by C. A. Larmer
They may all bitch and gripe, but Amelia sure was a smooth operator.
It was just after six on Friday night, and they were having drinks at a noisy wine bar just down from the office. This was rare for the Eve team. Most of them scattered at the end of each week, as happy to get away from the magazine as each other, but Amelia’s disappearance had united them somehow. Even Alex had tagged along, and she never tagged along. Not lately, anyway.
“To getting through the week from hell!” sang Mel, reading Monty’s thoughts not Alex’s.
The deputy editor bristled. “Hey, we did good, guys. We did it! No thanks to you know who.”
Several sets of eyes darted across to Monty, but she ignored them as she stared into her wineglass. She’d need a few more of these to deal with what came next. The Malones had insisted she drop over later, and she didn’t have a good feeling about it.
“Any word yet?” asked Mel, still playing mind reader.
“Nope.”
Monty gulped back half her wine and tried to focus on some silly story that Beatrice was telling, something about a misadventure with fake tan, but all she could think of was Amelia and how she had let her down.
“You okay?” This was Alex now.
“I’m worried about Amelia, of course.”
“Why? She left us in the lurch, honey. You should be cranky with her.” A slight hesitation and then, “Why are you so loyal to her?”
“Sorry?”
“Amelia? You’d give her your left tit if she asked.”
“And she has, several times,” Monty said, trying to lighten the mood, to change the subject, but Alex didn’t laugh.
“Has she got something on you?”
“What?”
“I heard about the promotion. House & Feather. How you didn’t take it for years.”
“It’s a sideways step.”
“It’s a giant step up! Much more stylish than our popular rag. Why didn’t you? You can’t seriously be that smitten with Eve, or Amelia for that matter.”
Monty brought her glass to her lips. “You don’t know everything, Alex.” She took a small sip. “It’s not as black and white as you think. Amelia’s had it tougher than most people realise, and we’ve known each other a long time, have always had each other’s backs.” Well, not always. “I wouldn’t desert her. Not now.”
Alex cocked her head to one side and raised her own glass. “That’s very gallant, Monty, but if I’m not mistaken, the one who’s been deserted here is you.”
It was the second time that week that she had heard the sentiment, and it infuriated her now. Why did everyone assume she was the one being deserted? Why did they all insist she take it personally? She might have been the trigger—perhaps Amelia couldn’t get past Monty’s deceit—but she wasn’t the only one Amelia had turned her back on. There was the entire Eve staff, the publisher, Gerry, and worst of all her parents.
She sighed just thinking about them, swallowed the rest of her wine and stood up. It was time to face the music.
***
Amelia’s parents lived in a safe, middle-class suburb of Sydney, a mostly elderly enclave with more hip replacements than hipsters, and a direct train ride straight from the city. Monty didn’t have a car, had never needed one, so she took the thirty-minute journey and then walked the last five-minute leg to their quarter-acre block.
It was a familiar trail. She and Amelia had loped along this road many times after school together, then later, staggered and giggled their way back from whatever party or club they’d been to, but today it felt like enemy territory. She stiffened her shoulders and rehearsed her battle cry.
It’s not my fault! She’s a grown up; it’s not my fault!
But Ron didn’t want to hear a word of it.
“You lost my little girl? Again?”
Monty folded her arms across her chest. She was standing at the doorway to the Malone home, not as oversized and showy as the neighbours but big enough to know they weren’t stressing over power prices.
“She’s not lost, Ron,” Monty said, wanting to add and she’s not your little girl anymore either. She’s a thirty-three-year-old career woman for goodness’ sake.
“Then where is she? Why hasn’t she called?”
“I don’t— Look, she’ll show up.”
Ron’s expression was sceptical. He had heard that once before and yes, sure, she had shown up eventually, but they all knew at what cost. His craggy features contorted from fear and despair to disbelief and fury, all in a matter of seconds. “How could this happen? How could you let her vanish again?”
“I was away, Ron. She sent me away.”
“You didn’t smell a rat? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
“Don’t know where you got that idea.”
Ron glared at her then exhaled loudly, despair winning out again as he waved her in. For a moment there Monty didn’t think she was getting through the door, was almost relieved at the possibility of being shut out, but of course there was more of this to come.
Amelia’s mother hadn’t yet had her turn, and while she had sounded calm enough on the phone earlier, Monty knew the panic would have settled in by now. Beryl had already told her there was still no postcard, so she braced herself for the worst and, once again, was pleasantly surprised.
As she dragged herself up from her creamy-coloured lounge, Beryl did not look distressed. Grim—sure—and a little worried, but it was Monty she seemed most worried about.
“How are you, my dear?” she said, pulling Monty into a warm embrace. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m fine, I guess. How are you guys holding up?”
“We’re holding up just fine, aren’t we, Ron?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Please come in, come sit with me.”
Monty dared a glance Ron’s way as she took her seat, but he was heading for the liquor cabinet on the other side of the room.
“Drink?” he barked when he got there, his back still turned.
“Thank you,” she called out. “I’ll have whatever’s going.”
