He did, as it turned out. As he talked to Brian about player trades, Eden slipped into the darkening night. He stretched and twisted, trying to catch sight of her. He caught only glimpses—a loose curl, a tattooed hand holding a champagne glass. After a few minutes he shook Brian off, heading for the dance floor where he was waylaid by George. “Sloan, come say hello to Uncle Morris!”

Uncle Morris spent the next ten minutes lecturing him on how rugby was a better sport than AFL. Willow listened with gritted teeth as servers whirled around with arancini and satay beef skewers. Uncle Morris was dipping into some xenophobic territory when he spotted Eden, standing by the bar with her mother. He watched as she took a sushi roll from a passing platter, squishing it between her fingers.

Eat. Eat.

Eden turned away, dropping the roll on the ground.

“Excuse me,” he told Uncle Morris and without waiting for an answer, strode away. Neither Eden nor her mother saw him approach. He was about a metre away when Maggie turned to her daughter. “Sloan has worked wonders on you.”

Eden said nothing as she sipped a fresh glass of champagne.

“You should come over for Christmas Eve. We’re having the choir perform again. It’ll be lovely.”

“When you say, ‘you should,’ do you mean me and Willow?”

“You and Sloan,” Maggie corrected. “Of course. What else would I mean?”

“Sure mum. Why not?”

“Excellent.”

Willow hovered, sure more conversation would come and he could interrupt politely, but Eden and Maggie stood in frosty, workplace silence.

Ask her about her shows, Willow thought. Ask her about touring.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t heard anyone ask Eden about her music tonight. How was that possible?

He watched Eden drain her glass. “I’m going to get another champagne.”

Maggie sniffed. “You really shouldn’t drink so much, darling.”

Eden looked like she was going to say something, then she walked away, one arm wrapped around her middle. Watching her, Willow understood. He’d failed her. She’d asked him to come to this party so she could have someone to hang out with and instead he’d been absorbed into her family. A family that seemed determined to belittle her.

He couldn’t help thinking of Francis. If that purple-haired, open-shirt-wearing fuck had rolled in here with Eden, would he have ditched her to talk football with her uncles? No, he and Eden would be tucked away in a corner racking lines and getting eyeballed by everyone else.