Dedication
For my two small girls, Maddie and Piper.
You’re not allowed to read beyond this page
until you’re older. Shall we say sixteen?
Sorry.
Contents
Dedication
The Elevator
Part One: Georgia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
The Elevator
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
The Elevator
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
The Elevator
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
The Elevator
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Part Two: Cadence
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Part Three: Georgia and Cadence
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Part Four: One Week Later
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Praise
Copyright
THE ELEVATOR
The door was almost closed when an arm was thrust through the crack, causing it to jolt to a stop and then slowly shudder its way open again. Georgia stepped back.
Whoever it is, just don’t let it be Cadence, don’t let it be Cadence. Please, please, don’t let it be Cadence.
A woman stepped in, her eyes down, her face blotched with angry patches. Strawberry-blonde hair partly obscured her contorted features. But Georgia could still recognise her.
Cadence.
PART ONE
Georgia
CHAPTER ONE
‘One of the other dolly birds tells me I won’t be seeing you tonight.’
‘Dolly birds,’ Georgia repeated as she gently rolled her patient onto his side and lifted the dressing on his lower back. ‘That’s a new one I haven’t heard before.’
‘Who’s going to tuck me in tonight?’
‘I’m sure you’ll do just fine with one of the other “dolly birds”, Jerry.’
Georgia knew Jerry would be horrified if someone pointed out how inappropriate his comments could be at times. He was only acting this way because he was still frightened of complications post-surgery — even though he’d had a minor procedure and she’d reassured him many times there was next to zero chance of any complications. Dr Harris had wanted to send him back home immediately after the surgery, but Georgia had managed to convince him to let Jerry stay one night. For once they weren’t over-extended and Georgia didn’t see how it could hurt.
She examined the skin around Jerry’s stitches. It was faintly yellow with bruising. No sign of the infection Jerry had insisted he could ‘sense’.
She shifted slightly and her sneaker squeaked on the linoleum floor. Jerry made a face. ‘Can’t stand that sound.’
‘Then you shouldn’t spend so much time here.’ She paused then added in a gentler tone, ‘Healing up nicely round here, by the way. Textbook recovery.’
Jerry was a walking contradiction. He was nervous about being in hospital, yet he found reasons to get himself checked in as often as possible.
He gave a doubtful sounding huff. ‘We’ll see. Can’t you do something about the constant beeping in here? Why is there always something beeping?’
‘It’s a hospital. Beeping sounds are a given. I find it soothing.’
She genuinely did. The constant beeps added a perpetual rhythm to her day as she did her obs. Beep beep, take the blood pressure, beep beep, check temperature, beep, beep, heart rate low, oxygen saturation a concern, beep, beep, slipping into red zone . . .
That rhythm meant she could handle emergency situations with a sense of calm. Other nurses who’d been at the job longer seemed to take it in their stride, but Georgia still needed to take a beat and prepare herself when things went south.
‘I don’t,’ said Jerry. ‘I find it bloody annoying.’ His gruff tone failed to mask his nerves. ‘So why are you abandoning me to leave early?’
‘I’m not abandoning you,’ she reassured him. ‘And I’m not leaving early, either. I was on morning shift today. I have a date tonight.’
‘A date! You’re breaking my heart. I was going to get down on my good knee for you as soon as you let me out of this bed.’ He shifted as he tried to turn his head and wink at Georgia.
‘Hold still, I’m just going to re-dress this for you. What would Eileen say about you getting down on one knee anyway? Don’t think she’d be too impressed. Especially after she brought you flowers.’ Georgia nodded her head at the vase of sweet peas sitting by Jerry’s bed. The floral scent was mingling with the familiar chemical smells of the hospital. ‘From my own garden,’ she’d told Georgia as she strode into the room in her pressed navy slacks and crisp white shirt, collar turned up; her perfectly set and dyed hair a blonde halo around her head. ‘And this one is for you to take home,’ she’d added, handing Georgia a small bunch of the pink and purple flowers, the stems wrapped up in damp paper towel and covered with twisted foil.
Jerry waved his hand as though to brush Georgia’s concerns away. ‘She’d enjoy the break from me. She’s always said she likes the sound of a nice singles cruise with the girls.’
‘Easy.’ Georgia steadied him as he almost rolled onto his back. ‘I’m not done here yet.’
She smoothed the new bandage and pulled his pyjama top back down, then eased him into a more comfortable position. He reached out for his comb and ran it through his thinning white hair. His sense of pride wouldn’t allow him to sit with tousled hair for even a moment. The vulnerability in that one simple, self-conscious action gave Georgia’s heart a sharp twist.
‘So, who’s this bloke you’re going off on a date with tonight?’
‘God, you’re nosy,’ she teased.
‘Not nosy. Interested.’
