‘What can I do for you, Kate?’ Holly Cutter asked suddenly in her ear, her tone sharp, already impatient.

Holly Cutter was frustratingly successful. Along with being Medical Director of the Trinity Health Centre, she was also a qualified nurse, spiritual counsellor, medical educator, clinical researcher, an honorary professor at the University of Melbourne and a board director of the International Association for Hospice and Palliative Care. A typical overachiever.

‘Hi, Holly,’ Kate said. ‘I’m not sure why Chatveer transferred me, but I’m at the airport with Mia, and John’s flight has landed but he’s not on it. Is it possible he got caught up at the conference, or his trip was postponed or delayed or—’

‘I don’t know anything about that, Kate,’ Holly said.

Kate felt like tossing her phone across the terminal.

‘In that case, would you mind transferring me back to Chatveer?’

‘Chatveer doesn’t know anything about this either.’

Kate felt flushed and foolish, mad and sticky. And Mia was still crying.

‘I’m not exactly sure what’s going on here,’ she said. ‘But I think there’s been some sort of a miscommunication. John has been in London for the past two weeks, at the palliative care research colloquium. He’s supposed to be coming home today and—’

‘Listen,’ Holly said. ‘I don’t know what you know or don’t know, and I certainly have enough on my plate without getting in the middle of anything here, but if John attended the research colloquium this year, we wouldn’t know about it.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Kate said. ‘Why not?’

‘Because John hasn’t worked here for three months.’

2

THE WIFE

‘Motherfuckers,’ Abby Gilpin said, loud enough to scare away the ravens. They were feasting on a week’s worth of garbage that had been scattered into the middle of the street. The garbage bin her teenage son had dragged to the top of the driveway for pick-up this morning – after she had reminded him approximately fifty-seven times – had pitched forward in the wind and now lay on its side, lid flapped open like a gaping mouth.

A few of the garbage bags were intact, but the ravens had split most of them open, exposing a tangle of food scraps, plastic wrap, eggshells, coffee grounds and used tissues. Steeling herself against the smell, Abby stood the bin upright and started cleaning up the mess. Her hand landed on a wad that was soft and wet, which she immediately dropped, but not before spilling something foul and unidentifiable down the left side of her leggings.