“Don’t worry, Mum. I promise, I’m going to take care of it. The landlord isn’t local and is utterly hopeless. So I’ll figure something out myself. I’m going to have to hire a contractor. My friend Bea has a great one, and I’m sure I’ll be able to get him to come in and make everything brand new again.”
“Well…if you’re sure. Otherwise, I’ll be happy to come get you. You could stay with us a while, have a little holiday.”
“Don’t do that, Mum. I’m fine. Really, I am.”
“Okay, good. In that case, I have a favour to ask.”
Evie had walked directly into that one. She inhaled a breath and held it in her lungs, waiting.
“Your sister is home.”
She exhaled. It wasn’t a mystery where the conversation was headed once she knew Emily was staying with their parents. Now she understood the invitation to come and stay with them — they wanted her to keep Emily occupied. Without Evie to help, they wouldn’t want her to be there for long. They’d push her on Evie, claiming the two of them needed to reconnect.
“She’d love to see you. She misses you so much. She’s your twin, after all. Aren’t twins supposed to have some kind of spiritual connection? And yet you act as though you don’t have a sister. She feels rejected, Evie.”
Evie covered her eyes with a palm and leaned forwards. “Oh, Mum, I’m sure she didn’t say anything of the kind. She hasn’t called me or come to see me in years. Why would she suddenly feel the need now?”
“You know how she is—she can’t express her feelings well. But I know it’s how she feels. She doesn’t have to say the words outright.”
Evie shook her head. Mum was making things up again. It’d be a cold day in hell before her sister would honestly admit to missing her.
“So, she wants to visit. Is that what you’re saying? More likely, you want her to visit so she’s out of your hair. She’s no doubt driving you both crazy. Am I right?”
“Of course not,” Mum fussed. “She’s our daughter, and we love her unconditionally. But we’d appreciate it if you’d let her come stay with you for a while. And now that you’re doing a renovation, you’ll have time — maybe she could lend a hand. See, it’s all working out perfectly. I’m glad I called.”
Two
The next Tuesday,once the last customer had left the bookshop, Evie went outside to sit on the landing. With a grunt, she lowered herself onto an old metal chair and raised her injured leg to let her foot rest on the railing. Another thing that needed to be fixed—it was remarkable the thing hadn’t fallen to the ground the moment she pressed her foot to it. But it remained stubbornly in place, even if nothing held it together but a piece of rotten timber and a long, rusted nail.
The shop was blue with lilac trim. Beside her, a tall, rusted statue of a pelican had perched for as long as she could remember. The previous tenant had run a crystal shop with a beach theme, and from what she recalled, there’d been birds positioned throughout the store — glass, crystal, clay and steel sculptures — some big, some small, some suspended from the ceiling with string. The pelican was the only one she’d kept. Mostly because it was heavy and she couldn’t lift it. But there was something regal about the old bird she liked as well.
She leaned back in her chair and opened the book on her lap. It was a story about a woman who travelled around Australia with a group of friends and the mishaps that occurred along the way. She flicked through the pages, stopping to read a paragraph here or there. It’d come highly recommended via the distributor she used to stock her shop, and she was considering assigning it as theBook of the Monthat the next book club meeting.
Janice bounced through the front door, her long brown ponytail swinging.
“I’m off. See you tomorrow!”
“Thanks for all your help,” Evie called after her.
She was grateful for Janice. The woman was in her early twenties and had limitless energy, plus a passion for books that meant the two of them could share in the excitement of opening a new box or the thrill of reorganising a shelf. The two of them had grown close in recent months and Evie wasn’t sure how she’d manage without her now, even if she only worked part time. Janice had learned to run the bookshop when Evie was in her darkroom developing photos — a niche side gig Evie had taken on to help pay the rent.
She read for an hour before looking up again. By now, the sun had begun to set beyond the western horizon, brightening the dark ocean with a golden tint. Her thoughts wandered to her encounter with the new principal a week earlier. The school sat still and quiet across the street. The playground was empty, and there were only a few cars parked at the curb—no doubt the most conscientious teachers preparing for work the next day. But she hadn’t seen David again since he knocked on her door and introduced himself.
The girls were coming over for dinner soon. Taya was back from an overseas trip for work, and Bea had returned from her honeymoon in Italy. Penny had been so busy lately with her animal refuge that Evie hadn’t seen her in weeks. But that night, the four of them were finally getting together, and Evie couldn’t wait.
She hobbled down the road to her quaint timber house. She rarely locked the door, since crime was virtually nonexistent on the island. Of course, Mary Brown’s killer, Buck Clements, was still loose after posting bail several weeks earlier. Perhaps she should start locking up again to be on the safe side.
The house was silent when she stepped inside. She’d left the windows open, and the scents of fresh-cut grass and salt were in the air. She flicked on a light switch and tied an apron around her neat waist. The last thing she always did before cooking was to fasten her red curls into a bun at the nape of her neck. She took her time, massaging the tired and cramped neck muscles that’d been tight ever since her fall. Then washed her hands.
One of her go-to meals was chicken enchiladas with Mexican rice and refried beans, along with a freshly cut side salad. It was simple and delicious, a recipe she’d honed over the years. She set about slicing onions and chicken, with a crooning montage of easy listening music playing in the background.
This season of life was good, even if she had been stuck in a rut for a while. She’d been something of a brooder in her twenties. That decade was characterised by bouts of passionate creativity interspersed with dark moods, broody self-consciousness, imposter syndrome whenever anything went better than she expected, and short-lived, tumultuous romantic relationships.
Her thirties had been better. She’d settled into a career as a photographer and had managed to pull a fairly consistent client list together that enabled her to not only pay the bills, but to save a small nest egg. She’d learned a few things about herself — what she was good at, what she should let go of—and had worked through the aspects of her childhood that had caused her to form some bad habits in her life with the help of a few counselling sessions.
The most notable aspect of that decade had been the development of a long-term, loving relationship with a man called Gareth. She’d thought they would be married and she had put all her effort into building a life with him. They’d dated for eight years, most of her thirties. All the while, she kept waiting for him to pop the question and wondering why he wouldn’t. When she finally asked him about it, he said that he loved her, but he wasn’t the marrying kind.
Almost a decade ago, he left her for another woman, and they were married within two months. It seemed he was the marrying kind after all, but Evie wasn’t the kind he wanted to marry. His rejection had hurt her deeply, but she’d come to realise she didn’t miss him so much as she missed the idea of what she thought they might’ve built together. She’d moved back to Coral Island, used her savings to set up the bookshop, and established a quiet, sheltered life for herself. But sometimes she wondered if perhaps she’d run away from life rather than towards it.