He patted the side of the bed and she leaned against it, despite herself. She knew she didn’t have the time, but she was looking forward to tonight and, if she was honest with herself, she was glad to have the opportunity to chat about it.
‘All right, all right. His name is Brett and I met him through Tin — ah . . . through a dating app.’
‘Swiped right on him, did you?’ Jerry winked, clearly proud of himself for knowing about Tinder.
‘Yes. He seems like a really nice guy. We’ve chatted back and forth for over a week and —’
‘A week!’ Jerry cut her off. ‘You chatted over a week? Oh well, you’ve seen into each other’s souls then. You’re practically joined at the hip.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus, Georgia, should you be meeting some bloke you met on the iPhone this soon?’
She laughed. ‘You think I
have time to wait around?’
‘Young whippersnapper like you? Plenty of time.’
She was thirty-four, hardly a whippersnapper. Although as the youngest of her family, she did often feel like a baby. It didn’t help that her older brothers still treated her like she was twelve, and when she was with them it felt natural to slip back into that role of baby sister, even if she didn’t mean to. Three of them were married with kids. The fourth, Marcus, was getting married in a month. Soon she would be the last one standing. At least having several grandchildren meant her mother wasn’t on at her to have kids of her own. In fact, she often made comments to Georgia about how children weren’t a necessity to live a full and rewarding life. ‘You could travel whenever you like,’ she said, ‘see the world.’ She said this so much that Georgia sometimes wondered if her mother actually regretted having five kids. Her parents had taken off overseas the moment Georgia finished high school, and they’d been travelling on and off ever since.
The problem was, Georgia did want to have children. She wanted to meet someone. She wanted to settle down and get married and have the Cinder-fucking-ella happily ever after and screw it if that wasn’t what women were supposed to want anymore. Obviously, she saw the problem with those sorts of innately sexist fairy-tale endings. She knew there was more to life than romantic relationships. She’d read books like Eat Pray Love and Girlboss; she knew the importance of independence and self-actualisation and career satisfaction. But she also didn’t want to be alone any longer.
‘See, I’m not so sure that I do have that much time, Jerry. Besides, until I meet him in person I’ll never know if he is who he says he is.’
‘Yes, but is it safe?’
‘Very safe. I’m meeting him in a public place, plenty of people around. Now, I really have to go. I’ll duck my head in and check on you again before I leave.’
‘All right, but promise me I’ll hear all about this date of yours tomorrow.’
‘Deal.’
Georgia strode from the room before Jerry could protest. She knew she wasn’t supposed to stop and chat when she was doing her rounds, but she loved getting to know her patients, and Jerry was a frequent flyer so it was hard not to get caught up chatting with him.
‘Indulging Jerry again?’ said a voice behind her as Georgia stepped out into the hall. She turned to see Amber leaning against the wall, arms folded. Her short hair was lilac and dead straight today. Interesting. Last week she’d been a brunette.
‘What are you doing lurking there?’
‘I’m not lurking. I was waiting for you. But I didn’t want to come inside the hypochondriac’s room and get stuck.’
Georgia elbowed her friend. ‘Leave him alone, he’s fine.’
‘He’s a time vortex.’
Georgia began heading for the nurses station, Amber following behind.
‘Looking forward to tonight’s date?’ Amber asked.
‘Yep. He’s definitely the one.’
‘Georgia!’
‘I’m kidding. But seriously, I think it will be good. He does seem really nice. Not a single mention of wanting to send me a dick pic — serious improvement on the last two guys I matched with on Tinder.’
‘Where are you meeting him?’
‘The Crooked Tailor.’
‘The cocktail bar in Castle Hill? Nice, I’ve been wanting to try that place out.’
Georgia had been wanting to try it out too. It was only a five-minute walk from her apartment, but every time she suggested it to the nurses at work after their shift or on a rare day more than three of them were off, they always ended up at the Bella Vista Hotel.
‘You got anything on tonight?’
‘It’s my weekend with Violet; her dad is dropping her off later. I’m planning on a movie with popcorn at home.’
They stopped at the nurses station and Georgia leaned over the counter to swap her files over. ‘That sounds nice.’ She paused then added carefully, ‘Do you miss her when she’s with her dad?’
As usual, Amber’s face shut down. ‘Yep,’ she said, her voice clipped. Despite being friends for more than two years now, Georgia still didn’t know how Amber’s eight-year-old daughter had ended up with the father almost full-time, while Amber only got to see her once every fortnight. It was clear that Amber found this tough, and Georgia desperately wished Amber trusted her enough to open up more. But she’d been down this road before and it had always resulted in Amber becoming more tight-lipped than ever. So, Georgia swiftly switched topics. ‘Hey, I’m liking the purple hair. Did Denise say anything?’
Their boss was friendly enough but Denise was also very old-school in the way she ran her staff.
‘She pursed her lips, like this,’ said Amber, demonstrating. ‘I’ve probably ruined my chance of getting that senior nurse role in intensive care.’
