Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,24

frown returning. ‘You’re saying Mason was lying about that?’

‘Ssshh!’ I glance over my shoulder again. Thankfully, Rina’s nowhere in sight. I shift my chair forwards and hunch over the table. ‘I couldn’t pick it at the time, but I knew something was up between Mason and Ivy. I was studying Mason’s face, hanging off every word, hoping for some idea of when Henry might have left and why. I remember the way Mason’s ears were flaming hot. I just assumed he was upset. Probably ashamed.’

‘About?’

‘What happened two weeks earlier, at the reservoir,’ I remind her. ‘Maybe that was Henry’s breaking point.’

And not what I said to him. Please don’t let it be that.

‘Oh.’ Sabeen winces. ‘Right.’

‘Now I realise Mason wasn’t embarrassed. He was lying.’

Sabeen shifts in her seat. She pads slender fingers against the side of her cup, deep in thought. ‘So what exactly do you think he was lying about?’

I shake my head. ‘Dunno. Can’t be anything good.’

This time Sabeen scans the café for Rina before she speaks, lowering her voice just in case. ‘You do realise we’re talking about our friend Mason here, the guy we’ve all known since we were kids.’

‘Yeah. The same guy who pushed his little brother into the reservoir knowing he has a fear of deep water.’

Sabeen’s forehead creases, imploring. ‘Mason apologised for that – he admitted it was a brain snap. We all forgave him. Why can’t you?’

‘Because I was the one who jumped in and dragged Henry out. I felt the way he was trembling, the way his heart was pounding.’

Sabeen’s mouth closes and she gives me a whisper of a nod. No one likes the idea of Henry in that water. What if he’d gone under for longer? What if he’d hit his head in the fall off Devil’s Rock?

‘Mason’s having a really hard time about Henry running away,’ Sabeen says, her tone softening. ‘He probably feels responsible. I think you could cut him some slack.’

Her words find their mark, burrowing deep into that soft spot of childhood memories when we all bonded over icy poles and bike races and bushwalks up to the old hut. As kids, I was fond of Mason’s understated sense of humour, his quiet watchfulness, the way he hung back without needing to insert himself into every situation. Now we’re older, I view that same demeanour as cold and detached, even deceptive. I can’t tell if it’s because Mason’s become more jaded and untrusting over the years or because I have.

I dig around in my tote bag so I don’t have to meet Sabeen’s gaze. This is where we end up agreeing to disagree about Mason. She doesn’t like it when any of us are at odds; she wants us to remain the tight circle we were as kids. Except the older we get, the more we grow and change. A circle is nothing but a closed loop.

I dump the wad of motel mail on the table so I can get to my purse.

‘Who’s in Manly?’ Sabeen asks, draining her tea cup.

‘Sorry?’

She taps her finger on the corner of a glossy card poking out between two white envelopes. I crane my neck to see what’s caught her attention. Greetings from Manly Beach, Australia is stamped in gold foil lettering along the lower edge of a postcard.

I pull it out and stare at the image of surf and sand, a long stretch of Norfolk pines against a cloudless blue sky.

Who does Dad know in Manly?

Frowning, I turn it over. To my surprise it’s addressed to me care of the motel’s PO Box number. It’s postmarked nine days ago.

Hi Chloe, it reads. I saw the Facebook page. Just wanted to let you know I’m okay. Please tell everyone not to worry about me. – Henry.

I suck in a sharp breath.

‘What is it?’ Sabeen says.

Reading it a second time, I take in the curve of every handwritten character, the varying pressure of the ballpoint pen. I stare at the sentences for so long they no longer resemble real words. My nerves twitch and I can’t quite put my finger on why.

‘Chlo?’

Passing the postcard to Sabeen, I watch her scan the letters and see the exact moment she reaches the final line.

‘Oh my god,’ she says, eyes widening.

Is it possible? Manly is less than thirty minutes from the terrace house I share with my mother in Glebe. The idea that Henry has been so close all these months feels like some kind of cruel joke. Why wouldn’t he contact me?

‘I