Scared Yet? (16 page)

Then she didn't need to as he backed up two strides with a quick laugh. ‘Sorry.'

Whatever he'd seen must have cancelled out any other thought. Or maybe he'd never had another thought. Maybe she was just needy enough to think he'd consider it.

‘No, my fault,' she said. ‘I wanted to say thanks again for coming over at such short notice.'

‘Anytime. And I mean that. I live five minutes away on the other side of the playing fields. The dinner is at my sister's, which is about ten minutes from here. Call if you're worried about anything.'

She nodded, turned the deadlock.

‘Or if you just want to call,' he said to her back.

Maybe she should explain. He was a good person, she didn't want him to think it was about him. ‘Thanks.'

It was night outside now. She looked beyond the light on the porch, couldn't see anything but driveway and fence and the townhouses on the other side.

‘Don't forget to lock up behind me,' he said.

‘Are you kidding?'

She couldn't read the unspoken thought on his face as
she shut the door, didn't hear him walk away until the key was turned and the chain engaged. But his caution made her go upstairs, change into sweatpants, a T-shirt and zip-up jacket. Warm enough for outside in April, light enough to run in. She laced up trainers, tied her hair in a ponytail.

Ready to get the hell out if she needed to.

21

Liv figured it would take Sheridan half an hour to get there after the news finished at seven, so as the weatherman predicted rain next week, she sent her a text message:
Buzz when u r leaving & Ill order thai takeaway
.

She waited on a sofa with the menu. And waited. Fifteen minutes after she expected Sheridan on the doorstep, Liv guessed she was doing the same as Rachel Quest, having Thank-God-it's-Friday drinks. She sent another message:
Pull yr finger out & get over here
.

An engine rumbled into the driveway. Liv ran quietly to the front door, listened at the timber, heard it retreat. The patrol car, she guessed. She hoped.

She tried Sheridan again, left a message, sent another text. Maybe she'd got her last one and was making up for her lateness by grabbing the take-out on the way. She'd done it before. Liv didn't care if they ate Vegemite toast, so long as she wasn't here doing it on her own tonight.

The silence in the townhouse made her edgy. She turned up the TV, listened to a home renovators show she had no
interest in, straightened cushions, tidied the coffee table, thought about Cameron. His maths test, his first soccer match of the season tomorrow, about him coming back to her on Monday.

What if the police hadn't caught the man who beat her up by then? She didn't feel safe on her own here tonight. How would she feel with Cameron here?

It was three days away. Anything could happen between now and then.

At eight-thirty she made Vegemite toast and a cup of tea. By nine, she was worried and not about being alone in the townhouse. She'd expected Sheridan an hour and a half ago. She'd sent texts and voice messages. It wasn't like her to leave her phone unanswered for so long.

Twenty-five minutes later, Liv's mobile buzzed. She checked the caller ID. Andy. Sheridan's partner.

‘Andy? Are you with Sheridan?'

‘No. I'm in Melbourne, about to get on a flight.' His voice was unsteady, and he was breathing hard. He was meant to be in Melbourne until Sunday.

Liv hoped it was just her fear of an impending crisis that made her ask. ‘What's wrong?'

‘She's been in a car accident. They're taking her to Emergency at the John Hunter.'

Something rolled over in her stomach. Fuck, oh fuck. Sheridan was injured. ‘Is she . . . is she . . . how bad is it?'

‘Serious, that's all the police would tell me. My flight gets into Sydney at eleven. I'll get a hire car and drive to Newcastle. Can you go to the hospital, Liv? I don't want her to be alone.'

‘Yeah, yes, of course.' She pressed a hand to her throat, guilty that she'd been worried about herself and all this time Sheridan was hurt. ‘What happened, do you know?'

‘She hit a tree somewhere near the studios. I'm not sure where exactly.'

Liv imagined the bushland that surrounded the TV station and the dark road that connected it to the neighbouring suburb.

‘She was trapped for two hours. They've only just got her out.' Andy's voice was jerky now. He sounded like he was walking as he talked. A garbled PA announcement sounded through his phone. ‘I've got to go. I've called Ashley. She's had a few drinks so I told her to stay at home. Can you ring her when you know something? I'll call you when I land.'

