‘I was with him when he was with Isabelle,’ she interjects.

‘When?’

‘Ten years ago.’

‘Jesus, Oli, for how long?’

‘Long enough.’ She glances at him. ‘It really screwed me up.’

‘You should have told me.’

She manages a laugh. ‘I didn’t think it was much of a selling point.’

‘I guess not.’ His face relaxes, and she can tell that he is thinking. ‘Were you with him when you were with me?’

‘No, I wasn’t. Never. I hope you believe that. I didn’t see or speak to Dean until weeks after we broke up.’

He releases a breath. Clasps his hands together, then takes Oli’s. ‘Well, I’m glad about that. I don’t know why it matters, but it does.’ She grips his hand back. They watch the couple in the restaurant for a few moments.

‘After Isabelle died you were different.’ A statement.

‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘I was.’

He nods. Swallows noisily. ‘Should we get some food?’

Oli pulls her hand away and starts the car. ‘Maybe later. First there’s something we need to do.’

Oli’s admission hovers in the car like a fog, but Rusty doesn’t ask any more questions, for which she is grateful. She guides the car past the sweeping grounds of the museum. Despite the cold, diners spill out onto Faraday Street, cheerful groups talking and laughing as waiters rush back and forth from the kitchen to the tables. People in gym gear jog along the footpath, snaking from side to side to avoid a collision. A rider flies past on his bike, almost clipping the side mirror.

Oli’s resolve crumbles. ‘Can you get my phone? The address is in the notes.’

He finds it in her bag and looks at the screen. ‘Dean has called you three times.’

‘It’s fine.’ She tells him her password, and he plugs the address into the GPS.

Just before the Johnston Street intersection she turns left, then left and right down a few streets until they reach 19 Flockheart Lane. She turns off the GPS and checks her phone. Dean has sent a text. I’ve gone back to Lakes Entrance. I’ll give you some space but we need to talk later this week. I love you.

Rusty looks at the house. ‘Are you going to tell me who lives here?’

She yanks the handbrake, trying to push Dean from her mind. ‘I don’t know who lives here.’

‘Oli,’ he says.

‘Julian McCrae came here a few days ago, and there’s a chance that Nicole Horrowitz is here with her daughter.’

‘Are you serious?’

Oli gets out of the car. ‘Come on.’

‘Oli, if that’s what you really think, then I need to call in backup.’

‘I thought that’s what you were,’ she quips, already halfway up the narrow path. She rings the doorbell.

Rusty stops a few steps behind on her right, primed to go into cop mode if it’s required.