‘Yeah, why?’
‘I hope you don’t think this is weird,’ she said. ‘Any chance I can crash at your place?’
‘Sure, of course, but I’m painting the spare room, so you’ll have to sleep on the sofa. Hopefully you don’t mind sharing it with Maggie.’
‘Who’s Maggie?’
‘My kelpie.’
‘That’ll be fine. I could do with the cuddles, to be honest. Text me your address.’
She went into her bedroom, opened cupboards and drawers and chucked stuff into a blue Ikea bag. Remembering the video, she pulled down the box of random stuff she’d taken from Jenny’s apartment and rummaged through until she saw a baby-faced Robin Wright staring back at her, a faded pink weekly rental sticker adorning the plastic cover. She chucked it into the bag, then hauled it up over her shoulder and slammed the front door behind her.
Meg could smell the barbecue when she arrived at the open door of Pete’s old terrace, up the road in Newtown.
‘Hello!’ she called out as she let herself in.
A long-legged kelpie came bounding down the hallway. ‘Hey, girl,’ she said, crouching down to greet her. ‘You must be Maggie.’
Meg walked down the long hall with Maggie by her side, until she reached the kitchen and lounge room at the back. She dropped the bag from her shoulder and looked around, admiring the modern, light-filled living space. Pete had shown her photos when he’d bought the fixer-upper years ago—before real estate prices in the Inner West had gone through the roof—and talked of his plans to do most of the renovation work himself. She’d found his optimism endearing, but inwardly thought it would take more than a DIY job to rescue the dark, rundown dump she saw in the photos. How wrong she was, she thought now, looking towards the glass doors that opened onto a tiny courtyard.
She wandered outside to see a table set for two beneath a frangipani tree adorned with coloured Christmas lights. Pete was wearing a butcher’s apron, tongs in hand, intently inspecting the lamb cutlets that sizzled on the barbecue.
‘You haven’t gone to all this effort for me, have you?’ Meg asked.
He glanced up, his summer-tanned face breaking into a wide grin. ‘Hunter! I didn’t hear you.’
She gestured to the house. ‘This is gorgeous, Pete.’
‘It’s getting there.’ He shrugged, but a slight smile revealed that he appreciated the compliment. ‘Drink?’
‘I’ll have one of those, thanks,’ she said, pointing to the Corona in his hand.
He took one from the bar fridge and popped the top.
‘Thanks for letting me crash at the last minute,’ she said.
‘Everything okay?’
She sighed. ‘Just flatmate problems.’
Pete frowned. ‘I thought you got on well. Haven’t you been living together for years?’
‘Not Gav, he’s fine.’ She sat down at the table and took a sip. ‘I rented out the third bedroom when I lost my job. Turns out the quality of applicants for a room the size of a shoebox is not high, so now we have an pothead gamer living in our midst. The place was such a filthy mess when I got back there that I couldn’t stay. And he doesn’t even pay his rent!’
‘Might be time to kick him out,’ Pete said, pressing one of the lamb cutlets to test it.
‘I can’t believe I’m almost thirty and I’m still dealing with this crap.’ She sighed, weary at the prospect of confronting Jay then going through the whole process of finding someone new.
‘How’s your mum?’ Pete asked, transferring the lamb to a plate.
‘Not great.’ She blew out heavily. ‘She thinks the nurses are stealing from her.’
Pete shook his head. ‘It must be awful, don’t you think? Being confused all the time. Not knowing who people are and whether she can trust them.’
Meg nodded and swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘You said you have intel?’ she said, keen to change the subject. ‘I’m intrigued.’
His face lit up. ‘Yeah, so all of the properties on Barton Drive, seven at last count, have been bought in trusts, rather than by individual people.’
