Phoebe passed the phone over. The lines on Tommy’s face looked deeper as he pressed the receiver to his ear. He nodded. ‘Okay, yeah, no. I’ve looked everywhere. It must have dropped out and someone has taken it by mistake. I’ll be right home.’
Phoebe followed Tommy out onto the deck. The music had turned to an upbeat Beatles track and several children were dancing. She said goodbye and watched Tommy walk into the dark.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ Camilla was by her side, an empty wineglass in her hand.
Camilla took her elbow conspiratorially and steered her off the deck towards the river. She smelled of wine and barbecue smoke.
‘Has he gone?’ she asked. ‘You owe me big time. I wasn’t going to do it . . . I mean, I thought it was impossible . . . but then the opportunity just presented itself.’ She made a twinkling gesture with her fingers.
‘What are you . . . Are you drunk? I know I am.’
Camilla shoved something into Phoebe’s hand. A phone. Jenna’s and Harry’s smiling faces beamed up at her. ‘What?’
Camilla was whispering now. ‘Tommy was taking a photo of Harry and then he put the phone down on the table behind him. And someone started talking to him, and I . . .’ She made a swiping action.
Phoebe’s whole body froze. ‘You took his phone? Are you joking? Please tell me you’re joking. You’re definitely drunk.’
‘Well, I’m not. Joking. Obviously. I may be a little tipsy. I did this for you and for Karin. I don’t entirely believe your theory but I want you to be free of it. So, we’re going to crack into this phone and go through his stuff.’
Phoebe gripped Camilla’s shoulders. ‘Are you crazy? I’m pretty sure that’s a crime. Especially since he’s a Federal Police officer.’
‘Yeah, well, so is killing someone,’ Camilla dead-panned.
Phoebe took a deep breath. She needed to stay calm. ‘I’m not at all sure about this . . .’
Camilla waggled a finger close to her face. ‘Oh, no, no, no, you can’t just about-face on all this. Being back here has reminded me of our childhood, all those hours we spent doing God knows what.’ She looked out onto the dark water. ‘I miss her, Phoebe. I can’t believe . . .’
Camilla crumpled forward. Phoebe held her hand as she sobbed. She intuited that this was probably the first time Camilla had let herself cry, and she softened. Getting that phone was possibly the nicest, noblest thing Camilla had ever done. She put her arm around her sister and took the wineglass from her. Camilla sniffed loudly and wiped under her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her voice was still wobbly when she spoke. ‘He called it from the landline, several times. There’s no reception but I put it on silent, just in case.’
Phoebe shook her head and smiled. ‘You’re insane. Thank you, but we’re not going to crack it.’
Camilla picked up a half-empty champagne bottle sitting nearby and fixed Phoebe with a determined expression. ‘Maybe not, but we’re goddamn going to try.’
CHAPTER 23
All the emotions Phoebe had felt in the past twenty-four hours coalesced, pooling in the space behind her eyes. She pressed her knuckles into them and put the phone down. She looked over at Camilla, who had fallen asleep on the lounge, arm thrown behind her head and her knee up, as though she was sunbaking on a St Tropez beach. Phoebe drank the dregs of her cold tea and curled into a ball on the rug, pulling a cushion under her head.
Camilla knew a surprising amount about hacking iPhones, admitting she’d researched it after Rich’s series of late nights in the office, when she suspected he might have been having an affair with a secretary. You only got six failed password attempts before it was disabled for one minute and then you only had one or two more tries before it shut down completely.
The passcode required six numbers. Phoebe tried the birthdays she knew: Jez’s, Pauline’s, who she’d never forgotten because she shared the same birthday as their own mum, Tommy’s, Jenna’s and Harry’s birthdays, which to find out, Camilla had driven to the top of the hill and logged on to Facebook, and lastly a random combination of Tommy’s, Jenna’s and Harry’s birthdays. Nothing. It was an impossible task. The six attempts were up and the phone was disabled for one minute. Camilla was frustrated but Phoebe felt overwhelmed with relief.
