‘We haven’t been cozied up,’ Emma muttered, sealing the lid on a container of salad she’d prepared.
‘Call it a date and enjoy yourself. What are you afraid of?’
‘It’s just been a really long time. Three years.’
Chloe leant against the bench. ‘You mean you haven’t been out with anyone since Drew?’
Emma shrugged.
Chloe made an exaggerated ‘O’ with her mouth. ‘Wow. I knew things were slow. I didn’t realise they were that slow.’
Emma threw a dish towel at her.
The next movie crowd came and went and after seven, the pace slowed. Emma was loading the dishwasher when Chloe entered the kitchen with a pile of plates.
‘You should get going or you’ll be late,’ she said.
Emma took the plates from her and stacked them in the racks. ‘Can you manage for the rest of the night?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Chloe said, pushing her hair back from her face.
‘How about I stay until nine? I’ll go straight from here.’
‘You’ve been here since seven this morning.’
‘So have you.’
‘But this place is my baby.’
‘I really don’t mind.’
‘Go. Have a great time. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.’
Emma finished loading the dishwasher, wiped down the benches, arranged salad onto plates ready for serving and stacked clean cups and saucers by the coffee machine. When she’d done as much prep as she could, she hung up her apron, gave Chloe a hug and walked the two blocks home.
Until that evening, Emma hadn’t realised just how far removed she’d become from the world, existing inside the bubble of her job, her apartment and the nursing home. She’d lived a shrink-wrapped version of herself, knowing in some small way that it probably wasn’t right, but never having the courage to do anything about it.
Now, after years of insulation, she was being thrust back out into society like a baby leaving the womb.
During her shower, she conjured up a million reasons why she should call Matt and cancel—she was tired, she had to work in the morning, she was terrified. And then she had to remind herself, Matt’s just a friend. It’s not even a date. Then she’d panic all over again.
It was the thought of seeing him outside the safety blanket of their research that had her stomach in knots. At the station they had a reason to meet; a common goal—Rose and her diaries. It had always been secure ground. Now he’d asked her out and that safety blanket had fallen away, the boundaries of their relationship cast wider.
Emma took care dressing that night. She brushed her hair until it shone, applied makeup with a careful hand and spritzed herself with a bottle of something florally she’d unearthed from the back of her cupboard. She slipped on a dress, then second-guessed it and pulled on a white cotton blouse, black jeans and boots instead. The mirror told her she looked good, but her mind was over-thinking every detail.
At eight-thirty, she grabbed her purse and was about to call a taxi when there was a knock at the door. She didn’t know who it could be, thought it might be pizza delivery for the wrong apartment and opened the door. She was mortified at who she found there.
‘Drew!’
‘Hey,’ he said, with that same charismatic smile she knew well, even though it had been three years since she’d seen him.
They stood staring at each other, he with that disarming smile and she with a rush of nostalgia that almost barrelled her over.
He cleared his throat. ‘Are you going to let me in?’
‘What? Oh, sorry, yes.’ She rearranged her expression. ‘Come in.’
Drew stepped around her and into the apartment. He wore an Armani wool coat she recognised and a cologne that took her back to a time when she had fallen so hard for this man she would never quite be the same again. The Marc Jacobs satchel slung around his shoulder was new, as were the black shoes that smelt strongly of leather.
He looked around, taking in Gwendoline’s old couch, the plain walls, the threadbare carpet. ‘Place looks good. I see it’s still a work-in-progress.’
Emma closed the door. ‘It will always be a work-in-progress. You left me with nothing, remember?’
He avoided her eyes. ‘Well, it looks good anyway. Tabitha and I just moved to a new house in Bellevue Hill. Three levels, eight bedrooms, a pool and gym.’
‘I’d heard,’ Emma replied. ‘How is Tabitha?’
‘She’s good. Busy with the baby. She goes to mothers’ group and yoga group and fitness group. There’s a group for everything these days.’
‘That’s right, you had a baby. What’s his name again?’
‘Felix. He’s an eating, sleeping, pooping machine,’ Drew said.
‘How lovely.’
‘Tabitha’s obsessed with him.’
Emma glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but is there a reason you stopped by? I have to be somewhere.’
He looked at her properly then, taking in her outfit. ‘Are you meeting someone?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have a date?’
The shock on his face irritated her. ‘So what if I do?’
He looked her up and down again. ‘Who with?’
‘None of your business. If you don’t mind.’ She reached for the door handle.
‘Actually,’ he said, rustling inside his satchel and pulling out a large yellow envelope. ‘I have something for you to look over.’ He held it out for her take.
Her fingers stilled on the handle as she eyed the envelope. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s divorce papers.’
She closed her eyes, took a breath and opened them again. The envelope was still between them and she nodded resolutely and closed her hand around it.
‘I had my lawyer draw them up yesterday. Tabitha’s on my case about it. She wants to get engaged.’
‘Oh.’ Emma said. ‘Right, of course.’
‘She said to say hello. She misses you.’
Emma raised an eyebrow in response. She walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light. Drew followed. On the kitchen bench she opened the envelope and slid a thin stack of papers out, bound with a bulldog clip and tagged with six ‘sign here’ stickers.
