The whirlwind of his departure had left her gasping for breath. And he was so fucking civilised while she ranted and raved, and bawled and blubbered. This was supposed to be her year—celebrating her fiftieth birthday in August with a trip to the Great Barrier Reef. Instead she was sobbing on her best friend’s shoulder.
Eating dinner alone.
She’d never lived alone before.
Standing in the kitchen, Allison looked past the back deck to the pool. Still warm enough for a swim but the water was murky green. Tony had been the one to check the levels and add chemicals. As she closed the kitchen blinds to banish the accusing colour, a dark shape moved at the end of the garden. Too big to be a brush turkey jumping the fence. Allison locked the door and called Nadia.
‘Stop worrying.’ Her best friend’s voice was a balm down the line. ‘Probably just teenagers hanging out in the bush.’
The reassurance stayed with Allison until the pinky hues descended and the shadows lengthened. Even with neighbours on either side, she was conscious of the bushland behind the house. At dusk, the forest came alive, filling each room with its cacophony: kookaburras cackling, bats shrieking, frogs croaking in a deep bass line. Before, she’d loved the bush backdrop. Now, she dreaded switching off the downstairs lights every evening.
In their queen-sized bed, Allison avoided that cold empty space where Tony had slept.
Her mother had suggested audiobooks to help her fall asleep. Nadia offered sleeping pills. Shona said: ‘Drink more gin.’
Instead, Allison lay awake until one in the morning, trying to ignore the numbers glowing red on the clock radio, her thoughts on a constant loop: How did it come to this?
At three-sixteen, she jolted awake to the sound of banging. The southerly had blown in and the house creaked with each gust. Could it be a branch whacking against the roof? None of the trees were that close.
When she’d spoken to Nadia earlier, neither of them had mentioned the break-ins around Wirriga. One at the school over the summer holidays. One at the beauty salon. And the most recent—on Allison’s street, half a block away.
Where was Tony when she needed him? Or even Felix. Goddamn it, Allison called herself a feminist, and now she was wishing for the safety that came with a man. Scared of the dark in her own house. She’d fallen into another cliché.
Reach out and switch on the light, she told herself as the thudding continued.
Now that she was properly awake, Allison realised the noise was coming from above. A possum on the roof or inside the ceiling? Whatever it was, she wouldn’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.
She hadn’t told Nadia her real fear.
I think someone is spying on me.
Stop being paranoid, her friend would say.
But Allison was projecting her own guilty conscience—her obsession with watching Tony’s new house.
Who else was living in that house? Did the new woman know—or care—that she had destroyed Allison’s happy family?
2
After the soccer match, Allison congratulated Felix on his goal that had won the game. Her son pushed his sweaty fringe off his forehead, smiled briefly, then tapped Tony on the shoulder.
‘Dad, did you see that tackle I did on their number four?’
‘Perfect, mate. And that fancy footwork got you around the number seven. You’ll be a shoo-in for the top team in winter.’
Her husband flung an arm around Felix’s shoulder. They were almost the same height. Had that happened in the last two weeks? Angry red pimples dotted Felix’s chin. Was he using the medicated face wash she’d bought? His hair needed a cut, and she’d heard him swearing on the field. What had happened to her little boy? The one who used to sing to her while they baked cupcakes; the one who came to her first for comfort and approval.
Her aim tonight—apart from seeing Felix—was to discuss him coming home during the week. Her son had spent most of the summer holiday at Tony’s place, surfing every morning and evening. He could walk to the beach from there, he’d explained.
As they entered the Italian restaurant, Allison began.
‘Now that Felix is going into year ten, he needs to concentrate on his studies. He should be living at home.’
Her heart actually hurt when she said the word home.
‘But at Dad’s I can still get a surf in before school,’ Felix countered. ‘The waves are great.’
Tony didn’t answer. Instead, he called for the waiter and ordered panzanella, rather than his usual veal parmigiana.
‘It’s a tomato and bread salad,’ he explained, even though she hadn’t asked. ‘I’ve been eating healthier. Gotta keep the body fit.’
Allison wanted to stick her fingers in her mouth and make a gagging sound, like she had as a teenager. Was Tony keeping himself fit for the new woman? These days, Allison’s emotions came fast and intense, as if she were a teenager again. They seemed to be on the surface of her skin, fully exposed, ready to flare in an instant. Without looking at the menu, Allison ordered veal parmigiana with extra roast potatoes. And garlic bread.
‘Felix needs to come home,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t even know the name of the woman he’s living with.’
‘Don’t start that again, Allison. I’ve told you—it’s for legal reasons.’
‘For God’s sake, I deserve a better explanation than that after twenty-four years of marriage, Tony. I can’t deal with this secrecy.’
‘Mum, please don’t,’ Felix interrupted. ‘Dad’s just trying to keep everyone safe.’
Tony, the bloody white knight. Trying to keep everyone safe. Somehow, he’d brainwashed his son as well, and Allison had become the villain by asking the questions.
‘How can I know that our son is safe,’ Allison snapped, ‘if I don’t know who he’s with?’
‘I can assure you that she’s of good character.’
Tony and his pompous, lawyerly words. He had an answer for everything. That was what made him a good solicitor.
‘Just tell me her name!’ Allison had already asked so many times; she couldn’t stop asking.
A pause, and then Tony finally answered, ‘Call her Helena.’
Obviously a false name—one that meant Allison wouldn’t be able to find the woman on social media. She thought about it for a moment.
‘Helena … Like Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world, who men fought wars over?’
At least Tony had the decency not to respond.
Helena. A clue? Ellen was the name of his young secretary; Helen one of the soccer mums; and Heather a recently divorced friend. It had to be someone Allison knew, otherwise there’d be no need for this crazy secrecy.
While they waited for their meals to arrive, Tony switched the conversation to the English Premier League and Felix gave his opinion of which teams would win on the weekend. Allison let them talk, aware that their son should not be caught up in their arguments. In her head, she tried to recall every acquaintance whose name started with the letter H. Once she’d done that, she worked out which names rhymed with Helena: Serena, Melina, Trina, Sheena.
Tony thanked the waiter as his tomato and bread salad was placed on the table.
‘Can’t wait to try something different!’