Liv was at the garage access door before she'd thought about what might be on the other side. She'd been home for hours. Would someone hide in the garage that long? What would be the point? What was the point of any of it? She held the umbrella Sheridan had wielded last night, pulled back the slide bolt, pushed it wide. She found the light switch, squinted right and left, ran for the car and locked herself in. The motor was running before the door started up, her eyes on the rear-view mirror, bracing for a shape in the driveway or a figure charging out of the dark. There was nothing but the lights blazing inside and outside her townhouse.

She drove with her eyes on the road in front and behind. More traffic than she'd expected, no one that seemed to be following her. The parking options at the hospital were
bad and worse – a multi-level car park or the dark road that circled the perimeter of the building. Liv did a quick lap around the massive structure, hoping to get lucky with a space under lighting, close to the entrance. There wasn't one. She took a ticket at the parking station, her heart drumming a beat as she trawled swiftly around the floors. It was about a third full, she guessed Friday nights were busy. She wanted somewhere well lit, near an exit, close to the street where she could run flat out – if she had to.

She took the umbrella with her, locked the doors, looked both ways. No one on foot, no one getting in or out of a car. She jogged all the way to where Jason had picked her up four nights ago, caught her breath inside the glass doors, watching the darkness outside warily before making her way through the corridors to Emergency.

Sheridan was in surgery. Christ, surgery. Liv sat on the edge of a chair, called Kelly, passed on what information she'd been able to find out. Sheridan had multiple fractures of her right leg, broken ribs, a punctured lung, arm and shoulder damage. But most concerning was a head injury.

‘What kind of head injury?' Kelly asked.

‘I don't know. They wouldn't tell me. I mean, a head injury could be anything from a bump to . . . to . . . brain damage,' Liv said.

‘Don't say that. Don't even suggest it.'

‘Yeah, yeah, you're right.' Liv paced along the corridor. ‘There was a card from my stalker in the letterbox at home tonight.' She heard Kelly's sharp intake of breath. ‘He
said it could happen anywhere, anytime, that he'd show me. I can't stop thinking that this, that Sheridan . . .' She pressed her forehead against the cold plaster wall.

‘Jesus, Liv. Did you call the police?'

‘Of course I called the police,' she snapped. ‘Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just . . . Andy said Sheridan hit a tree. There wasn't anyone else involved. But Sheridan did the interview. The second note quoted the interview. Maybe he . . .'

Kelly cut in before she finished. ‘Liv, don't do this to yourself. She ran into a tree. It's a coincidence. An awful, awful coincidence. That's all.'

She'd said that after the break-in. Liv had been trying to tell herself the same thing all the way over but it hadn't stopped trepidation building inside her. She told Kelly not to come to the hospital, that there was no point both of them sitting in the corridor, that she'd let her know as soon as she heard something. She was safe in a hospital corridor. Surely.

Jason sent her a text:
Call if you need company
. Then another one:
Make sure you explain the bruises so they don't try to admit you!
It made her smile, briefly.

She thought about Daniel.
Or if you just want to call
. She didn't.

Andy rang at eleven-twenty from Sydney Airport. She was crumpled in a chair when he arrived just before one. He must have broken speed records on the expressway. He did a double take when he saw Liv's face. Sheridan had told him about the assault but the bruises were still shocking. She didn't tell him about the notes. He looked
worried enough and it crossed her mind he might ask her to leave if he thought she was responsible.

She hoped to God she wasn't.

She left the hospital at three-thirty when they had word that Sheridan was in an induced coma and so far so good.

The lights were still blazing in the townhouse when she got home and she walked through the place holding the umbrella like a weapon before she fell into bed.

She woke almost three hours later gasping and upright, fear making her legs ready to move before the shrill sound beside the pillow registered as her alarm, the one she'd forgotten to reset. Her eyelids felt like sticky paper and her head too heavy for the knotted muscles in her neck to hold up. She was exhausted and agitated but too shaken to give sleep another try.

She stood under a hot shower for a long time, trying to gather some energy. In the kitchen, she made plunger coffee, drank it staring at the card with the lily on the front, where it sat on the counter in the plastic zip-lock bag she'd found for it last night. Then she picked up her phone, dialled Cameron and forced light-and-breezy into her voice.

‘Hi, Cam. Are you all set for the game?'

‘Yup. You should see the new boots Dad got me. They've got green stripes down the sides and the man in the shop said they'd make me run faster.'

Liv smiled longingly at the photo collage on her fridge. ‘Wow, that's great.'

‘I'm going to try and score a goal. Can you come and watch?'