‘You’ll find everything is in order. You’re welcome to have your lawyer take a look at it if you want.’
Emma flicked through the pages, a quick glance telling her that Drew’s settlement offer was less than adequate. It was hardly surprising but she had nothing left in her to fight it.
‘It’s for the best, Emma,’ Drew said.
‘I know. It’s just that I haven’t heard a word from you in three years and you suddenly drop this on me.’
‘There’s no point putting it off any longer.’
She set the papers down and searched through the stationary container near the microwave for a pen.
‘Let’s get this over with then,’ she said. She ran her eye over as much text as she could, absorbing and processing.
‘How’s Gwendoline?’ Drew asked.
Emma looked up briefly. ‘She’s doing okay.’
‘How about your job?’
‘That’s good too.’
He was making small talk as though he couldn’t bear the silence. Emma paid him no attention as she read and signed, trying not to feel the significance of the moment.
She felt Drew move closer, could smell the scent of his cologne and the expensive wool of his coat. His hand touched her waist and she looked up from the papers. His face was next to hers, his hand trailing up her back.
‘You look good, Emma,’ he said, eyes fixed on hers. He smiled, perfect white teeth, a dimple in his cheek. It was the same smile that had melted her heart. Then it had melted her best friends.
‘Drew, we shouldn’t.’
His hand moved from her back to her cheek. ‘Despite everything that’s happened, I’ve missed you.’
‘This isn’t a good idea.’
�
��When you opened the door tonight, I couldn’t believe how amazing you looked.’
‘Don’t.’
His lips brushed her neck, his hips pushing her back against the bench. ‘Tabitha is so pre-occupied with the baby these days. She won’t let me touch her. We haven’t had sex in months.’
Emma closed her eyes.
‘God, you taste good. I miss having sex with you.’ His breath was hot on her skin. ‘You always needed me. You needed me so much it was suffocating.’
Emma’s eyes flew open. She gulped and slid away from him. ‘Okay, that’s enough.’
Drew pulled back, looking surprised. ‘Baby?’
‘Don’t call me that. We’re not doing this.’
‘Doing what?’
She rolled her eyes at him. He really was an obnoxious jerk, one that she had loved fiercely once. One that had put her on a pedestal then had dropped her like a hot potato. One that she realised she no longer felt anything for. His touch had told her so and his kisses too, her body failing to respond. More than anything she’d felt awkward, as though she were being touched by a stranger.
She finished signing the pages, slipped the sheets back into the envelope and held it up for him to take. ‘Thanks for stopping by. Now go home to your girlfriend.’
Emma didn’t bother calling a taxi. She ran down the stairs of her apartment block and burst out onto the street. The night was cold and she gulped lungfuls of winter air.
Laughter bubbled up her throat as she walked. Drew had looked so stunned when she’d handed him back the forms and told him to leave.
A leopard never changed its spots. He had cheated on Emma with Tabitha and, over divorce papers, had attempted to cheat on Tabitha with Emma. How many times had he done this with other women? How many times would he do it again?
She was under no illusion that had she been a pitiful mess, begging for him to take her back, he would never have tried to kiss her. He’d only wanted her because she’d moved on. How glad she was that he and his games were no longer her problem to deal with.
She followed Anzac Parade up through Moore Park, grateful for the chance to clear her head and feeling lighter than she had felt in a long time. Who knew that divorcing Drew could be so freeing?
Music was spilling out of the Baggy Green when she arrived. The pub was packed and the band had already started. The noise was deafening as she squeezed between people searching for Matt. When she couldn’t find him at the bar or near the stage, she checked the restaurant and beer garden outside, but he wasn’t there either.
Confused, she tried calling him, his phone going straight to voice message. Maybe he’d got sick of waiting for her, a glance at her watch confirming she was twenty minutes late. Why, Drew, of all nights did you choose tonight to want a divorce?
After another twenty minutes of roaming the pub, satisfied that Matt wasn’t there, she walked home. A light drizzle had started to fall and she was cold and wet by the time she stepped through her apartment door.
There was still no reply from him and she changed into pyjamas and climbed into bed, perplexed by the turn of events. He had seemed so keen initially, and yes, she’d been a little late, but surely he wouldn’t have just left.
Eventually she fell into a sleep heavy with restless dreams, of Matt asking for a divorce and her not wanting to sign the papers.
The next morning, Emma texted Matt to ask if he would like to meet her at the Q Station to go through more of Rose’s diaries.
On the drive over she felt nervous, aware that something subtle had shifted between them and perhaps not in a good way. He hadn’t been at the pub when she’d arrived. He hadn’t returned any of her calls or texts. She was anxious to see him, to know what had changed, if anything.
She parked her car in the Q Station carpark and caught the shuttle bus down to the shower blocks. Not even Ted’s cheerfulness could shake the gloom that had attached itself to her.
The day was uncharacteristically warm for winter. A bright sun hung in the sky and the water in the cove twinkled as though lit by thousands of tiny gems. At the shower blocks, she hopped off the bus and walked towards the museum.
