I’m about to tapSendwhen I hesitate. Is it too much? He’s already done enough by offering the flat, renovating it, and even agreeing to pick me up. The least I can do is not pester him before I’ve even boarded.
After staring at the message a moment longer, I erase it and lock my phone.
Hoisting my guitar case, I drift through the terminal, dodging perfume counters and giant plush koalas until a boutique catches my eye.
The window display is full of summer dresses—flowy, floral prints in bright colours. A skater dress in daisy print stands out, the hem hitting just above the knee. It’s cute. Casual. Exactly the sort of thing I used to wear.
Toby would have hated it. He was only a couple of years older than me, but he carried himself as if he belonged to another century, critiquing anyone who wore modern clothes, which was obviously everyone.
I can practically hear his sneer.“It’s too short. People dressed far better in the olden days.”
I catch my reflection in the glass, suddenly feeling exposed in my plain white T-shirt, loose acid-wash jeans with ripped knees, and canvas sneakers. Clothes I thought I’d thrown out years ago, but Mum had saved them, tucked away as if she’d been waiting for me to want them back.
My outfit’s a far cry from the heels and tea dresses Toby approved of.
I fish my oversized sage-green cardigan out of my backpack and slip it on,letting the soft knit settle over me, the loose lantern sleeves cinched at the wrist. It was vintage, yet even this drew his scorn. I think he just hated that I loved something he didn’t choose.
I eye the daisy dress longingly for another moment, then force myself to move on to my gate.
The flight isn’t boarding yet, just a crowd of travellers slumped in chairs, bags at their feet, waiting.
I duck into a nearby gift shop and make a beeline for the bookshelves. I’m greeted by floral Austens, Brontës in jewel tones…the usual suspects. I select a gold-foiled special edition I definitely don’t need—but can’t possibly imagine living without—and start towards the counter.
Until a familiar face stops me cold. Moody and glamorous, she stares out from the cover of a glossy magazine with a deadpan expression, her dark bob framing a face lined with thick eyeliner.
The headline jumps out:Four Years Since Nova’s Death: Australia Still Mourns Its Most Haunting Indie Soul Star.
Nova. Her voice was everywhere back then. Smoky and unforgettable. Yet she’d seemed so down-to-earth in interviews, kind and witty.
She was one of Brandon’s artists. Dad’s record label had signed her, and she soon made it big overseas. It was a proud moment for Aussie artists.
I wish I’d met her—I nearly did. She was meant to fly back to Sydney from the US for a meeting, and Dad promised to invite her to our house afterwards.
But she never even made it onto the plane.
Nova died at twenty-nine from a drug overdose. She was the same age as my sister. It’s heartbreaking to think about.
I’m about to put the magazine back when Toby’s voice whispers in my head, “Gossip is brain rot.”
The pages bend in my grip.Brain rot sounds pretty perfect right now.
Jaw tight, I march to the counter, where I pay for not only the novel, but the magazine as well.
As I step back into the terminal’s fluorescent glow, my phone buzzes.
Brandon: Hi Lily-Anne. I just wanted to wish you safe travels
My heart gives a small, startled jump. I blink at the screen, my thumbs hovering. I could just reply with a thank-you, but old Lily would have said something charming or witty.
Lily-Anne:Worried I’ll skip my flight, are you?
Brandon:Is that a possibility I should prepare for?
Lily-Anne:Not unless you’re planning to skimp on the castle I requested
The joke had started with Ellenor, who dared me to text Brandon a list of essential fantasy castle features to include in the flat’s renovations, from battlements and moving staircases to my very own Chamber of Secrets. After culling most of the movie references, I sent it to him in mock-seriousness.
Brandon:I recall chandeliers, a clawfoot tub, and something about a moat