Phoebe was so tired. The surrender to sleep came easily and she let it pull her under. Her dream greeted her. The woman with the black hair, drifting silently downriver, her white gown glowing phosphorescent in the rowboat. Her hair was a dark veil. Phoebe called out to her from the jetty, willing her to turn, wanting to see her face. But she didn’t turn and then the woman was falling backwards, out of the boat, and she went under. Phoebe dived to catch her but it was too far. She was on Jez’s jetty this time, not her own. She swam hard upstream, against the current, but the water felt thick and too black. She took a gulp of it and it was like tar filling up her lungs. Or blood. She woke up gasping.
She looked at the time glowing on Tommy’s phone—3 am. She studied the screensaver of Jenna and Harry. Harry was quite a bit younger, and he wore a red hat with New York written in white, and a grey singlet with the number one on it. Tommy had obviously kept this because Harry’s smiles were so rare. Phoebe felt a bubble of sadness rise inside her. Was she really trying to destroy another family, and one so fragile? She sat there in the dark, the feeling of dread growing in her gut.
There was one birthday she hadn’t tried. Karin’s. Her fingers trembled as she pressed in the date and she felt a roll of nausea in her belly. The phone buzzed its denial. She let out a ragged breath. She realised she’d been holding it.
She was about to settle back in to sleep when a word came into her mind. It was like a whisper, hazy with the aftermath of her dream. Driftwood. She lay down but couldn’t get comfortable. She picked up Tommy’s phone and stared at the key pad. The word Driftwood was too long but what about its number equivalent. What was the number of the house? 16. And the postcode? It came to her in a flash. All those times she had written it on the letters she had sent Jez. 2536. She punched in the number carefully. 162536.
A text message slid into view, a cursor blinking in a fresh message to someone called Tim. She was in. Phoebe’s body spiked with adrenalin, a cocktail of anxiety, fear and excitement. She sat up and looked behind her to check no one was watching. She felt like a thief. An intruder. Behind the apps was a picture of the jetty at Driftwood, the sun sparkling brightly on the water.
She hesitated. No. It wasn’t just about protecting Jenna, it was about protecting herself. She remembered Jez’s hands on her body, she felt the warm promise of him deep inside her. If what she thought, what she now feared, was true, everything changed with Jez. The only person who she would risk Jez for was Karin. And she knew with a deep, unwavering certainty that the only person he would risk her for, was Tommy.
She looked at Camilla, now curled up facing the back of the couch, her top hiked up, lower back exposed. Their dad’s snores rumbled softly from the back of the house. She wasn’t alone in this anymore. She owed it to Karin, but also to her family, to find out the truth. An image of those dead flowers drifted into her mind. The deep sorrow of them. She imagined Karin choosing those blooms, lush and alive, carefully trimming their stalks, sorting them into the shape of words. Knowing the deeper meaning of them ran like an undercurrent beneath the surface. Perhaps never knowing they would be the last thing of beauty she would ever create.
Phoebe checked under ‘K’ in his contacts. Nothing. She found his Gmail account and scanned through it. Names she didn’t recognise. She went into his text messages and checked everything that was a number without a name. She opened his WhatsApp and skimmed through the chats with mates, a picture of gigantic boobs they’d all shared. She went into his photos, skipping past the contents of his life—Harry on the beach, in the bath, on a bike. She felt the joy he felt for his little boy. There were pictures of Jenna too, mostly with Harry, behind oversized sunglasses, smiling. Cakes that had been baked,
random objects—a dustbin, a mark on the road—probably related to work. A dog smoking a cigar. She felt her shoulders drop. He was a normal guy. Dogs and boobs and his kid.
She reached the same month, one year ago, and her heart tipped. There were ten photos. In miniature, she saw it. Red roses open, blooming yellow ones young and bright, the petals curled tight. The peonies were lush and full, the pink softly muted against the white lace of the tablecloth, and the snapdragons bent their lilac heads graciously to form the stems of the letters. It was beautiful. There was nothing sad about this note, it was bursting with colour. With love, with light, with hope. The flowers were formed into the words ‘I’m sorry’. They had all seen pictures of dead flowers. These flowers were alive. If Karin had left a hidden message in the meanings of the flowers surely it was a beautiful one. Red roses for love, yellow for friendship, peonies for compassion and snapdragons for graciousness and strength.
