He remains standing. ‘I could hear what you were saying, too.’

Sal is unrepentant. The waitress appears next to Ryan and puts our toasted sandwiches on the table. She’s smirking.

Ryan clenches and unclenches his fists. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, sweetheart,’ Sal murmurs. ‘Charlie’s got a little crush on me. I’m letting him down easy.’

‘Don’t bullshit me,’ Ryan says. ‘Are you having sex with him?’

‘No, baby, no. He doesn’t mean anything to me.’

‘Charming,’ I say.

‘You don’t.’ And I see in her eyes that it’s true.

‘You know she felt us both up in the truck that day we went for the fridge? She could’ve gone with you or me, wouldn’t have made any difference to her,’ I say.

‘Charlie,’ she says. ‘You are delusional.’

‘You want me gone? Consider it done.’ I turn to Ryan. ‘You can’t trust her.’

‘Don’t think I can trust you either.’

I stomp out of the coffee shop then stand on the footpath, queasy, not sure what to do, feeling the heat come up through my thongs. Across the road, a group of Aboriginal men walk towards Musgrave Park. I look back through the window at Ryan and Sal. Ryan is hunched over his plate, eating his sandwich. Sal, chin up, flicks her hair off her shoulder, her hand moving like the tail of an irate cat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tuesday 31 December 1974

Abby

It’s late morning, and the air is gummy, cloying, with dark clouds blocking out the sun.

I’m leaning against the pushed-open sliding door, holding a mug of coffee that I have no interest in drinking. A task that had filled empty minutes. The kids are burying Matchbox cars in the sandpit. For the moment, they don’t need or even want me. And I have no idea of what to do with myself. Most days I move around this house like a pinball: from veranda to backyard to kitchen to bathroom to laundry to bedroom, quick detour to letterbox, then back to kitchen. Picking up and watering and chopping and folding along the way. Right now I can barely summon the energy to stay upright.

I don’t know where Mark went, but I’m guessing he’s at Geoff’s house. Dad will be at the farm. I won’t try phoning either of them because even the thought of how those calls would go makes me want to fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years. What could I possibly say other than repeat that I’m sorry? I know that’s not enough. I have no idea where Charlie is, though he’ll be with Ryan and Sal. Tonight, I’ll see out this sorry year with my children, who’ll probably be asleep before the first fireworks light up the sky.

I look to the sandpit as Sarah and Joanne giggle. Petey is putting a fistful of sand into his mouth.

‘Petey, don’t do that.’ I hear the exhaustion in my voice.

He spits out the doughy muck, leaving a ring of it around his lips. ‘Sarah told me to.’