BooksBarbecue
Back Contacts Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. CONTACTS
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. PART TWO
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART THREE
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. EPILOGUE
  42. AUTHOR NOTE
  43. Keep Reading …
  44. About the Author
  45. Also by Mark Watson
  46. About the Publisher

Phillip was holding her hand, and he didn’t know what Michaela was thinking. The birds were singing in that impassive way they had; the day was much the same as any other one, to them. Phillip was bobbing her hand gently back and forth, holding it firmly in his, thinking (Michaela assumed) that he had done well to regain control of this situation. And he had, she supposed, but she had a secret so secret that even she wasn’t sure it was real yet, and she wasn’t going to tell him. The lesson of tonight was surely to communicate better, and that was all well and good, but she wasn’t going to tell him. This was hers, for now.

29

MELBOURNE, 17:55

Meghan was sitting at the desk, computer in front of her, as if no time had passed. ‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey.’

Sal sat down, at right-angles to Meghan. Meghan’s tongue came out, tracing the lips.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Meghan. ‘What are you going to do – what are we going to do? About James?’

It was odd hearing her say the name. Everything was odd. The swivel chair creaked underneath her as she scuttled it, gently, closer to the table, to Meghan’s outstretched foot.

‘I don’t know,’ said Sal, and saying it was in some ways a relief. ‘I don’t really know, Meghan.’ She moistened her lips. It would be good to have a drink of water. She wasn’t going to ask Meghan for that, though; Meghan did enough. ‘I had kind of a panic attack at the rehearsal.’

‘That sucks.’

‘Yeah. I can’t handle the whole … anything to do with death, all of it. I’m terrified I can’t get to him. I don’t know what to do, Meghan.’ For a moment it felt like a crazy move to be talking, like this, to her assistant. Meghan had removed her glasses and was looking straight into her eyes; there was a keenness to her stare, and Sal dried her hands in her lap.

‘What do you want to do?’ asked Meghan.

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you could do anything right now, in this second, what would you do?’ Meghan held her gaze; kept holding it. ‘I have to do therapy because I once smacked someone at a barbecue? Like fully smacked her in the mouth with a chop? And that’s what the therapist tells me to say to myself. Every day. What would you do, if it could be anything? If money was no object and if there were no reasons, like, practically, to not do it? Because then you start to work out how, actually, the things stopping you from achieving those desires – how you can get around them.’