The Game You Played (22 page)

Thursday night

I MADE NAN EGGS AND TOAST for dinner and then headed into the living room to wait. The day had been long, with nothing to fill it.

Dr Moran had rung at 4:00 p.m., to check on my
small steps
. I lied and said that I’d been out to see a movie. She might have been more impressed if I’d told her
I searched an abandoned house yesterday morning, stalked a man, and was about to search my neighbour’s house
.

Finally, it was almost eight o’clock. Time for the Wicks and Nan to head down to the club.

Nan dressed herself in her usual thick tartan jacket and
smart trousers
for her trip out.

“Will you be all right here on your own?” she said, her eyes crinkling. “You really should come along with us. I think you’d enjoy yourself.”

“Trivia’s not my thing, Nan. I have the memory of a gnat. I wouldn’t be able to answer a single question.”

“Well, you could just enjoy the socialising. I’m sure Bernice would like your company, rather than just hanging with us oldies.”

You mean, Bernice would like a chance to gloat on my suffering, firsthand?
I didn’t know for sure if Bernice had done anything wrong. But whether she had or she hadn’t, she’d still gloat on my suffering.

“I’d rather just stay here.” I smiled to soften my words.

She sighed. Triple the huff volume. “All right, then.”

I watched as she headed out the door. As soon as she closed the door, I peeked through the living room blinds. I needed to make sure that both Bernice and her mother were going tonight. They were both standing at Nan’s mailbox.

I ran upstairs to change into dark leggings and a black jacket. As long as I was going to break into someone’s house, it felt right to be dressed like I imagined a thief would. Returning downstairs, I took out the key to the Wick house from Nan’s collection of keys in the top drawer of her dining buffet and started to prepare the things I’d need.

A rap at the door made me jump. For a split second, it seemed that the police were here, knowing ahead of time that I was about to commit a crime.

But it was Sass at the door, dressed in black. She looked more like a movie villain than a house thief—with a tight leather jacket and shiny skin-tight pants and boots. She’d tucked her thick red-blond hair under a ski cap.

“Do you have gloves?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Ziplock bags?”

“Yeah.” I gave a half smile. We sounded like criminals already.

Outside, the night was still and clear. We pushed the gate open and stepped along the path to the Wick house. Sass clung unhelpfully to my arm as I inserted the key and unlocked the front door.

Sass walked in first. She gasped—
loudly
.

Closing the door, I turned to see what she had.

Boxes.
Boxes and boxes and boxes.
All sizes. Piled high. And
things
. Vases, ornaments, and trinkets—even paintings that I recognised from the café.

“Wow,” Sass remarked, finally remembering to lower her voice. “Someone’s a hoarder.”

“How are we even going to search this?” I eyed Sass in frustration.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure how we’re going to hack a path through it.”

A narrow pathway through the boxes led to a small space where a two-seater sofa and the TV stood. This tiny space had to be where Mrs Wick and Bernice watched TV.

Boxes and containers were stacked up in the kitchen and on the stairs.

Sass blinked at me. “So, which one of them do you think is the packrat?”

I ran my bottom lip through my teeth, trying not to accidentally elbow any of the boxes and tip them over. “Has to be Bernice.”

“Why her?”

“You’ll understand when you see the room at number 29. This is like that, multiplied.”

I couldn’t imagine Mrs Wick being the hoarder. Sass and I had been in this house when we were kids. It’d been neat and clutter free.

“It’s bizarre,” said Sass. “Like a TV show where people come in and clean up the hoarder’s house. It’s that bad. Did you have any idea?”

I shook my head. “I’ve seen boxes being delivered here lots. But I didn’t expect
this
.”

Either Mrs Wick was holding back on telling Nan about the hoarding, or Nan was keeping her secret well.

Deciding to look in Bernice’s room only, we picked our way up the stairs.

Every room was filled with boxes, except for Mrs Wick’s bedroom. The third bedroom was packed to the ceiling.

I edged inside Bernice’s room. A dark shape jumped at me from behind a column of boxes. A scream caught in my throat. A furry grey creature stood on the floor with an arched back, hissing. Mrs Wick’s cat.

Stepping over to the window, I looked through it and down onto Nan’s yard. Bernice had a clear view.

