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CHAPTER SIX

Coachless

W e arrived in Sydney to a frenzy of photographers, TV crews and journalists outside the arrivals area.

Joel managed to think quickly, and we dodged the bloodthirsty pack by hiding in among a huge group of tourists who were milling around looking lost. There was no way either of us were in any shape to be interrogated by journalists – not that it would have stopped the hungry press from going for the throat.

Brad, who could pass by the cameras with no one the wiser, ducked off ahead of us to get his car and have it idling by the entrance so we could jump straight in.

He had insisted on the plane that he would drive us both home.

Between Joel, in Rose Bay, me to the east in Vaucluse, and Brad in Double Bay to the west, we were practically neighbours.

As we pulled into the drive of the Herbert family’s palatial waterfront monstrosity, I turned around from the front seat and patted Joel on the knee.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” I asked quietly.

Joel shook his head. “Thanks, Stink, but it’s all good. Aunty Dianne’s here with Mum.”

I felt loneliness drop like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t known my dad, he died when I was little. Steve had been like a father to me. In that moment I realised with a cold jolt that I wasn’t really a part of Steve’s family.

The silence on the trip from Joel’s house to my apartment was complete, but not uncomfortable. I felt like anything I might say would be too trivial for the situation we were living.

Brad eventually broke the silence.

“Poor Joel, I really feel for the guy.”

“Hmm,” I agreed. If there were words to express how I felt about it, I wasn’t clever enough to come up with them.

We pulled up at my apartment building.

“Night, Brad. Thanks for the lift.” I opened the door, but Brad hopped out quickly and helped me out of the car, putting my crutches under my arms and getting my luggage out of the boot.

“How’re you going to make it up the stairs?” he asked me, looking dubiously at my strapped ankle.

I sighed, glancing up at the three flights of stairs ahead of me. Crutches and stairs simply don’t mix. I took a deep breath and bit my lip to prevent the tremble that was about to turn me into a blubbering mess.

Brad saw right through it and with a wry expression on his face, he wordlessly took my bags, propped me up against the wall and removed the crutches, then sprinted up the three flights with the ease of someone who has full use of his legs. I managed a watery smile, rolling my eyes.

When he returned, panting slightly, he turned away from me and bent down.

“Hop on.”

“Um …” I mumbled uncertainly. I was only maybe an inch shorter than him and probably more muscled. I didn’t think he could cope with a piggyback ride over three floors.

“Just get on, Smell!” he growled. “I’m stronger than I look, you know.”

I snorted but awkwardly clambered onto his back, warm through his t-shirt. His neck felt damp with sweat. Poor guy – carrying me up three floors probably wasn’t the way he’d like to be spending his evening .

To his credit, Brad didn’t complain about my weight once. But by the time he was outside my door, I could feel his body trembling with effort. He let me slide to the floor, where my crutches were waiting for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured. Brad dropped his hands to his knees and took a few panting breaths, holding a finger up to me to wait.

“Thought you were stronger than you looked?” I teased.

Brad straightened up, chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath, his face red. “Are you going to be okay on your own?” Brad asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

I shrugged as Connor wound his way around my good leg, pressing his grey and white head against my shin and purring like crazy.

“I’ll be fine. I mean, I’ve got Connor after all.” I didn’t want to think too much about being alone. Physically I could cope. Mentally … I had no idea how that was going to pan out.

Brad bent down and picked Connor up, holding him so I could give him a pat. He yowled demandingly in my face, blowing fishy breath all over me.

“Okay, Connie, I’ll get you some food. I bet Grandma hasn’t been feeding you properly.”

Normally when I travelled, I entrusted Connor’s care to Amanda, but since she’d come down for the Open, I’d had to rely on my not-so-reliable mother. Mum … well let’s just say the thought of her having unrestricted access to my apartment was horrifying.

I hobbled to the kitchen and scooped out some biscuits for him. He heard the noise and leapt out of Brad’s arms, gallivanting into the kitchen with a yowl.

I watched Connor scarf down his kibble, knowing better than to try and touch him while he was eating. I still had scars to remind me why that was a bad idea.

“Well, I’ll just get going then,” Brad said from behind me. I jumped – I hadn’t heard him follow me into the kitchen. I guessed I would probably be a bit jumpy for a while.

