‘Mum? Mum?’
The door opened into the bitter cold. Erin’s cotton pyjamas and bare feet were totally inadequate for the wintry night that greeted her. Her mother was on the other side of the garden gate, illuminated by the street light overhead as she diligently leant over to close the latch.
‘Mum!’ Erin rushed down the path, damp, slippy and chillingly cold under her feet. She flung open the gate that Moira had so carefully latched, and grabbed her mother by the arm.
‘Where are you going?’
Moira looked perplexed. ‘I’m meeting Joe outside the cinema.’
She was wearing peach-coloured lipstick and eye-shadow, gold teardrop earrings and her best coat. She really thought she was meeting Joe. How could Erin persuade her that it was 2010 and not 1970? How could she tell her that the cinema – if the one she had in mind still existed – would be closed at this hour of the night? Worst of all, how could she tell Moira that Joe, her beloved husband, had died five years ago, after a long, exhausting battle with cancer?
‘I think that’s tomorrow night, Mum. Come on inside, you’ll need to get your beauty sleep before then.’
Docilely, Moira allowed herself to be led back up the garden path, back into the semi-detached house, out of her clothes and into bed.
Erin tucked her in tightly and kissed the papery skin on her forehead. ‘Night, Mum! Straight to sleep now.’
For a long time afterwards, Erin sat on the side of her own bed, shivering after her dash into the freezing night and on alert should her mother get another notion to go out and meet Joe. Her stomach continued to turn, champagne, guilt and frantic worry a sickening mix. On the floor, her suitcase lay open, its lid propped against the wall, like a question.
Are you? Will you? Can you?
Surely tonight’s events proved beyond all doubt that she shouldn’t get on that plane?
Dare you, replied a familiar, contemptuous voice, that of Rachel Murphy. Once upon a time, Erin’s misery and humiliation had been Rachel’s sole focus in life. Though Erin hadn’t set eyes on her since the day she’d left school, Rachel’s sneers and disdain seemed to be permanently etched in her psyche.
Dare you, dare you, dare you.
Chapter 4
‘Look at you! You haven’t changed a bit. You still look exactly the same as you did in college. Bitch!’
Erin laughed at Mel’s exuberant greeting and gave her a warm hug in return. ‘I think you need glasses, Mel. But what about you? You’re completely different.’
Melissa had changed hair colour, body shape, everything. Blonde, tanned, wearing a skimpy top and a very short denim skirt, she looked nothing like the mousey-haired girl who’d been Erin’s best friend in college. She seemed taller than Erin remembered, but maybe that was because she was thinner, and she looked remarkably young – significantly younger than her thirty-four years.
She seized Erin’s arm. ‘Come on, come in. Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport. I had a beginning-of-year staff meeting I couldn’t get out of. Blah, blah, blah … it went on forever. Totally bored out of my senses.’
Mel even sounded younger than her years, if that was possible. However, the mere mention of a staff meeting, even in such irreverent terms, was enough to make Erin want to gag. Oh dear, if she was going to teach at Melissa’s school she would have to start feeling more enthusiastic about it.
‘This is lovely, Mel,’ she said, looking around the living area of her friend’s one-bedroom attic-style apartment. The living space was small, with correspondingly small pieces of furniture, and it was a little dim. The cream walls and sofas had clearly been chosen to introduce more light, and provided a gorgeous contrast to the wooden floorboards, which had a dark, burnished sheen, their age the most striking feature of the room.
‘Come on.’ Melissa ushered her further into the apartment. ‘Fling your bags over there. Now let’s have a drink.’
A short while later, Erin was sitting out on Melissa’s tiny balcony, a glass of sparkling wine in her hand as she absorbed the vista and the smells and sounds around her. Melissa’s apartment was in Balmain, which, she informed Erin, was an old, originally working-class suburb in Sydney’s inner west. Dusk shrouded the narrow streets and houses but did not disguise the obvious character and charm of the area. The houses, squashed together in terraces, had minuscule front gardens and ornate cast-iron balustrades on their first floors. Trees dotted the streets; in fact there was a surprising amount of greenery given that the area was so built-up. Cars were bumper-to-bumper along the kerbs: it looked as though finding a park would be a nightmare.
Melissa, who had seen the view thousands of times, was much more interested in being updated on their old circle of friends than in discussing the charms and challenges of living in Balmain. ‘How about Orla O’Brien?’
‘Married, two children,’ Erin replied dutifully.
‘Angela Harris?’
‘Married, four children.’
‘Deirdre Flynn?’
‘Separated, two kids and another on the way.’
‘Didn’t you just say she was separated?’
‘She is. She has a new fiancé, and he’s the father of the new baby.’
‘Bitch! How can she get two men to marry her when I can’t even get one?’
Erin laughed. ‘I must admit, the same thought occurred to me.’
University had been a much happier experience for Erin than her years at school. She and Melissa had been part of an eclectic group of friends: Angela Harris, a plump girl whose raucous laugh could carry for miles; Orla O’Brien, skin and bones next to Angela, with frizzy hair that was the bane of her life; Deirdre Flynn, a self-confessed slapper and party girl; Mel, enthusiastic and always ready for adventure; Erin, still lacking in confidence but happier than she’d ever been. Everyone in the group had a place, their differences accepted and even celebrated. They used to tease each other, roll their eyes on occasion, but they had never ever sneered.
‘Bitch,’ Melissa repeated, her good-natured grin making the word sound quite harmless, almost affectionate. ‘Well, at least you’re here now and we can be shamelessly single together. It’ll be just like the old days. Remember?’
Though it felt like a lifetime ago, Erin did remember. She pictured herself and Melissa twelve years younger, their faces softer and full of wonder as they travelled through Europe; drinking cold, fizzy beer as they sampled the nightlife of each new city; that sense of invincibility as high-speed trains whizzed them from one country to the next; lugging backpacks and guidebooks and an emergency supply of instant noodles to each new destination. France, Italy, Greece. Then on to Asia: India, Nepal, Vietnam and finally Thailand, where she’d got the call about her father.
‘You have to come home,’ Moira had sobbed. ‘I’m sorry, Erin, but you have to come home.’
And so Erin had gone home, and left Melissa on her own to spend another couple of weeks in Asia before she flew to Australia, the next stop on their itinerary. Melissa fell in love with Australia, so much so that she applied for a permanent visa and stayed on, living a life that could have been Erin’s too – if only her father hadn’t got cancer.
‘How is your mother?’ Mel asked gently, obviously sensing Erin’s disquiet.
‘The same,’ she replied with a heavy sigh. ‘She has good days and bad days, and even on the good days she’s liable to do anything … I really shouldn’t be here, Mel – Mum’s in no state to be left alone.’
‘Now, Erin, listen