Sass squeezed in behind me. “Let’s get started.”

But her voice had an air of defeat. Our mission was impossible. We couldn’t search every box in this house for a set of stationery. The only thing we could have a try of looking for was the nightlight. At least it was large.

We poked around for a while but found nothing.

Sass groaned as she lifted a large box back into place. “Maybe she destroyed it.”

I sat on Bernice’s bed. “I don’t know. It looks to me like she just doesn’t throw anything away. And all this stuff, it’s just so organised.” I exhaled. “There’s no toys here in the house. No kids’ stuff. I know it sounds crazy, but Tommy’s nightlight doesn’t belong here.”

To my surprise, she nodded. “It’s not here. So where is she keeping it?”

I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. “I feel like just waiting here and asking her.”

Sass’s eyes opened large in alarm. “Don’t do that. Bernice will deny it, just like she denied what she did to that bag lady. You know she will. All that will happen is that she’ll know what you know. We have to be smarter.”

I felt my anxiety ease a little. Sass was here to organise me. Like she used to when we were kids. Like she had when I first lost Tommy.

“What we need to do,” said Sass, “is to set up cameras in number 29. Motion-detect cameras. I’ll talk to the guys who film our home renovation shows and see what we need to do.”

“Cameras—Damn, I should have thought of that.”

Cameras didn’t tell the whole truth, though. They hadn’t told the truth about me and the letters.

“Just be sure not to tell Kate what we’re doing,” Sass said. “I trust her but not the guy she married. If he finds out what we’re doing, he’ll try to stop us. He’s the police. And once they get involved, it’s all over. I’m not sure about telling Pria, either. She starts crying if we even mention number 29. It’s just you and me, okay?”

“Okay.” I drew in a breath that reached all the way to the pit of my stomach.

“I’ll get the cameras organised. On Saturday, after we go to the Christmas in July thing.”

“I seriously have to go to that?”

“You seriously do. Your doc was right about one thing. You’ve been by yourself too much. Luke’s chosen to go his own way. And now you need to go yours.” Sitting beside me, she slung an arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “And along the way, we’ll find out just what Bernice Wick is up to.”

Thursday night

MY FINGERS TANGLED IN KITTY’S HAIR. She made me feel real. Substantial. Like everything about me wasn’t about to dissolve.

With Phoebe, I was salt, watching the sky for storm clouds.

We were lying in Kitty’s bed, a jumble of sheets and pillows all around.

Jazz music piped from vents. She was a music lover. She’d played violin in the nude earlier, sitting in the corner armchair of the bedroom, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. She wasn’t as pretty as Phoebe, but she had an earthiness that was raw and sexual.

If I had made a life with her all those years ago, I could have had a real life. Not a broken life. I wouldn’t be here comparing her to a woman who never gave me what I needed.

I didn’t even know how we’d ended up like this tonight. It had just happened. Organically. I’d tried calling Phoebe earlier tonight, but her mobile phone wasn’t answering, and neither was the home phone. I’d remembered then that it was trivia night at the club—Nan would be out. Maybe Phoebe had gone with her.

Bored and lonely, I’d come around to Kitty’s for some company. We’d started drinking, and then somehow, we’d moved closer and closer to each other. I’d kissed her again, and this time, she didn’t resist. I guessed that now that my wife had left me, Kitty didn’t feel like she was pushing into the middle of a marriage.

But I still sensed a reluctance in Kitty. Maybe it was me. Luke Basko—the guy who had no trouble picking up women but just didn’t have what it took to keep them.

I shifted my body close to hers. “This is crazy, but I want this all the time.”

“Luke . . .” She gazed up at me with her large eyes. “It just doesn’t seem right. Not yet anyway.”

“I know what you’re saying. I’ve thought the same thing. You and me, it wouldn’t be easy. But tonight, I don’t know. I’m different. I want to be different. I don’t want the same life.”

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I feel for Phoebe. She’s been through hell. I don’t want to cause her pain.”

“Me either. I still . . . love my wife. She’s the mother of Tommy.”

“I know you do. It was just supposed to be a separation between you and her, right? Not a divorce.”

“Yeah. But you should see the way she looks at me. She’s never coming back.”