My stomach churned and my vision blurred. I closed my eyes to try and clear my head .

Gaping mouth.

Bulging eyes.

Blood.

I snapped my eyes open, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Okay,” I mumbled.

Brad closed the space between us and enveloped me in his long arms.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, rubbing soothing hands up and down my back. I shook my head against his shoulder and he stepped back, peering into my eyes. “I’m serious, Smellie. If you need me, I’m here.”

I shook my head again, gripping the kitchen bench behind me so he wouldn’t see my hands shake. “You’re the best, Brad. But I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’m only a phone call away. I’ll need to get used to late night calls anyway once I graduate.”

I managed a weak smile and hugged him again. I stood at the open door and, gripping Connor like he was a snuggly toy, watched him walk down the stairs to his car.

I needed to be alone.

Alone felt terrifying.

“Well, Connie, you’re going to sleep under the sheets with Mummy tonight, okay?” I crooned shakily. Connor eyed me with the disapproval that only a cat can muster. At least he didn’t struggle out of my arms.

Blood.

Bulging eyes.

Gaping mouth.

I scream …

It was the scream that woke me. It didn’t stop, even as I launched myself out of bed, catapulting Connor off my legs. My ankle throbbed painfully.

I realised as my throat burned that the noise wasn’t stopping because I was screaming. I locked my jaw shut and hopped over to flick on the light, chasing the shadows and the remnants of my nightmare away.

It was just after five. I’d managed a solid four-and-a-half hours sleep. Great. Well, I doubted I’d be getting back to sleep now. I pulled an oversized t-shirt over my naked body.

Crutching my way out to the kitchen, I flicked the switch on my coffee maker and grabbed the milk from the fridge, sniffing it and screwing my nose up at the sour smell. Sighing, I pulled down a carton of long-life from the cupboard and cracked it open.

A nice, sweet latte was my best bet to chase away the clinging cobwebs of the nightmare.

I sat in a chair at my table and nursed that coffee as the sun rose through the kitchen window.

A knock at the door startled me out of an exhausted haze. I winced as I collected my crutches.

Brad was standing on the other side, two takeaway coffees in hand. He eyed my stretched-out t-shirt briefly as he entered.

“Uh, you might want to get dressed. The police just pulled up as I was getting out of my car and they look like they mean business.”

I groaned and made my way back to the bedroom, fear swishing in my stomach.

I rummaged through my wardrobe and found some clean underwear and a cotton summer dress that I couldn’t ever remember wearing.

I wasn’t normally a dress sort of girl, but it would be easier to put on than shorts.

I yanked it on over my head and picked up my crutches as I heard another knock at the door, and Brad’s footsteps as he answered it.

There were two police officers: a short woman with shoulder-length brown hair, dressed in a smart pant suit, and a chubby middle-aged man with a bald spot and old sweat stains in the armpits of his off-white shirt.

“Miss Black, I’m Detective Coughlin and this is Detective Taylor,” the man began. I eyed them warily before sitting down in my armchair and gesturing towards the lounge. They sat, serious expressions pulling their mouths downwards .

“Have you remembered anything more about what happened the night before last, Miss Black?” the woman, Detective Taylor, asked.

I shook my head. “There’s nothing else to remember – I already told the police in Melbourne everything.”

“Well, we thought you might want to change your story. You see, our colleagues in Victoria had a chat with Pete Levine last night, and he says that you didn’t spend the night with him.”

I gaped at them in disbelief. Why would Pete lie about it? He’d never cared if people knew about his little affairs before!

“Why did you say you spent the night with him, Melanie?” Taylor asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Because I did !” I spluttered out. “I went to his room just after midnight, and I didn’t leave until about nine the next morning!”

“And what were you doing in Pete Levine’s room?” Taylor persisted.

“What weren’t we doing? I think we tried just about every position known to man, and some that aren’t!”

Brad’s face was a carefully calm mask at the edge of my vision.

“Okay, so you’re insisting that you spent the night in bed with Pete Levine, and he insists that you never set foot in his room,” Taylor spoke very clearly, like she thought I didn’t understand her properly.

If I had seen Pete Levine then, I would have thrown one of my crutches at him. Followed by the other one. And then whatever else I could get my hands on.

“Well, obviously one of you is lying,” Taylor continued, “So why don’t you just come clean now, Miss Black?”