Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,10

sperm donation was, or what any of that meant at the time, but even at six years old Sabeen had a confidence about her I didn’t question, an air of authority I knew I could trust.

She invites us now to sit in a booth by the window while she goes to rustle up some garlic bread. Neither of her mums are currently working the prep area or pizza oven, although the smell of pepperoni and garlic wafting through the restaurant indicates the kitchen is very much in use. As Tom and I take a seat, I hear the jangle of car keys and look up in time to see Raf stepping through the doorway. He’s dressed simply in a black T-shirt and jeans, his wavy hair longer on top than when I last saw him. It now falls across the bridge of his nose.

He tosses an empty insulated pouch towards his sister. ‘Fill thy delivery bag, pizza wench.’

Sabeen scoffs and flicks it back. ‘Do it thyself, loser.’

‘Hey,’ comes a voice from behind the counter. ‘Knock it off, you two.’ Liv appears from the storeroom carrying a hefty jar of olives. ‘That’s hardly professional.’

‘Pffft. There’s no one here,’ Raf says, not having seen us by the window.

Tom stands, alerting Raf and Liv to our presence. ‘Ahem?’

‘Tommy-boy!’ Raf breaks into a grin. ‘How are you, mate?’

They grasp hands and do the bro-hug thing, and it gives me a chance to sneak a few glimpses at Raf without being obvious. Unruly eyebrows, thick lashes, hazel eyes, chewed fingernails. I know these features almost as well as my own.

‘Chloe, love,’ Liv says in happy surprise. Her English accent is untainted by fifteen years in Australia. She places the olive jar down and comes around from behind the counter. ‘I didn’t hear you come in. Look at this gorgeous pixie cut. It suits you!’

Raf ’s eyes find me as I slide awkwardly out of the booth, but his mum is already stepping between us. Liv is the older of Sabeen and Raf ’s mums and they call her Min, short for mini-Mum. She’s a petite woman with cropped silver hair and an enormous laugh, always dressed in workout gear like she’s about to go for a run. Her embrace is short, tight and genuine. She cups my face in her hands before glancing over her shoulder at her son.

‘Check out you two, all in black,’ she says, eyes crinkling. ‘Two peas in a pod.’

Raf tugs at the hem of his T-shirt in a way I find endearing. He sometimes seems self-conscious about his body but I’ve always liked the way he fills out his clothes. Though older than Sabeen by eighteen months, he’s slightly shorter and has inherited the sturdy build and deep olive skin of his father. Amir lives in London, but I’ve seen plenty of photos.

‘Hi,’ I manage, barely meeting Raf ’s eyes.

His smile is fleeting, as though acknowledging a stranger waiting for the same bus.

‘Hey,’ he says to the floor.

‘Sit. Sit!’ Liv steers us back towards our table. ‘Let me get you all something to eat. Raf, love, the next order’s almost ready to go.’

‘Duty calls,’ he tells us, holding up the insulated pouch. ‘Catch you guys later.’

I feel a sudden urge to reach for his hand, ask if we could speak outside, alone. But he’s already behind the counter getting in Sabeen’s way, bickering with her about whether the garlic bread she’s holding is part of his next delivery.

‘Where’s Sally?’ I ask Liv. Sabeen returns to our booth with the bread, scooching in beside me.

‘She’s got the night off,’ Liv explains as she hands some plates around. ‘Things have been a little quiet lately.’ As if sensing my worry, she adds, ‘It’ll pick up again, though. Once they reopen Cutler Bend and finish repairing these damaged shops. It’s just taking a bit longer than we hoped.’

‘Grandpa says all the media coverage about the storm damage didn’t do this town any favours,’ Tom says. ‘Daytrippers and tourists have been bypassing it in favour of places like Berrima and Bundanoon. He reckons we’ll be feeling the effects of that night for months.’

Henry’s face drifts into my mind and I realise how accurate Tom’s words are.

Raf heads out with the next delivery. I feel a weird sort of ache when he doesn’t stop by our table on his way out the door.

‘I’d better get some pizzas on for you lot,’ Liv says, heading back to the kitchen. ‘A Mexicana and a Sally’s Special?’

‘Sounds good,