Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,51

floor, and it never looks like that.’

‘That is weird.’

‘That’s not all,’ he says, taking back the piece of broken stoneware and holding it up. ‘That fancy plate cabinet of Ivy’s? Nowhere to be seen.’

‘What do you mean?’

Raf makes a poof noise with his mouth, wiggling his fingers like a magician. ‘It’s vanished,’ he says. ‘Just like Henry.’

Four weeks before the storm

21 DECEMBER 2018, 18:02

Henry: Merry Christmas! I’m a bit early. Last chance before the library closes.

Missy: Thanks! Merry Christmas. What are you doing for it?

Henry: Not much. My mum doesn’t like it.

Missy: No turkey? Christmas crackers?

Henry: We go to our friends’ house for that part. Sally makes a huge lunch.

Missy: She’s a good cook.

Henry: You say that like you know her.

Missy: Sorry, forgot to add a question mark.

Henry: Yeah, she is good. What do you do for Christmas?

Missy: Usually pretty quiet, just me and my mum.

Henry: And the ballerina.

Missy: Who?

Henry: Your sister.

Missy: Oh, yeah. Of course.

Henry: What about your dad?

Missy: He’s not around. I’d rather not talk about him.

Henry: Fair enough. We all have secrets.

Missy: Even you?

Henry: I haven’t told anyone I’m looking for my dad.

Missy: What about that girl you’re always mentioning?

Henry: Chloe? I haven’t told her yet.

Missy: Why not?

Henry: She worries about me a lot. She’ll take over and tell me what to do.

Missy: She sounds bossy.

Henry: Nah, not really. She’s sort of like a cop. Asks a lot of questions.

Missy: She’s thorough.

Henry: Yeah.

Missy: No offence, but she sounds boring. Sometimes you need to be spontaneous.

Henry: Like going to Sydney?

Missy: Exactly! Life’s too short. You gotta take a risk once in a while.

Now

The sun has almost sunk into the horizon by the time I steer my bike off the road and bump over the kerb into the Weavers’ driveway. The tops of nearby eucalyptus trees glow golden, while everything at ground level is a gloomy blue-grey as evening encroaches. The weatherboard bungalow is overrun with long grass and weeds, some almost as high as the windows. Several wooden palings are missing from the front steps, and the gutters sag with neglect. It has the feeling of a house abandoned, an empty shell of the warm family home it might have been many decades ago.

Mason’s car isn’t here and there are no lights on behind any of the front windows. The verandah seems somehow larger than I remember, perhaps because the last time I stood here it was crowded with people. I recall the look that passed between Mason and his mother that day. There was so much frantic chatter going back and forth between us all, and yet Mason and his mother had very little to say.

What were they hiding? What happened in this house that caused Henry to take a chance out in that storm?

At the front step, I realise the door is ajar.

‘Hello …?’ I say, trying to peer inside. I tap my knuckle against the door. ‘Hello?’

A crunch of gravel on the driveway draws my attention to the side of the house. Ivy appears from the brick carport holding an empty garbage bin in one hand, the other fiddling with her bra strap under an ill-fitting tank top. She must have been in the backyard when I arrived. She trudges up the wooden steps, moving easily around the broken ones as though she doesn’t see them. Her pale hair is scraped into a thin ponytail, emphasising the hollows in her cheeks.

‘What do you want?’ she says.

‘Hi.’ I shift my weight awkwardly from one leg to the other. ‘I wasn’t sure if anyone was home.’

‘And?’

‘I mentioned I’d bring some of these over.’ I slip a hand inside my bag and pull out a small pile of MISSING posters, holding them out to her. Ivy doesn’t take them but her eyes are drawn to Henry’s photo. She tilts her head and the hard line of her mouth softens.

She reluctantly reaches for them. ‘It’s a good photo.’

I sense her thawing slightly. It won’t be enough to get me inside, though.

‘We have to hope he’ll find his way home,’ I say.

Ivy’s face hardens again. ‘Wouldn’t hold your breath.’

‘Why do you say that?’

She looks at me like she’s already grown bored of this conversation. ‘People tend to walk out of my life and never come back.’

She steps around me and moves into the house, turning to close the door behind her.

‘Oh. Um … Henry borrowed a book of mine back in January,’ I say. ‘I was hoping I might be able to get it back.’

It’s weak, I know. I couldn’t