“People change their minds.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But what’s in it for me? Fuck, I fought her so hard when she left. But now, I don’t know. I’ve had time to think. I’m tired of the crazy.”

“I’d go ’round the twist if I’d lost my kid like she did.”

“She was like that before. I’ve never said this to anyone . . . but the day we lost Tommy, she was already going off her head. My mother was staying with us because Phoebe wasn’t capable of watching Tommy. I haven’t even fucking told the police that. I asked my mother to keep it to herself, too. I shouldn’t have left Phoebe alone with Tommy that morning in the playground. She was too scattered.”

She laid herself on top of me, holding me tightly. “Oh hell, Luke. I didn’t know.”

“Nobody knows. Except my mother. But she doesn’t know it all.”

“Look, I’m here for you. I’ll be your rock, whatever you need. When things feel right, maybe we can start planning something.”

I lifted my head. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Maybe a complete change. Go somewhere where there are no reminders of your old life. I just want you to be happy.”

“Where? Let’s talk about it. I need something good to look forward to.”

She ran her fingers through my hair. “I don’t know where. It’s just a thought. How about we just go one step at a time? We’ve got this for now. You and me. Maybe we shouldn’t push it any further just yet.”

I let my eyes close, feeling the warmth and weight of her body on mine. She was right. I was shooting off my mouth. I had to enjoy the moment. I’d never really learned how to do that.

Friday night

I FELT LIKE TIPTOEING IN WHEN Sass opened the door to her apartment. I hadn’t seen it since she’d renovated. It was all white. Dazzling white. Sterile, with splashes of bright colour, like a modern art museum. Everything new and flashy.

Beauty. Calm. Everything in its place.

So Saskia.

She’d insisted I come over to her place to get ready for the Christmas in July dinner party.

I put my bag of clothing down (I’d hastily thrown in some stuff). The old duffel bag squatted in a guilty clump on the tiled floor.

Sass seated herself on her red Arne Jacobsen egg chair, holding court, her yoga-pants legs tucked under her.

“Sit,” she instructed me. “We’re going to meditate for the first five minutes. Everything’s going to be different from now on.”

“Sass, I don’t know if I can get into that head space right now.”

She grinned, winding her hair into a knot. “Yes, you can. You’re not going to think about your life right now. Leave that to sessions with your psych. We’re going to just bliss out. And then we’re going out on the town. Woo hoo! This town won’t know what hit it. Phoebe Vance on the loose again!”

“Oh god, I really—”

“Trust.”

I breathed out slowly.

“Take a seat,” she insisted.

I perched on the edge of an art deco chair, feeling like I was interfering with an art exhibit.

“Get comfy.” Reaching back, she picked up a remote control from a small table and pressed a button. Ethereal music began to pipe through hidden speakers—soft at first and then growing in intensity.

I wriggled back in the chair.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed. “Let your mind free itself. Thoughts will wander in. Let them. Imagine a broom, sweeping them out again.”

Pinning my eyelids down, I wondered why Dr Moran didn’t go in for this sort of thing. It would be less work for her. I imagined a broom, sweeping out Dr Moran and her small steps. Luke’s face intruded, his critical face with his beautiful eyes—Luke didn’t realise how handsome he was (his criticism extended to himself). And the old lady and her birthday-money envelope. I watched the envelope tearing in half, fluttering over the water.

“You’re not at rest,” said Sass. “I can see your eyes moving. Use your broom. You’re in a temple. Thoughts can only enter through the door straight before you. Where you can easily whisk them out at will.”

I concentrated on the broom.

The broom split into many. Like the broom had in
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
.

Sweeping. Sweeping. Frantically sweeping.

“Phoebe.” Sass’s voice was gentler this time. “Forget the broom. Concentrate on your breathing. Think of nothing else. Slow breaths. In. Out. Repeat. You might feel bored, but that’s normal. That’s your mind resisting.”

I shifted my mind to my breathing.

Sass was right that I might feel bored. Because I was bored.

The sound of the clock ticking away on the wall irritated me.

It was only later, when I was putting my things away in the spare bedroom that I noticed my heart rate had slowed. I’d been aware of my heartbeat on and off all day.

Saskia stood in the doorway, arms folded. “Did you bring any sex-ay dresses? Something you can rock with a jacket and boots?”

