Christ, didn’t they know that kids died from ecstasy pills cut with different chemicals?

‘Please don’t tell Mum.’ Victoria suddenly sounded sober. ‘She’ll kill me. I promise we haven’t done this before.’

He had to tell their mothers, of course he did. What if they were doing this every weekend?

‘If you tell Mum, she’ll never let me come to Canberra to see you again.’

In the kitchen Marty poured himself a coffee and checked his mobile again. He’d checked it one minute before, between mouthfuls of toast. Lexie had texted earlier—something about a media conference at ten o’clock—but no news of Bella. Taking a sip of coffee, he glanced at the phone again. Still blank. The coffee was sweet—how many sugars had he added without noticing?

He’d better get down to playgroup, where the detective would question him again. He and Lexie had agreed not to mention North Shore yet; that didn’t have anything to do with Bella.

‘It would only distract them,’ Lexie had convinced him. ‘They won’t look for her properly if they know.’

She was right. The police would hare off to Parliament House and interrogate Natalie Alvarez and her cohorts. Sure, Nurse Natalie was a duplicitous, devious, dirty troublemaker who’d do anything for a headline, but she didn’t know Marty was back in Australia.

18 TARA

18

TARA

TARA HEARD JOSH GET UP, SHOWER, GIVE ZOE A BOWL OF RICE BUBBLES and go off to work. Her head ached from lack of sleep. At least the baby hadn’t cried out yet. With bleary eyes, she stared at the mobile by her bed. Nothing.

When Lexie had returned to the house in the early of hours of the morning and switched on the light, Tara was asleep on the couch. Her waking impression was of a ghost come to life. No surprise that Daisy had screamed her head off. Lexie’s face was white, her hair plastered to her head, her arms stiff—a Morticia Addams lookalike. Tara thought they’d found Bella. Dead. She’d wanted to rush to Lexie, comfort her, but Lexie had cradled Daisy in her arms instead. A fierce protectiveness had fired up inside Tara and she’d fought the urge to whip Daisy away—don’t smear your bad luck on my baby. She’d controlled herself until Daisy began to bawl: an excuse to snatch the baby and get the hell out of there.

On the way to the car, Imogen explained the search had found nothing.

At home, when Daisy had finally settled again, Tara had clung to Josh in their bed.

‘How could this have happened here?’ she whispered. ‘In our safe Merrigang?’