Oli edges along Nicholson Street, trying to stay calm. Ren Neroli might not even be home; this whole trip might be a massive waste of time. Her thoughts drift to the diaries. She’s barely going to get a chance to keep reading them today. It’s clear that Isabelle thought the girls were involved in something—she was investigating their lives, not trying to hunt down a random stranger. Frustration courses through Oli. If only she could ask Isabelle.

A spark of memory ignites, flickering like a weak signal. Isabelle walking away. Oli calling out her name. Dark hair flaring in the wind as she spun around, lips plump in a soft pout. A slight crease between her eyebrows as she crossed her arms and looked Oli up and down. ‘Can I help you?’ Her voice was wary and perhaps a touch amused. She was so fearless. So goddamn assured.

‘I think you can.’ Straight away, Oli knew the words had come out wrong, less cocky and more awkward. Emphasised in the wrong places.

Old humiliation creeps back now, a tightness in her ribs. This woman was the reason she didn’t have what she wanted. She could sense Dean slipping away; their impulsiveness had become more planned, their kisses slightly less hungry. She could only assume that for Dean, the pull of obligation, temporarily forgotten these past few months, was strengthening. And so Oli had orchestrated this moment, sought Isabelle out, because … why? Because she wanted to see for herself what Dean found so impossible to leave? To see if Isabelle really was so much better than her? It was all and none of these reasons. It was a mistake; Oli had known that before she opened her mouth, but she couldn’t just turn around and run despite the desire to do so charging through her limbs.

Standing in front of Isabelle was confusing. Like gazing in a mirror even though they looked nothing alike.

‘Yes?’ said Isabelle, clearly growing impatient.

‘How do you feel? About Alex’s conviction.’

She looked annoyed. ‘We’ve already made comments to the press.’

‘There’s been a lot of criticism about the way your investigation was managed. Do you have a comment?’

A soft tic started to pulse below Isabelle’s left eye. ‘I’m sorry, what is this about?’

‘Nothing,’ Oli muttered, fast losing confidence.

In that moment Oli got the sense that Isabelle knew about her relationship with Dean, and she also knew Dean would never leave her, and her knowing this made her powerful.

‘I think it’s time for you to go,’ said Isabelle, her beautiful voice as clear as a bell. ‘Do you understand?’

The final look Isabelle gave her was the strangest mix of pity and triumph, and Oli retreated like a wounded dog, one that had barrelled into a fight before realising its opponent was a bull terrier.