Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,12

is saying. ‘You’ll be tempted to blurt something out.’

‘I haven’t said anything to her,’ Sabeen replies, glaring at her brother. ‘But don’t you think we should tell her what we found?’

Raf swings a garbage bag up and over into the dumpster, flicking his hair out of his eyes. ‘We’ve already talked about this.’

‘It’s just—’

‘We agreed, Sabeen.’ Raf ’s voice takes on an edge of warning. He tosses the two remaining garbage bags with a little more force than the first. ‘It’s better if we don’t say anything.’

Sabeen huffs, letting her arms drop to her sides. ‘I know … but Henry …’

Raf turns abruptly and starts walking back towards the restaurant. I duck behind a wheelie bin and crouch in the shadows with my back to the fence, grateful for the gathering darkness. Sabeen follows her brother through the gate with her head down, and as they pass me I hear her inhale as if she’s about to say something else.

‘I mean it,’ Raf says, cutting her off. ‘Chloe doesn’t need to know.’

Eleven weeks before the storm

25 OCTOBER 2018, 17:25

Henry Weaver accepted Missy Ellwood’s message request.

Missy: Hey!

Henry: Hi.

Missy: Thanks for accepting my friend request.

Henry: No problem.

Missy: How’s it going?

Henry: Okay. Do I know you?

Missy: Yeah, of course.

Henry: I don’t think we’ve met.

Missy: Airsden High?

Henry: Nah, I don’t go there.

Missy: Oops. My bad.

Henry: Where is it?

Missy: Sydney’s North Shore.

Henry: I live in The Shallows.

Missy: Where’s that?

Henry: Middle of nowhere. NSW Southern Highlands.

Missy: Weird. You came up in ‘People you may know’ and I thought your name was familiar. I guess you don’t really look like a parrot in a pirate hat?

Henry: Nah. That’s just a private joke.

Missy: So do you wanna keep talking?

Henry: Sure. Whatever.

Missy: Cool. So how old are you?

Henry: How old are YOU?

Missy: I asked you first! :P

Henry: Fair enough. I’m 13.

Missy: Me too! Glad you’re not some old creep.

Henry: Haha nup.

Missy: So what’s your deal? Got any brothers or sisters?

Henry: A brother. My biggest fan.

Missy: Aww, that’s sweet.

Henry: I was being sarcastic. He calls me a little turd.

Missy: Harsh! Older brothers can be like that I guess.

Henry: How do you know he’s older?

Missy: You said he calls you little.

Henry: Oh right.

Missy: What’s his issue with you?

Henry: –\_(ツ)_/– I was born?

Missy: That’s sad.

Henry: Kinda used to it. Hey sorry, I gotta go. Need to get off this computer.

Missy: You’re not on your phone?

Henry: Don’t have one.

Missy: That’s so weird! Can I message you again?

Henry: Sure, if you want. Thanks for the chat.

Missy: Don’t be a stranger.

Now

Sleep doesn’t come easily on my first night back in town. Long after I hear Dad lock up the front office and trudge down the hallway to bed, I’m still staring at the ceiling in the dark, listening to a true crime podcast but not really hearing a word.

Uneasiness settles in my chest as I turn Raf and Sabeen’s conversation over in my mind. Dad would tell me I’m reading too much into it – I should let it lie, not make mountains out of molehills. He’s always accused my mother of getting her knickers twisted over the smallest things, saying if she isn’t careful she’ll make me neurotic as well. For better or worse, I’m probably more like my mother in this regard than I care to admit. Reading into things is what I do. It’s what investigators do. And if something sounds suss it’s probably because it is.

‘Chloe doesn’t need to know.’

Chloe does need to know. In my experience it doesn’t help anyone by leaving them in the dark. It hurts more in the long run when that person inevitably finds out. Like my mother’s affair with Doherty. Like Henry running away without breathing a word to me.

Not that I’m one to be lecturing about secrets, I suppose. It’s just that some are more damaging than others.

The podcast episode comes to an end and I don’t bother starting the next one. I kick off the blanket and roll onto my side, catching sight of my alarm clock. It’s ticked over into Saturday, which means Henry is now a long-term missing person.

Three months. No new leads.

I open Gmail and scroll through my messages with Henry. We set up an account for him a couple of years ago so the two of us could stay in touch during school terms. His emails have always been fairly short and light on details, mostly because his internet time was limited to hour-long sessions at the public library. Even so, there’s nothing in the last few messages before