I shook my head. “My old stuff doesn’t fit, and I’m going to be more comfortable in jeans anyway.”

“No way. You’re dressing up tonight, girl!”

“I just want to wear something that lets me fade into the background, y’know?”

“Seriously? Because I can loan you clothes.”

We both knew that Sass was a lot taller than me. I was safe from having her dress me up tonight.

I shook my head, not giving her anything else to argue with.

She sighed loudly. “Well, we’ll head down there in another couple of hours. The girls are meeting us at seven.”

I showered and changed into the jeans and a black zippered jacket. Sass tried to persuade me to
do something
with my hair, but these days my hair had become just a nuisance that needed tying back. I couldn’t cope with the thought of anything else.

We walked through the crisp dark air to the boardwalk at Darling Harbour.

The boardwalk was a sweep of hundreds of trendy cafes and restaurants. Part undercover and part open to the salt and sea spray, ghostly boats swaying along the dark pier. One end held an aquarium, a zoo, and a wax museum. At the opposite end, an IMAX theatre and a shopping centre filled with yet more eateries and stores.

And a playground.
The playground from which Tommy had vanished.

I knew that Sass wouldn’t have thought of that when she asked me to come to the dinner tonight. Darling Harbour was just close and convenient. We could walk, therefore drink. And it was filled with tourists who didn’t know me.

Sass headed towards a restaurant named Billy Coachman. Like the other restaurants, it was undercover but open to the water, with most of its tables outside. The tables were already full.

The restaurant was totally themed like an English Christmas. In Australia, we had so many images of white Christmases pushed at us that I was sure we all had fake childhood memories of actually having had them. Even now, it didn’t seem like Christmas unless I saw snow (even if that snow was that spray-on stuff on windows).

Christmas snow globes as tall as me whirled fake snow around tiny villages. Outdoor heaters, shaped like vintage street lamps, stood between the busy, full tables and potted pine trees that were decorated with baubles. A Christmas tune pumped from a live band inside. Alcohol-soaked voices of different nationalities competed for air space as they banged out the lyrics to the music.

Two women rose from a table and waved wildly, their cheeks bright from the nearby heaters. Kate and Pria.

Sass and I threaded our way through the tables.

“I think this calls for a round of champagne—to celebrate us!” Kate pinched her pretty face into a smile. Kate often gave the impression of squeezing a smile out, as if the smile came from somewhere deep. She seemed to coast through life in her own private happy place—a place from which smiles could be extracted at will. Tonight, she was wearing a pale-blue dress and headband, giving her a dark-haired
Alice in Wonderland
look.

“Correct. That’s exactly what we need.” Pria buried her nose in the wine list. “My shout for the first round. And God, I need it. My last client today told me his life story. And worst thing? I don’t think it would be possible for anyone to have done less with their life but take so long to tell the story of it.” She tucked her pale hair behind both ears as she shook her head in frustration. “I don’t mean to be mean, but sometimes . . . you wish you could pop on headphones and play some music.”

Saskia laughed out loud. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

Pria ordered a bottle of Krug Vintage from the drinks waiter.

I bit my lip, grinning. “Remember when we used to get bottles of that el cheapo berry-flavoured champagne?”

Pria wrinkled her nose in amusement. “I got drunk more times than I can remember on that stuff.”

“I miss those days.” Kate toyed with her Christmas-tree-shaped napkin.

“Do you remember that we used to run everywhere?” mused Saskia. “We didn’t have to. But we just ran. Like, somehow we knew those days were precious and we didn’t have time to waste.”

“So true,” said Pria. “These days, we know how fast the time goes, but we never run. We walk, like life is forever. If we run, we’re not actually going anywhere. Just going for a run to keep our thighs from jiggling.”

A waiter presented the bottle of Krug to Pria and then poured each of us a glass. Another waiter brought us a plate of tiny squares of Christmas fruitcake, with white almond icing and
glacé
cherries.

At the table next to us, a bunch of rowdy American guys held their drinks out in victorious poses, inviting us to clink glasses with them.

The tallest of them, with a mop of blond hair, half-stood and leaned across to clink glasses with Saskia. “To new friends this Christmas. May the year ahead be bright and merry. Or at least for the next six months until we have Christmas again.” He winked.