Phoebe stared at the picture for a long time. The clock on the wall ticked out the seconds into the night. All she knew was that Karin had been happy the day she died, and that Tommy had seen the flowers alive. Her sister’s last message was not for her family, it was for him. She wanted to shake Camilla awake, drag her exhausted body into the bedroom and wake their father, run next door and wake Ginny. But instead she sat there in communion with the seconds, filling up to minutes. What did it mean? What was Karin sorry for? Why was Karin dead? How was this picture on Tommy’s phone? Why hadn’t he told the police?
Nausea rolled through her and she pressed her hand against her belly. She was going to be sick. She pulled herself to standing, slid open the screen door, and the cold air buzzed against her cheeks. She was barefoot and shivering but she didn’t care. She walked over the deck, sending a beer bottle rolling. It smashed on the ground below. She walked on towards the river, feeling sharp sticks, dry grass, dirt under her feet. She came to the river and stopped. It had broken the banks during the night and was now in retreat. Under the half-moon she could just make out the slats of the jetty in its shallows. There was a compulsion, childlike, to step onto this strange underwater jetty and so she did. It was numbingly cold and the tops of her feet glowed white beneath the water. She walked out into the river until she came to the jetty’s end.
Phoebe almost expected the dream woman to be here but she was completely alone. She wanted to howl into the quiet night for the river to give back her sister. She wanted Jez to hold her and make everything better, take her back to that deserted beach where everything was possible and there was no one but the two of them. She’d lost Karin, she couldn’t lose Jez again. She imagined showing him Tommy’s phone. Even the betrayal of stealing it would cut Jez deep. She imagined his reaction to the photo of the flowers. He would never accept that Tommy could do something bad. He would make excuses, beg her not to take it further. But Karin . . . Phoebe said her name out aloud. She hadn’t been able to save Karin from this river so she wouldn’t abandon her here, alone.
The first birdsong came from the trees across the water. It would be morning soon and Camilla would want to know if she’d cracked the phone. Phoebe wanted to stay here forever on her still, silver lake, suspended in time, floating, still free. She didn’t want to have to choose between them. She looked down at the place where the jetty ended. The water was an oily black, like blood. She had one other option—to stop the pain thrumming through her, to make it all go away—but it was so awful, so sickening, and it filled her with anger. And she knew then what she had to do.
CHAPTER 24
Phoebe went to find Jez as soon as dawn split open the dark shell of night. The early morning was muted, grey-blue with a dusting of fine rain. The river’s greens were darker, gem-like in contrast to the bruised sky. She didn’t bother to cover herself against the rain. She already felt sodden with emotion and cold, numb. She reached the gates of Driftwood, crossed the spongy grass and cut around the front of the house. No one was in the kitchen or lounge. Jez’s window looked out onto a wooded area where trees obscured the river. Filmy white curtains were pulled across the low window. She could just make out the bed. He’d be alone. She knocked tentatively. Nothing. Then again a little harder. He appeared, his eyes slitted against the growing light, his hair tousled. Her heart expanded as he gave her a crinkle-eyed smile and opened the window. She climbed through, into the room. She could smell sleep, and him. The sheets were like the white caps of waves and she fell into them as they embraced.
‘You’re wet,’ he said in her ear. He peeled the clothing from her body, scraped the damp strands of hair from her face with his thumbs. Phoebe said nothing. Maybe if she never spoke again they could exist forever in this perfect place of not-quite-day. There was no need for words. They knew each other’s bodies. The way the sun had stamped his shoulders, the skin darker there, the flutter of his eyelashes as his eyes rolled back at her touch. She could feel the cool air from the open window against her bare breasts. His warm mouth covered them and the heat spread through her body. The translucent white of the curtains undulated softly in the breeze and she arched her back in response to him. His body was curled around her spine, fitted into hers like a perfect puzzle piece. She took all of the pleasure he gave her. The birdsong outside grew louder and the river began to teem with sound, as though still engorged. They rested in each other’s arms and he fell asleep for a time, his breathing becoming light and even. She watched him and tried not to let her tears touch his skin.
