Kyle.
Ryan S.
Tania’s cousins × 3
Falk checked the back of the photos and the envelope for any further explanatory notes from Raco, but there were none. Another question to add to the algae reports and the AGM minutes. He leaned back against the headboard and briefly considered texting Raco, but immediately decided against it. Whatever it was had waited this long, it could wait until the morning. Tired now, he sorted the pictures back in order, looking at Gemma’s face for a moment longer than the others, then slid them back into the envelope and turned out the light.
* * *
Falk had kissed Gemma under the awning at the corner of the dark Melbourne laneway until the rain had passed. They’d taken each other’s hand as they’d stepped back out onto the slick pavement and headed through the city toward Flinders Street Station, where the trams and trains went to a lot of different places. Falk’s flat in St. Kilda, for example. Gemma’s hotel in Richmond as well. Falk wasn’t quite sure what might happen next, so instead he concentrated on what was happening right then. Walking along together, the city lights shining, her hand in his.
At the station, they both hesitated on the footpath outside. Stay or go? Then Gemma glanced over his shoulder to the late-night newsagent near the ticket gates.
“I need to top up my travel card,” she said.
“Right.” Was that a signal for him to say goodbye and leave? Falk wondered. But then she’d smiled.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Okay. Great.”
Even as he spoke, Falk felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he pulled it out as she disappeared inside the shop. He stood near the door, his shoulders hunched against the wind, scanning a long string of work messages and tapping out a few fast replies.
“Hey.”
He glanced up at Gemma’s voice as she came back out of the news agency. She looked happy to see him. Falk put his phone away.
“So, this was a complete impulse buy, but I actually got you something.” She had her travel card in one hand and was holding something out to him with the other. “Here.”
Falk looked down at the gift. It was a week-to-week office diary with a blue ballpoint pen.
“And it’s really so nice of you to try to look grateful.” Gemma laughed as she caught his expression. “But, seriously, the most organized person I’ve ever known gave me this tip.”
“A paper diary?”
“Yeah. It’s good when you’ve got a lot on. Does the same as a phone calendar but without beeping at you all the time with meetings and things. The idea is that you feel a bit more in control of the day because you check it when you’re ready, not the other way around.”
“Does it work?”
“For some people. It does for me. Your task force sounds pretty busy. I thought it might be worth a go.” She frowned. “And then I also bought you the pen because I’ve drunk too much and forgot you probably already own one.”
“Well, you can really never have too many.” Falk flicked through the diary. Maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink himself, but he was genuinely touched. “Thanks, Gemma. I’ll give it a try.”
Falk lifted his eyes to her, and she smiled back at him, pleased. Her face was a little flushed under the station light, with her hair hanging damp around her shoulders. And all at once he had the sudden urgent sensation that something was about to pass him by. He turned to the back of the diary and held out the contacts page.
“Gemma, can I grab your number?”
She took the diary and the pen straightaway. Once they were back in her hands, though, she seemed to pause. As Falk watched, her expression dimmed and she stood there, thinking, as the seconds ticked by. She pressed the pen against the paper for what felt like a long time. Falk just waited, but she still didn’t write anything.
“I think—” She tapped the pen on the page, then wrote a G. She stopped again. The pen now hovered an inch above the diary. Gemma glanced up at him, then down again. She breathed out and closed the cover. “I think it’s actually better for both of us if I say no. I’m really sorry.”
“Oh.” Falk blinked. He couldn’t think what to say. “Okay.”
He wasn’t often sure about these things, but he’d been sure this time. In his mind, her number was right there in the book she was now handing back to him. He had already jumped ahead, debating whether to text or call as a follow-up the next morning. Before or after her flight back home? Call, he’d decided. After the flight, when hopefully she’d have time to talk. Instead, he turned the empty diary over in his hands, then slipped it into his coat pocket. He took a breath and a longish moment to recalibrate expectation with reality.
Gemma was watching him. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“No, God, please don’t, there’s no need—” He was replaying the entire evening in his mind, though, skipping ahead and rewinding, trying to find the flaw. It really still felt like a yes. “I think I just got the wrong—”
“No, you didn’t—” She stopped.
Falk waited, genuinely curious, but when she didn’t go on, he said, “It’s honestly fine, you don’t have to explain.”
A pause. “Thank you.”
He’d kind of hoped she would, though. Was it her late husband? On some level that had to be part of the equation for anyone, but it didn’t feel like the whole answer. Falk had been around grief—spouses, children, friends—enough times that he was pretty well attuned to the complexities involved. This felt like something else, though. He ran through the last few hours again: the bar, the drinks, the walk, the restaurant, the candle— “It’s nothing you did, Aaron. It’s not you.”
He smiled at that, and despite herself she smiled back.
“Really,” she said.
“Okay.” He nodded. He’d take her word for it, but he’d love to know what it was, in that case. “Well.” He breathed out. It was a no. All right, then. Move on. “Thanks, anyway, Gemma, for tonight. I really had a great time with you. It was a lot of fun.”
She was wavering, he could tell. But then she simply nodded. “Yeah. It was.”
“And I’m glad I got to meet you.”
“Me, too.”
Stay or go?
Go.
He couldn’t help it, he paused for a moment, hoping for a last-minute change of heart. But all she said was: “Good luck with the new job.”
“Thanks. Have a safe flight home.” He raised a hand. “Well. Bye, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Falk turned and headed off toward the tram stop. He thought he could feel her watching him for a way, but when he glanced back, she had gone. The spot where they’d been standing outside the station was now occupied by a pair of teenage girls embroiled in a teary argument.
No.
No number, no text-or-call debate, no follow-up. It was a no. And that was her choice to make, and her decision was fair enough. But Falk still wished it had been a yes.
13
Falk had spotted Gemma only twice during his brief visit to Marralee twelve months earlier. The first, perhaps not surprisingly, had been at the festival. It had been just after 8:00 p.m. on the night Kim Gillespie would later disappear, and the sky was dark. Falk had been walking back from the HQ caravan, having tried and failed to deliver Charlie’s safety reports into Gemma’s hands personally, when suddenly there she was. Just beyond the ferris wheel, a little farther along the path.