‘It’s been a relief to Mrs Mallory’s family. Her brothers. They’ve accepted that she chooses not to be found.’ He spreads his hands out across the desk. ‘I’m sure your mother will find it a comfort. I heard the police enquiry had become distressing for her.’

‘How did you know about that?’

‘Mr Mallory contacted the station, like I said. He mentioned your visit to his place of work. He was sorry to learn of your mother’s distress.’

‘I see.’

He smooths his moustache with his fingertips. ‘With the money she withdrew, Mrs Mallory could have left the country.’ He says it in a fresh tone, smiling, as if she had just walked into the room. ‘She could have settled overseas, changed her name. I’m sure she’s living life to the full, wherever she is.’

Isla nods. It’s over. She feels waves rising up, covering her head.

His radio bursts into life at his belt. ‘I’ll show you out, Miss Green.’

Isla stands, pushing her chair away. The radio cuts out, leaving a sharpened quiet where the noise had been. ‘I’ll see myself out,’ she says.

49

Sydney, 1997

Andrea waves at Isla from the beach. She looks radiant, even from this distance, striding through the shallows in gumboots and cut-off jeans, her hair tied up. Her son runs alongside her in the wet sand. Isla waves back, shouts hello, although in honesty she’d been hoping to have the beach to herself. It’s too early for small talk, for the questions about Isla’s parents, the answers to which will be relayed back to Andrea’s parents. The details of Andrea’s perfect life. She wants to walk and think and enjoy the winter morning while the sun is low in the sky.

‘Didn’t know you were sticking around,’ Andrea says, shouting over the wind.

‘I didn’t plan to.’ Isla stands beside her and looks out to sea. ‘I’m leaving next week. Back to the grindstone. My boss has filled my diary already.’

‘You good with that?’

‘Don’t know.’ She digs her heels into the sand. ‘Can’t put my life on hold forever, can I?’

Andrea lets foam wash over her boots. ‘I was glad to hear Mrs Mallory’s alive and well.’

‘I know. Such a relief.’ Isla smiles. It calms her to breathe the salty air and to think maybe it is as simple as that. She’s alive and well. The questions in her head quieten.

‘I went straight down the station, once I heard the things people were saying,’ Andrea says. ‘I said to Ray, I know I was only a kid, but I was out on my bike all the time, up and down the street. I noticed things, you know?’

Isla turns to her. ‘Who’s Ray?’

‘Sorry, the cop. Ray Perry. Inspector Perry, these days.’ She leans down and wipes her son’s nose with a balled-up tissue. ‘My parents know him from way back. He was the local cop when they first moved here.’

‘This is the same cop who’s dealing with Mandy’s case?’