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Prologue

Airlie Beach

‘You’re what?’ Jill Williams stared at her best friend across the waterfront table at Airlie Beach, hoping she’d heard wrong over the noise of the beachside bar behind them. The thing about travelling with your best friend since primary school was that you thought you knew everything about them. Jill and Bianca had been best friends for fifteen years since Jill’s dad had moved them from the UK when he accepted a position as CEO of an engineering company in Brisbane. They’d survived braces, unreliable boyfriends, and their final uni exams together.

‘I’m going home,’ Bianca said again, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘When Russ called last night, he asked me to move in with him. Properly. He wants to get serious.’

Russ. The on-again, off-again surfie boyfriend from Noosa, who Bianca had been “totally over” when they’d planned this trip in the weeks before graduation. Russ, who’d apparently been texting Bianca every day since they’d headed north, had slowly reeled her back in.

‘Right.’ Jill took a long drink of her beer. ‘So, the whole “let’s see the real Australia before we get stuck in our careers” plan—that’s over already, is it?’

‘Don’t be like that,’ Bianca pleaded. ‘You know how much I love him. And he’s really changed this time, Jilly. He has.’

Jill pulled a face but didn’t reply. How many times had she heard this story before? Four? Five? It was more likely that Russ had lost another job and needed Bianca’s money.

Shaking her head, she tried to stop the disappointment welling in her chest. They were both twenty-two years old, their birthdays a week apart; they’d always joked about being twins with different mums. If Bianca wanted to bail on their plans for a guy who’d ghosted her several times already, well, that was her decision to make. She was a big girl now.

‘When are you leaving?’ Jill put the empty middy glass on the table.

‘Tomorrow. I booked the bus back to Brisbane while you were at the bank.’ Bianca reached across the table. ‘You could come back too? We could get a two-bedroom apartment together, you and me and Russ—’

‘No thanks,’ Jill said, forcing lightness into her tone. ‘I’m not done yet. I’m going to see the outback as well as the coast. The real stuff, not just the touristy bits.’

‘By yourself?’

‘Why not?’ Jill shrugged, trying to sound less upset than she felt. The plan had always been for the two of them to spend the year travelling together. Her brother Dylan had fixed up a van for them, and they were three weeks into a year of freedom and adventure. Solo hadn’t been the plan. But she wasn’t going back to Brisbane simply because Bianca had changed her mind.

‘And you will do it. You’re crazy,’ Bianca said, but she was smiling. ‘An absolute Pommy nutter. That’s why I love you.’

‘Love you too, you traitor,’ Jill said, forcing a smile.

They both laughed, but Jill’s laugh sounded hollow.

Six months of planning. Six months of working extra shifts at the club bistro where she’d worked right through her three-year degree, a final month of exams, and then more shifts until graduation, saving every dollar, mapping out their route. Six months of excitement and freedom had stretched ahead of them like the open road.

Gone. Just like that. For a bloke who’d already proven he couldn’t commit to anything longer than a weekend of surfing.

The disappointment settled in her chest, heavy and bitter. She’d worked too hard for this. She wasn’t giving up on seeing the real Australia, the endless red dirt, big skies, and country towns she’d only seen in movies so far.

She was doing this. With or without Bianca. Even if the thought of travelling alone scared her more than she wanted to admit.

‘You’ll be alright,’ Bianca said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. ‘Won’t you?’

‘Course I will,’ Jill said, and made herself believe it. ‘I’ll be brilliant.’

###

The next morning, Jill waved Bianca off on the Brisbane bus, then sat in a beachfront café feeling thoroughly sorry for herself. Her van was parked out front—a 2010 white HiAce that her brother Dylan had spent three months rebuilding. It had everything she needed: two foam mattresses in the back, storage for camping gear, a portable stove, and enough character to make it interesting.

Dylan had made her promise to take care of it. ‘This van’s your home now, Jilly,’ he’d said, all serious like he was handing over something precious. ‘You look after Vera, she’ll look after you.’

Now it was her and the van. No plan, no travelling companion, and about a thousand dollars to her name until she found work somewhere.

Great. Maybe I can pick up some work on the coast before I take the highway inland.

A shadow fell across the table.

‘Excuse me, is this seat taken?’