Matt wasn’t waiting for her outside like he usually was. A quick glance around told her he wasn’t anywhere on the wharf and she wondered if he’d even gotten her messages.
She stepped inside the museum and saw a girl she recognised sitting at the tour desk. ‘Hello,’ she said, setting her mobile down on the countertop.
‘Oh, hey there.’ The girl smiled. ‘You’re Matt’s friend.’
‘Yes. I was wondering if you’d seen him today.’
‘Not yet but I just came on shift. If you give me a few minutes, I can try to locate him.’
Emma shook her head. ‘No, that’s fine. Don’t go to any trouble. I’ll wander around.’
She walked back out into the sunshine and in the direction of the shower blocks. Diverting right, she climbed the steep path up to the Former Hospital and Isolation Precincts. The station was vast and she couldn’t even be sure Matt was working that day.
She searched around the old first and third-class hospitals then through isolation. The former buildings there had been converted into guest accommodation and people were on the verandahs drinking champagne and eating from cheese platters.
Emma passed quickly, not wanting to disturb them, following a narrow path through the trees that cut to the back of third class and Asiatics. Peering through windows and along the interconnected maze of verandah walkways, she searched for him.
Navigating a path that stepped down to the former post office, she eventually found him at the corner of the verandah, hammering a replacement board.
‘Hey, Matt.’
He looked up, surprised to see her. ‘Oh. Hey.’ His tone was cool as he returned to hammering the board.
She waited for a pause in the noise then cleared her throat. ‘I sent you a couple of texts to let you know I was coming by today.’
He didn’t respond.
‘Did you get them?’
He stopped and looked up at her. ‘Yeah, I got them.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’ve been kind of busy. I can’t really take time off anymore. If you need help with Rose’s diaries, you can talk to the girls at the museum.’
There was an edge to his voice she couldn’t quite place. ‘I see.’
He went back to hammering as Emma watched him.
‘I went to the pub last night. I couldn’t find you there,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’
‘I know I was late and I’m sorry. Something came up.’
He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Something came up.’
‘Yes, something came up.’
‘Like what, your husband?’
Wrong-footed, Emma stammered.
Matt put the hammer down. ‘I went to your apartment last night. I thought I’d pick you up. I ran into your husband out the front.’
Emma stared at him, her heart dropping into her stomach.
‘He came out as I was searching for your unit number on the intercom. He asked me if I was the guy you were meeting up with, then he told me you were married.’ He picked up the hammer again and hit the board so hard, it split. ‘Damn it!’
‘Matt.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I need to explain.’
‘What’s there to say? I mean… what is it with you women?’
‘You’re misunderstanding the situation.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Emma sighed. ‘Drew and I have been separated for a long time. Last night, he came over and we signed the divorce papers. He’s a jerk for telling you we were still married.’
‘At least someone told me.’
She cast her eyes down. ‘I deserve that. I should have said something sooner. I was going to.’
Matt shook his head sadly. ‘Emma, you might have had good intentions, but it’s the secrets I can’t handle. I’ve been there before.’
‘This isn’t like Natalie.’
‘Feels exactly like it to me.’
Emma swallowed past a lump so large in her throat she thought it would choke her.
‘I have to get back to work.’ He picked up the hammer and the broken piece of board and gave her a sad look. ‘Good luck with everything. I hope it all works out for Gwendoline.’
He started off down the path towards first class and Emma watched him go, his shoulders slumped, the hurt written all over him.
Rose
1918
August drew to a close, spelling the end to Rose’s first Australian winter.
Spanish Influenza cases were on the rise and the government had signed a decree—mandatory quarantining of every ship that sailed into Port Jackson. The boats arrived daily at the wharf, an endless succession of them, and the hospitals overflowed, tents dotting every spare patch of grass because the wards and verandahs couldn’t hold any more patients.
Influenza vaccinations arrived from Europe, enough only for the staff, which they queued for in a long line outside the third-class hospital. It was an unprecedented time in the station’s history as the world braced itself for a swift and silent killer.
Despite all this, life in first class continued to grind out a familiar shape for Rose. She tended to the duke from morning until night and, when the station’s residents slept, she and Thomas snuck away to the clifftop outside his cottage to sit beneath the stars. They would talk for hours, kissing until their lips were grazed, and sharing their deepest desires, conjuring up a future that seemed, for the moment, too distant to grasp.
It was always with regret that he would look to the sky and declare that the sun would rise soon and it was time to walk her back.
The morning would come again and Rose would resume her duties with the duke as though Thomas and the kisses had merely been a dream. And from there, the days would play out on repeat.
On a day that promised the ushering in of spring, Rose arrived at the kitchen to load the duke’s breakfast onto the trolley. Bessie was already at the sink, hands plunged deep into steaming brown water, and Mrs March was berating her for the grease she’d left on the copper pots.
Rose threw her friend a sympathetic look and pushed the trolley to the laundry for fresh linen, then up the hill to the duke’s cottage. She climbed the steps with the breakfast tray and knocked on the door. The duke opened it. As always, he seemed delighted at her arrival.
The Quarantine Station Page 14