Voices came from the main part of the house. They spoke in whispers and dressed quickly. The ground was still wet under the window but the rain had stopped. Sitting in the musky cabin of his ute she knew she couldn’t put it off anymore.
‘Let’s get some takeaway coffees in the Bay,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘A bacon and egg roll. I’m starving after that little wake-up surprise.’ His eyes flashed. He was happy. Happier than she’d ever seen him. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked. His fingers found hers and wove through them. He kissed the back of her hand and she felt her heart squeeze with love, with dread. She allowed herself a second to feel angry. Angry that she couldn’t just have the warm, easy love of him. Angry at herself for making Camilla steal Tommy’s phone. But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t feel angry at Karin.
‘Um, maybe.’ She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. It was some cheese and biscuits the night before at the party.
‘Hey, are you okay?’ He was onto her. She felt the tears again, threatening like the heavy clouds outside. She couldn’t talk about it here with Tommy and Jenna inside the house.
‘Just overwhelmed,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s get some food.’
They drove in silence for a short while and then he told her about his conversation with Asha last night at the hospital. She’d apologised for the things she’d said, and told him she was done. She couldn’t keep going in their quest for a baby. They agreed that it had become the last chance to salvage their relationship. But Asha needed to be a mother. He’d told her that he’d been broken too and she deserved to have the thing she wanted so much: a child. It just wasn’t to be with him.
‘Did you tell her about us?’ Phoebe asked, her heart aching with sorrow for Asha.
Jez shook his head his eyes on the road. ‘I wanted to be completely honest. I wanted to . . . to just come completely clean, but I couldn’t.’
Asha had asked her brother to pick her up from the hospital today. Jez expected her back at the house around lunchtime.
They drove through the Bay and out on the coast road. The sun appeared like a gap-toothed smile through the clouds. They stopped opposite a strip of shops.
‘The local tradies get their coffees and rolls here. It’s pretty good,’ said Jez.
Phoebe realised she had no bag, no wallet. ‘I don’t have any money,’ she said, her hands fumbling in her lap. ‘Sorry.’
He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘Everything that’s mine is your
s.’
He opened the car door and crossed the road, leaving her fighting back tears. She got out of the ute to feel the sea breeze on her face. The ocean was choppy and the waves pounded the sand. The beach was almost deserted save for a few dog walkers. She sat on a park bench between two enormous pine trees. How was she going to talk to Jez about this?
He arrived juggling two takeaway coffees and brown paper bags already rimmed with bacon grease. He put the food down between them on the park bench and the smell of caffeine and fried bacon made her stomach growl. She felt sick with hunger but she couldn’t eat. She took a sip of strong coffee and looked at him, his brow smooth and worry-free, all of his focus on his sandwich. There was no point delaying it. She waited until he had taken a bite to speak.
‘Jez, do you remember when Ginny, my neighbour, told me Karin went away every few weekends and I didn’t know about that? And it made me wonder if I even knew her?’
He nodded, wiping egg off his chin with the back of his hand.
Phoebe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘She also told me she rang Karin late one night when she was away from the cottage and she was with a man.’ She paused. ‘And you know how you told me Tommy had something . . . someone that Jenna never knew about?’
His jaw stopped mid-chew. She saw his face register these two pieces of information. He shook his head. He swallowed his food with some effort and then spoke. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
She was surprised at the surge of defiance she felt. ‘No, you don’t think so . . . what?’
‘It wasn’t Karin.’ He put his sandwich down and wiped his fingers and mouth with a flimsy paper napkin.
‘How do you know it wasn’t?’
He was silent. He gripped the bench with both hands, his knuckles turning white. Phoebe could see his mind working behind his eyes.
‘You don’t know,’ she said, her heart sinking.
He shook his head, brows creased together, and picked up his coffee but didn’t drink it. ‘He would have told me.’
The Lost Summers of Driftwood Page 24
