Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Title
- Author’s Note
- Glossary
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Acknowledgments
“I’m sorry.” Clare stifled a yawn, wincing with the effort.
“Are you okay? Rest for a bit.”
“It’s strange how I’ve known you and Derek all my life and yet, I don’t . . . don’t really know you at all.”
“Hmm.”
“I realised that when he came and saw me on campus, it was awkward. I guess it’s a generational thing. But I do feel like I know you better now, after all this.”
“It was awkward with Derek?”
“Terribly.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. He obviously thought he was doing Mom and Dad a favour by visiting me and checking up on me. But I was so embarrassed by the idea of talking to him about my anorexia, and I made it very difficult for him. Surely he told you how awful it was?”
“He wanted to discuss your anorexia?”
“Well, it seemed like it. He asked me what had happened. As if he imagined some kind of traumatic event must’ve caused it.”
“Ouch. I’m sorry. He didn’t . . . he doesn’t get it.”
“No, no. Don’t apologise. I guess he was trying to help my folks. I should’ve thanked him at least. I mean, for trying. I’ll do it when I see him next.”
Faye didn’t reply. She was asleep.
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
It felt wrong to be walking away from his daughter and not towards her, but Geoffrey pushed hard up the trackless ridge leading to the road. Steep and irregular, the off-trail path traversed several patches of shingle and clusters of large boulders that were loosely connected by scatterings of spikey shrubs and grass.
It was a scramble rather than a hike, and Geoffrey found it impossible to get into any kind of rhythm. He was impatient to get to the top before nightfall, but knew being too hasty was risky. If he slipped, lost his footing, twisted an ankle or injured himself some other way, he could exacerbate an already worrying situation. Without a clear pathway, the route wasn’t always obvious. He was reassured by the occasional boot print, presumably that of Diane, Bruce, Bev or Helen, in some of the sandy spots. The marks confirmed that he was on track, he’d find his friends and the rangers, and get help for Clare.
As he climbed, Geoffrey tried to push aside disquieting thoughts that nudged for his attention like an overly eager shop assistant. He stopped for a moment to look at a thick-stemmed, bushy king protea plant. The dark green of its leathery, paddle-shaped leaves provided a muted backdrop for six large, bowl-shaped flower heads. The flowers, their dusky pink petals assembled around the florets like a crown held towards the sun for admiration, were Michelle’s favourite blooms. She’d included one in her bridal bouquet and asked Geoffrey to plant some in their garden.