He grunted something and reached for a glass tumbler.
“So,” Beryl began. “No word yet from our girl?”
Monty’s shoulders slumped. “No, Beryl. I’m so sorry. She hasn’t called, she hasn’t left messages—”
“She’s fine. Don’t panic.”
“You honestly think so?”
“Of course, dear.” The mother pulled Monty’s hands into her own. “She’s not a baby anymore. She can make her own choices. Despite what Ron thinks, nothing’s happened to her.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
She looked blank for a moment. “The bag!” she said suddenly. “Her clothes! She obviously packed a bag and has gone somewhere for some valuable time out. She will come back. She came back last time. She will come back again.”
“You think?”
“Yes!”
There was a loud clunk of glass at the other side of the room, and Monty glanced around to find Ron holding on to the edge of the bar, his back still turned. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. That clunk said it all.
Beryl’s eyes never left Monty. “Ignore him, he still thinks Amelia’s twenty. No, twelve! Me, I think it’s about time she got herself a life.”
Monty was shocked. In all the years she’d known Beryl, through all their conversations—and God knows there had been many of those—she had only ever played the worried mum. Now she sounded like a liberated friend.
“She has a life,” Ron growled, striding across the room and thrusting a gin and tonic towards Monty.
Beryl was unrepentant. “So, shoot me,” she said, releasing Monty’s hand so she could take her drink. “I want grandkids. Best-selling magazines aren’t going to give me that, are they?”
“Neither is a missing daughter.”
“She is not missing, Ron!” Beryl spat each word out slowly, her relaxed mood fast diminishing.
; “We haven’t heard from her!” he countered. “She hasn’t turned up to work. She’s not at her house. That’s the definition of missing.” He drew his eyes to Monty. “If I don’t hear from my baby girl by Sunday, I’m calling in the police!”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Ron. You’re being very dramatic.”
“And you’re not being dramatic enough!”
“But how do you know for sure?” asked Monty, dragging the conversation back to neutral territory. “Beryl, I can’t believe you’re not more worried.”
“Of course I’m worried, dear. Please don’t take this as proof that I don’t care. But I saw her bag was missing. I think she’s gone somewhere for a bit of a break and she’ll be back before we know it.”
“Back from where? Do you know—?”
“I have no idea where she is!” Her voice was rising again. “But she will be back. Call it a mother’s intuition, call it what you like, but I just know she’ll be back.”
“You know nothing,” Ron growled, but before Beryl could respond, Monty had dropped her glass on the coffee table and grabbed the woman’s hands again.
She wanted relaxed Beryl back. “So if you really believe that, Beryl, and I’m loving your positivity by the way, why did you want to chat?”
Why did you drag me halfway across Sydney when I’d rather be drowning my sorrows with my colleagues? she might have added, but she was too polite and adored the woman too much.
“I want you to tell that boss of hers she won’t be back.”
She dropped Beryl’s hands like they were on fire. “What?”
“Just tell that dreadful man, Amelia’s free and she’s done with the place. Hand in her resignation for her. Please.”
“But…” Monty glanced from Beryl to Ron, who was now perched on the edge of the sofa, looking as though he might slip off it, and staring into his glass. He didn’t seem surprised by this, but he also didn’t look like he agreed.
“Shouldn’t we wait to hear from Amelia?” Monty said. “I mean, you’re probably right and she’ll be back tomorrow, and if she is she’ll be furious at us for even considering it.”
“Hope not,” Beryl said emphatically, and this time Ron groaned. “I don’t want her to go back. I hope she’s got as far as she can from that horrendous magazine and its ridiculous long hours as possible.”
“But… but I thought you liked Eve!”
“It’s not about Eve, dear. It never was. It’s about Amelia, her life, her choices. Sure, Eve helped at a very… difficult time, we all know that.” Another groan from Ron. “But enough’s enough. She’s given everything to that blasted magazine. It’s time to give back to herself.”
“To herself or to you?” That was Ron, now meeting his wife’s eyes.
“Ron,” she replied, her voice low and growly, like a Rottweiler. She knew where he was headed with this. They had clearly had this conversation many times in the past few days, perhaps the past few years judging by the woman’s conviction.
“You don’t even want to try to track her down,” he said. A statement of fact. “What if something horrendous has happened? What if she’s lying in a hospital somewhere?”
Beryl shook her head. “She’s a big girl, Ron. I’m sure she’s okay. But you…” Beryl turned back to Monty again. “I need you to be okay too. You do what’s right for you now, leave us to find our daughter. And tell that Gerald Henderson that Millie is done with publishing and that’s the final word on the subject.”
“But…”
“No buts, my dear. Not anymore.” Beryl was already dragging Monty to her feet, leading her back towards the front door. “Enough’s enough. Now you go out and enjoy the rest of your evening and just worry about yourself.”
She was worried about herself and was pretty sure Gerry would skin her alive if she dared to suggest his top editor was now stepping aside. And she had a hunch his top editor wouldn’t clap her on the back for it either. So she made no promises as she bid the parents good night and left them to their inevitable row, returning to the trail more baffled than ever.