It was Thomas's weekend with Cam and they'd agreed not to intrude on each other's time. ‘Not this time, honey. But I'll have my fingers crossed the whole time you're out there.'

‘Oka-ay.'

The sound of his disappointment made Liv want to reach down the phone to him and apologise for what his parents had done. ‘I'll call you later so you can tell me all about it.'

She tidied and sorted and wandered aimlessly through the townhouse. Between the curtains, she saw a cloudless, blue sky above the courtyard but didn't pull back the drapes to let it in.

In the garage, fat streams of sunlight poured through the high windows as though God had a three-pronged pointer out. She walked along the length of the stacked boxes, telling herself she should unpack, make an attempt at getting settled, take her mind off Sheridan and the notes. But she didn't want to think about the stuff that was inside them, either.

Fuck it. The sun was out and there were plenty of populated places she could go on a Saturday morning. She grabbed her car keys and handbag and the card. The police station should be the safest place.

She took a roundabout route via the grand, old park, looking regretfully at the running track and watching for cars on her tail.

She stopped at pedestrian lights, where a man and
woman were crossing the road with a small boy. He was in a soccer uniform, his studded boots like toys on the ends of his legs. He was holding their hands, swinging between them as he walked and they were hoisting him up, laughing. She watched them all the way to the pavement and when the lights turned green, she didn't go left towards the police station. She kept going around the park to the soccer fields. To Cameron.

The club was at the end of a long stretch of fields laid out in a sea of green and concrete – tennis, rugby, netball, soccer. Parking was always impossible on Saturdays as hundreds of kids and parents came and went for matches. Liv trawled past cars crammed nose to bumper at the kerb. She shouldn't be here but there would be masses of people. Thomas wouldn't see her – and it was a populated place. Two birds with one stone.

Thomas always chose the stands so she headed for the strip between the pitches. It was lined with cheering, yelling spectators, people in folding chairs, kids running about, dogs on leads. As she threaded her way through the throng, searching for Cameron's team, the nerve endings on the back of her neck stood to attention. Was someone watching her? She checked faces for bruising, flinched from boisterous supporters, kept her sunglasses low to cover her black eye.

She finally found Cameron's head of white-blond curls at the end of the field. The players were bigger this season, some of them more than others, most of them more than Cameron. He was up-front, skinny legs pumping like pistons when he was on the run, hardly slowing down
when he wasn't.
Good footwork
, she wanted to shout but smiled to herself instead, kept her eyes on the game, avoiding spoiling the moment by looking for Thomas.

At half-time, she stood with the opposition's crowd, watching from across the field as Cam shared orange quarters with his teammates. The second half was a mishmash of kids bunched up in the centre and wild shots at goal. Liv watched Cameron run and chase and kick his heart out. Her father always said he was like her. She'd been tall and athletic, even at his age, but she recognised that reckless, endless energy, the fearlessness of it and the determination. When had she lost it? Was it something she'd grown out of or had the last years with Thomas dried it up?

She stayed after the final whistle, unable to pull herself away as he swung off a handrail with a friend before walking back to the stands. She saw Thomas then – stepping down from the second tier of seating, handing Cam a drink bottle, turning to help someone else down. Michelle.

Liv's teeth tightened. She had to hide on the sidelines and
Michelle
got to . . . to fucking high-five Cam after the match. Liv narrowed her eyes at her across the field. It was months since she'd seen her and she'd forgotten just how damn petite she was – delicately feminine with lush, auburn hair and sweet doe eyes. Some men had affairs with women who were a younger version of the wife they'd married. Thomas had left her for someone so diametrically different, he couldn't have made it more clear what he thought of her.

As Michelle stepped onto the grass, a breeze made streamers of her long hair and blew her loose shirt against
her body, revealing the unmistakable bulge of a pregnant belly.

The blood drained so fast from Liv's head she thought she might pass out. A hand clutched at her heart and failure burned like a hot coal in her chest. Thomas was having a baby. The man who'd told her one child was enough. The man she'd had to beg to try IVF. The man who a year ago had said he was glad it hadn't worked because another child would've made their separation difficult to manage.

Liv reeled away, crashing into a woman, unable to speak to apologise. As she started back through the remains of the crowd, head low to hide the shock and tears, she was thinking it wasn't
just
a child. Thomas would have
two
children. A partner and a
family
. Cameron would stay with her in the quiet, make-do townhouse then go back to his father's with the baby and the stepmother and the whole fucking package.