“To new friends!” Saskia clinked his glass.

The six guys then all leaned over for a round of glass clinking.

A guy with intense dark eyes and a slow grin leaned across and touched my shoulder. “I’ve seen you before, somewhere.”

I went rigid. I was used to people recognising me, but I hadn’t expected it tonight. “Wherever you think you’ve seen me, you haven’t.” I forced a snarky smile.

“I’ll remember, sooner or later. I’m Dashiell.”

I shook the hand that he offered. “I’m . . . happy to meet you.”

“Oh, great pickup line.” Pria smirked at the man. “Leave her alone. She just got here.”

The man’s eyebrows hooked into a wry frown—a very attractive expression, probably well practised—as he noted four sets of female eyes suddenly on him. Shaking his head and grinning, he revolved around to his friends.

I relaxed.
A pickup line.
Nothing more. He hadn’t seen my picture anywhere.

“To us.” Pria raised her glass.

Sass, Kate, and I lifted our glasses.

A fog rolled in fast over the harbour, hanging back only when it reached the water’s edge. All the people at the tables around us stared at the sudden mist, watching it rise and gather.

A mischievous glint entered Saskia’s eyes. She pushed her hair back over both shoulders like it was some kind of ceremonial cape. “Girls, can you feel it? I think The Moose is back.”

Setting her drink down, Pria held up both hands in a stop gesture. “The Moose isn’t back.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure he is.” Sass raised her eyebrows high.

“You invoked The Moose? I don’t believe it.” Kate’s rosebud lips formed a small circle. “The Moose hasn’t been back since we were, what, sixteen?”

“We can’t,” I protested. “Sass, c’mon, we don’t do The Moose anymore.” I hadn’t told her I’d found the old moose storybook in number 29. I’d forgotten about it as soon as I’d found the nightlight boat. The book had brought up instant memories of all of us as children, invoking the moose and then pretending to be each other for the day.

Sass gave a playful shrug. “Once he’s invoked, we can’t un-invoke him. Sorry.”

“Wait, what about Luke?” I said. “We can’t play this game without including him. So, the game is off.”

“The rules were we could invoke the moose in someone’s absence. The absent person doesn’t get to play.” Grabbing our drink coasters, Sass flipped them and scrawled our names on each of them. She shuffled them then, like a pack of square, awkward cards and handed them out to each of us.

The name on my coaster, in tall letters, said
SASS
. With a love heart.

Fuck the moose,
I thought
.

But no one was listening to my thoughts.

Sass dragged me off to the women’s bathroom to start the process of becoming
her
.

I stood in front of the small square bathroom mirror, under dim lighting. The bathroom walls were wallpapered, the toilet cubicles having black curtains instead of doors. The cubicles reminded me of Catholic confessional boxes.

“I can’t do this,” I said as she laid out her arsenal of lipstick, eye shadow, and fake eyelashes on top of her handbag.

“You’ve got to make a change, and it starts tonight.”

“You haven’t told me which one of us you are. Because if you’re me, then you wouldn’t be doing this. I would definitely say no to this.”

“Lucky I’m not you, then. I’m Kate. And Kate approves.”

She was right that Kate would approve of a makeover. Kate kept her hair and makeup perfect for a living. Even when her twins were babies.

My fingers fumbled as I applied the red lipstick. I’d barely worn any makeup since I’d been pregnant with Tommy. Taking over, Sass lined my eyes and then stuck on false eyelashes. She brushed colour onto my cheeks. Then she tugged the elastic from my hair and brushed my hair out. My hair fell around my face, a deep brown beside my pale-brown eyes.

Sass reached around me from behind and yanked my top down, exposing the cups of my bra. Sass was very hands-on. I pulled it back up again. She tugged at it again. We compromised on halfway. She then undid my shirt and tied it into a knot underneath my boobs.

Kate and Pria stepped inside the bathroom, stopping and blinking at me like I was one of the
afters
on a makeover show. Sass had her hand on my shoulder like the show’s proud presenter.

“You look like . . .
you
again,” Kate told me. She didn’t add,
before you had a baby and got fat, and then got too skinny and stopped wearing makeup
.