‘Don’t be silly. She can’t overlook you because of purple hair. You’re definitely the favourite for that position.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘Hey, can you come with me to see that teenager we’ve got in bed fifteen? I think she was trying to play me for more pain meds she doesn’t need.’
‘Of course she was. She can tell you’re a softie. Okay, I’ll come with you and play bad cop if you promise me you’ll wear your sexy red top on your date tonight.’
‘Done.’
*
Georgia leaned one elbow on the bar and tapped out a message to Amber.
How’s movie night going?
It was fun, but V’s crashed out already. I’m doing the super creepy mum thing and watching her sleep because she’s so damn beautiful. Hey, why are you texting me? Aren’t you in middle of date?
So far, he’s a no-show.
Shit. Sorry honey. That sucks. How late is he?
45 mins.
Why are you still there?!! Go home!
Yeah. Guess so. X
Georgia put her phone down and looked around the bar again. A small part of her was still hoping he might turn up. It didn’t make any sense; they’d been getting along so well over the past few days. He was the one who’d suggested the date, and this venue as well. Why go to all that trouble only to stand her up? Was it possible he was here and they simply hadn’t recognised one another? It was busy.
She’d strategically placed herself towards the end of the bar so that if she turned side-on she could see most of the pub as well as the main entrance. It was a great bar, part of the changing landscape of the Hills area where she’d grown up. There definitely wasn’t anything like this around when she was in her early twenties and going out every night with her mates. Back then if you wanted funky little hole-in-the-wall wine bars you had to venture into the city.
That said, a night of drinks at the old Tavern when she was twenty had definitely been a hell of a lot cheaper than the two cocktails she’d had while waiting for her date. The atmosphere did make up for it though. The music was an eclectic mix of jazz and old-school hip hop. It was odd, but it worked. The couches were leather, the walls panelled with timber and the windows made of stained glass.
Brett had definitely said in his text that he’d meet her here at the bar. They’d agreed there would be no cheesy props — no ‘I’ll be the one with a yellow flower in my hair’ or ‘holding a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera’, but Georgia was almost wishing they had done that. At least then she could be certain he wasn’t sitting two metres away. Then again, she’d had to pretend she knew Love in the Time of Cholera when he’d made that joke. Had he brought it along, then he might have wanted to talk about it and she’d have to admit she didn’t actually know anything about it, even though he’d spoken about it like it was a classic that everyone ought to have read.
The thing was, if he was here, surely he would have approached her by now to ask if she was his date. Plus, she would have been easy enough to recognise. The photo on her Tinder profile was a shot of her with her long, curly brown hair hanging in a plait over one shoulder, sunglasses propped up on
her head, wearing a black singlet top. It was from last summer so her shoulders were browned from too much time spent in the sun. Tonight she’d worn a black top not too dissimilar to the one in her photo and styled her hair in the exact same way. She’d avoided adding any kind of filter to the shot because the last thing she needed was to have some guy start back-pedalling the minute he saw her face to face because she didn’t look as good in real life.
It was probably about time Georgia admitted the truth. He really had stood her up.
She picked up her drink — The Burning Man, a concoction of bourbon, vanilla, turmeric and cinnamon — and swallowed the last mouthful. It burned the back of her throat but warmed her insides as it slid down towards her stomach.
She was about to hop off her stool when two guys appeared either side of her, one of them immediately invading her personal space by squeezing in between her seat and the wall at the end of the bar.
‘Drinking alone?’ asked the one on her right. ‘That’s a bit sad on a Friday night.’ He was wearing a checked shirt with rolled-up sleeves that strained around his biceps and there was a powerful scent of spirits on his breath. The one on her left was in a similarly too-tight white T-shirt. But instead of showing off his biceps, it highlighted his paunch.
‘Actually, I was just leaving.’ Georgia tried to swing her legs out from under the bar but Checked Shirt moved in closer and blocked her.
‘’Scuse me,’ she said. ‘Can you move, please?’
‘Only if you let us buy you a drink first.’
‘I’m good, thanks.’
Even though the pub was packed, Georgia felt a panicked flutter in her stomach. She didn’t like the way they’d positioned themselves either side of her, or the way he’d tried to patronise her.
The one on her left slung a heavy arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on,’ he breathed into her ear, ‘don’t be stuck up. Let us buy you a drink.’
On the word ‘stuck’, a tiny bit of spit hit her on the side of the cheek and she rubbed hard at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. An intense combination of fear and anger was rising up inside her. Once upon a time she would have brushed off their overt advances as the kind of shit that you had to put up with as a woman. She might have even laughed about it with her mates later on. And can you believe, a bit of his spit landed on my face? So revolting! But not anymore. Not since ‘the incident’ — as her parents called it. Besides, she didn’t even have that many mates anymore. Just her friends from the hospital.
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