an affair with someone who left?’

Her head jerked back. ‘No!’

‘With Gary?’

‘Youcan’ttellanyone.’

It was true.

She grabbed his sleeve. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Promise. Promise you won’t tell. It only happened once. We were drunk and sad and in shitty marriages …’

‘Gary wasn’t in a shitty marriage.’

The harshness returned to her face. ‘Well, then maybe he just wanted a fuck.’

‘And the …’ He tried to get his thoughts straight. ‘The phone call. What was that? Were you still seeing each other?’

‘No! He just wanted to warn me that they were all coming down. I think he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t make a fuss. Please, don’t tell anyone, Vince’ll throw me out.’ She hugged her baby to her chest. ‘It was after a Christmas party and we were drunk and we … Please don’t tell Vince.’

‘I won’t.’

Tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘I think he really hated himself afterwards. I think he hated me.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Gaz didn’t hate anyone.’

But the Gary he knew would never have slept with another woman. A married woman. He fumbled for the door handle and walked blindly outside. How else had he been wrong about his friend?