‘Why?’
‘Because I’ll be there in half an hour,’ I say.‘We’re going to the zoo, then we’re getting ice cream.’
‘It’s ten-thirty in the morning.’
‘Exactly.’
There’s a beat.Then, softly, she says, ‘Thank you.’
I pause, phone still to my ear.‘Issy?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re doing great.Hang in there.’
I end the call before I can hear her cry.
THREE
I step out of the helicopter and the outback air hits me like a slap – dry, relentless and hotter than a thousand suns.The Northern Territory is trying to choke me out on arrival.We’re surrounded by red earth that looks sunburnt, endless plains of scrubby grass, and plenty of those twisty river red gums that belong on postcards or survival documentaries.There’s a dusty breeze that carries the faint, medicinal scent of eucalyptus and zero sympathy.
The pilot hands me my battered leather duffel bag and gives me a grin that says,Good luck out there.I start sweating in places I didn’t know had sweat glands.
Beside me, Abbey squints against the glare, swatting flies.One lands on her lip and she gags.‘Remind me why we’re here again?Is this some kind of cosmic punishment?’
‘Sadly not,’ I say.‘Apparently, people choose to live out here.Voluntarily.’
Abbey snorts, flinging her duffel bag over one shoulder.‘Yeah, I still think it might be a cult.The minute I see a shrine I’m out of here.’
She’s not wrong.My bra is clinging to my ribs as if personally offended by the heat.I feel the slow trickle of sweat sliding downmy front and back; clearly organic deodorant is a scam.I blow a rogue strand of hair from my face and glance at the sun, my ponytail plastered to my neck.
Four and a half hours flying from Sydney to Darwin.Then another hour and a half in a helicopter that felt as if one gust of wind could send us spiralling into an outback thriller.And now?I am one lukewarm rosé away from losing consciousness.
The main homestead in front of us is a classic Aussie dreamscape: weatherboard, wraparound verandah, red roof, white trim.It’s lazily hiding beneath a handful of black wattles, basically camouflaged into the scenery.A few scattered buildings stretch into the distance, indicating this place has range.Not surprising, considering Ella’s new home is one of the largest cattle stations in the entire state.
‘About time you two showed up!’
Ella bursts down the front steps, all long limbs and sunny energy.
She’s practically glowing as she crosses the dry lawn barefoot.Her freckles sparkle.Her blonde curls bounce.Her skin is annoyingly tanned in that ‘I don’t even try’ kind of way.She’s Outback Barbie, and I – sweaty, pale, slightly concussed from the heat – want to punch her and braid her hair at the same time.
She pulls me into a hug, and then Abbey, who might be dead judging by the way her tiny frame is sagging under the force of the sun.It’s been two years since we last saw each other, and no number of Instagram Stories or FaceTime can prepare me for the reality of seeing her this way.Tanned.Glowing.Radiating joy in a way you can’t fake through DMs.
‘Please tell me there’s aircon,’ Abbey begs, eyes desperate, face already a blotchy shade of pink.Her usual Lucy Liu sharpness is more medieval pageboy right now, thanks to the blunt black bob clinging to her damp cheeks.
‘We’ve got aircon.’Ella grins, clearly enjoying this.‘The guest wing’s down the track.I’ll take you through the house first.’
She turns on her heel and doesn’t even glance back to see if we’re following.We are.Obviously.Standing out here any longer would be an act of self-immolation.We trail after her, flies buzzing around us like they’ve been given our GPS coordinates.Ella barely flinches at them, just waves a hand, completely unbothered.She’s practically one with the red dirt at this point.
The flyscreen groans as she pulls open the front door and disappears inside.A gust of cool air kisses my face and I nearly weep.
‘You guys are gonna love it here,’ she calls back to us.‘Darcy and the others are out mustering the last of the cattle, but they’ll be back in time for the big meet and greet.’
Darcy.Ella’s husband to be, because apparently this romance novel writes itself.The mustering part?I don’t ask.Nothing in this postcode makes sense to me.
We’ve known Ella since high school – back when the three of us were inseparable.If one of us was crying in a bathroom stall, the other two were already scaling the cubicle walls to offer snacks and emotional damage control.It wasthatkind of friendship.
That’s why it floored us when Ella disappeared the second we graduated.