That had not gone at all as she’d expected. As for what was right for her? She’d forgotten what that was or even how to go about finding it.
TOM
Tom sat on the dusty bed in Amy’s cabin and stared at the envelope unable to believe his eyes. It was her greatest betrayal yet, worse even than her desertion. He pulled out the dossier and scowled even harder. It was for a private school in Sydney, an exclusive boys’ boarding school with a fancy logo and an even fancier name.
He would have preferred love letters, the lease on a Sydney apartment, a sex tape!
He stormed out of the cabin and down to the backyard, stomping hard across the sandpit and below her beloved Avatar tree and towards the rusty incinerator, collecting twigs along the way. He dumped in the kindling, followed by the package, then reached for his lighter and dropped a match in, flames leaping up within seconds. But the warmth of the fire only left him cold.
How could she tear his son away from him? Did she really want a bunch of strangers to bring up their boy? How could she even contemplate the idea? And how had he not suspected a thing?
If it wasn’t for Angus and his clumsy arrival, Tom never would have guessed. Could not believe she’d been in touch with him all this time. Another deceit! All those weekends, dragging Phil to Sydney to ‘bond’ with his grandparents, it turns out he was bonding with Angus instead!
And why? So the tech mogul could deign to take him out from boarding school occasionally? Even thinking that made Tom bristle. Angus had done nothing more than get poor Amy pregnant, then run for the nearest ferry, her best friend under his arm. As if the egomaniac had time for the young lad, as if he had the heart!
What kind of role model did she think Angus was? Why would Amy want him to have any involvement in their son’s life? Was it purely financial? Was she using the rich bastard to pay for Phil’s schooling, or was it more about getting Phil far away from Tom? Was she using Angus so she’d have a place to run?
He blinked, staring hard into the fire as the revelation hit him like a branch from the fig. This was about Amy, not Phil. This was Amy’s way of escaping!
Suddenly it was Tom who was doing the running, back through the yard and into the house, his blood at boiling point. He felt bitter, furious, betrayed. And grateful, oh so grateful again, that Phil was at Zac’s place tonight.
There was no controlling his rage this time.
He headed straight for Amy’s side of the bed, scooped up her stupid wrinkle cream and threw it against the wall, watching as it bounced off, not even smashing. It only enflamed him further. He reached a hand and swiped at her stuff, watching as her precious beads went flying across the room, no lovingly made jewellery tree to contain them now. He picked up her address book and tore it in half, then swiped at her precious magazines, sending them fluttering towards the carpet. Then he dropped onto the bed, grabbed her pillow and smashed it, smashed it, smashed it before stopping, dropping and sobbing into the soft case.
He inhaled deeply, didn’t want to release her smell.
Oh Amy, Amy, Amy. His beautiful, beautiful girl.
Tom lay down slowly and hugged her pillow to his chest, wrapping his legs beneath him and coiling into the foetal position. As he blinked back tears, he glanced towards the carpet and that’s when he saw it, a face he hadn’t seen in more than a decade.
He sat up with a jolt.
A magazine was spread open on the floor where it had landed, a brassy redhead smiling out at him before a painfully blue sky. He leapt off the bed and reached for it, the latest issue of House & Feather. He read for just a minute before he dropped it back to the carpet as if it too was on fire.
SARISI
Effie pulled her cap low across her face, inhaled deeply, and stepped off the gangplank.
The ferry ride from Athens had been calm, but that made little difference. Her stomach was aflutter. It was late afternoon and few passengers were
disembarking at Sarisi. Even fewer were hanging back, waiting their turn to board. She quickly scanned the faces, then released a long, slow breath.
Good. Perhaps she’d already left.
“Looking for someone?”
Effie swung around, her heart fluttering again, to find Zoe treading towards her, bag of apples in hand, her crazy white hair flapping about behind her.
“Oh, Zoe, yassou!” she called out, calming her breathing down. “How have you been?”
She smiled. “Always good, you know me. I see you’ve been stocking up.”
Effie nodded, then turned to the group who were piling down the plank behind her.
“Get that stuff straight to the Delfy, nai? Cold stuff will be off before we know it.”
They continued walking; they knew their job, had done it faithfully many times.
Zoe watched them for a moment, then turned back to Effie. “I had a very interesting visitor yesterday,” she said. Effie held her breath. “An Australian lady. Pretty as a picture. Not an unfamiliar picture in fact.” She let those words linger for a little, then said, “She was asking about Agnetha.”
Effie feigned a scoff. “That’s ancient history.”
“Not to her it’s not. She was most disappointed to hear Aggie was gone. Wanted to speak to her, seemed terribly desperate actually.”
Effie reached for her sunglasses and thrust them on.
“Even more disappointed to hear you weren’t around.”
“Well, I can’t hang around to chat to every sentimental tourist, can I? Hurry up, Aris! Be careful with that last crate!” She wedged a smile to her lips. “I have to get this stuff in. Good to see you, Zoe. Come for dinner one night, yes?”
