CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE TWENTY-MINUTE TRIP TO BRUNSWICK STREET FEELS LIKE IT takes a lot longer. The cab reeks of smoke, and the reggae music blasting through the speakers does little to hide the sharp ticking the taxi makes when it idles.

Cara answered Oli’s call, guarded but willing to talk. Oli offered to come to her house, but Cara declined, suggesting a cafe. Oli ticks off what she knows about Cara, which isn’t much. Adopted three years before Nicole was born. The girls were close as children and teenagers, but drifted apart after Nicole moved out. Cara never went to uni and was working in retail when her sister went missing. Unlike Nicole, she stayed in the family home well into her twenties.

‘There!’ Oli points to the cafe as they sail past. The cab driver launches into a rant about city traffic conditions, but Oli doesn’t engage, just pays and waits for the receipt.

After she enters the cafe, it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Potted succulents take up precious real estate on the tiny tables. A few solo customers sip lattes, laptops open in front of them. In the middle of the room a young woman tries to control three toddlers, her voice rising as strands of hair fall from her messy bun; a babycino tumbles across the table, milk froth spraying in an impressive arc.

A dark-skinned woman sits in the back corner watching Oli. Cara.

Oli lifts her head in acknowledgement and approaches. Cara’s head is wrapped in a colourful silk scarf. There’s a faint hole in her left nostril, and gold hoops hang from her ears. She has the most perfectly sculpted eyebrows Oli has ever seen.

‘I hate reporters,’ Cara announces, after they shake hands.

Oli removes her satchel and drops into the chair opposite Cara. ‘I’m liking them less and less myself,’ she says diplomatically.

Cara watches blank-faced as one of the toddlers descends into a tantrum. ‘I need a coffee before we talk.’ She yawns, squaring her broad shoulders. ‘Sorry, I’m knackered. My kid is only six months old, and he still hasn’t mastered the art of sleep. I can barely function unless I have caffeine these days.’

‘I have twin stepdaughters,’ says Oli in an attempt to build rapport, but she immediately feels awkward referring to Amy and Kate that way. She smiles, keen to move the conversation on. ‘Is your son with your partner this morning?’

Cara stiffens. ‘It’s just me. No partner.’ She clearly has no intention of making this easy.

Oli presses on. ‘Right, what coffee would you like?’