He stopped as they both heard the movement along the track at the same time. Falk listened. Footsteps against the packed dirt, coming from the direction of the festival. They turned together, but it was Joel who recognized her first.
“Oh. It’s just my stepmum.” He raised his hand. “Gemma?”
“Joel? Oh, good. You’re here.”
Falk remembered her voice even as the figure was still taking shape and then, all at once, he could see her for himself. He straightened, suddenly a little self-conscious in his sweat-damp running gear, and watched Gemma Tozer come along the track. She was wearing jeans again, and her shirt was creased at the elbows. Her hair was up, Falk noticed, like the first time he’d seen her, sixteen months ago in the packed Southbank bar.
Gemma’s relief at seeing Joel morphed into baffled surprise as she drew closer, absorbing more of the scene in front of her with each step. She blinked, her eyes moving from her stepson to the barrier to the memorial to the cleaning cloths in their hands and then, finally, coming to rest on Falk.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello, again.”
He smiled at her, automatic and impulsive. He couldn’t help it.
And there in the dark, with the evening sky huge overhead and the water still and calm below, she smiled back. He breathed out. They stood looking at each other for a drawn-out beat, then Gemma glanced past him to Joel, who was busy zipping his cleaning stuff into his backpack.
“This looks really nice,” she said, running her hand over the shining wooden barrier, pausing only briefly at the scrawled graffiti. “Great job.”
Joel shrugged and waved his free hand toward Falk. “Aaron helped. He’s Zara’s uncle’s friend—” He stopped as Gemma nodded.
“Yeah. We’ve met once, actually.”
“Oh, right.” Joel shrugged, his stepmother’s social life clearly of limited interest, and swung his bag onto his back. He was taller than Gemma and had to look down to make eye contact with her when they spoke. “Are you coming home, too?”
“Not yet. I’m on-site until close tonight. I just came to check if you were down here, because—” Gemma’s voice was light, but Falk caught the undertone. “You know, sometimes you’re down here.”
They all glanced at the plaque, then Joel crouched and clipped the lead onto Luna’s collar.
“Yeah, well. All done now,” he said in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring but just made Gemma press her lips together in a line. He noticed and gave her a small smile as he turned to leave, raising a hand to Falk. “Thanks again.”
“No worries.”
“Text me when you’re home,” Gemma called after him, and the boy nodded without looking back. Falk stood beside her, and they watched him disappear in the other direction down the track. The night suddenly seemed very big and quiet, and Falk took a breath.
“Listen, I hope I wasn’t overstep—”
“Thank you, that was—”
They caught each other’s eye.
“Sorry,” he said. “You go.”
Gemma hesitated. She glanced again at the memorial plaque and the clean barriers, then looked at Falk and nodded back toward the festival.
“Let’s get a drink. Please. If you have time?”
“Yeah. Great. That sounds—” Falk stopped. His hands fell to his pocketless shorts. “I actually don’t have any money.”
They both looked down, taking in his running gear, then back up, where their eyes met again. Gemma looked faintly amused.
“You’re okay. I’ve got one or two connections up there. And I’m pretty sure I owe you, anyway.” She turned, but not before Falk caught her smiling, just a little to herself. “You know, from last time.”
19
The caravan that served as the on-site headquarters was empty, Falk could see as he followed Gemma across the grounds. The lanterns in the large tree overhead bathed the area in a soft glow, and she nodded to the folding chairs underneath.
“Grab a seat.”
Falk settled into a striped fabric director’s chair that was surprisingly comfortable as Gemma unlocked the caravan and went inside. She reappeared in the doorway a moment later, holding up a range of drink options in turn. Falk’s earlier run was starting to catch up with him and he could feel the pleasant warm burn building in his legs as he pointed gratefully at the cold water.
“Me, too,” Gemma said, coming out with two glasses and a filled glass bottle. She pulled up the chair opposite and then reached into her jeans pocket and put her phone on the table. “Sorry, I’m still on duty, so I have to keep an eye on it.”
“No worries, I know that feeling. Thanks,” he said as she poured the water for them both.
“Well.” She lifted her glass. “Welcome, Aaron Falk.”
“Thank you.” They looked at each other as they drank. He took a long, deep swallow. Where to start? “Hey, I used the diary, by the way.” That seemed as good a place as any. He’d been kind of wanting to tell her that for a year. “The one you bought at the station.”
“You mean, the one I randomly forced on you.” Gemma laughed, a little embarrassed. “God, I couldn’t believe I’d done that later. The wine went to my head a bit. So how did you find it?”
“Useful,” Falk said truthfully. “For all those reasons you said. Made the work chaos feel a bit calmer. I bought a new one this year, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” she said lightly, but looked quite pleased. “And how is the task force going? Is the chaos manageable?”
“Just about.” Although Falk suddenly, maddeningly, pictured his phone. Lying on his bed back in the Racos’ guesthouse, heavy still with calls to return and emails to be answered. He gave himself an invisible mental shake to clear the image. “Speaking of work, though. Gemma, this festival is—”
He waved a hand effusively to indicate the entire complex operation. The night air was soaked with music and the steady hum of laughter and chatter from people enjoying themselves. Benefits for local producers, too, Falk guessed. Not to mention jobs created and money generated for the town. He could only imagine the amount of work it took to make the Marralee Valley Annual Food and Wine Festival a success.
“It’s a serious achievement,” he said. “Amazing. You don’t need me to tell you that, but congratulations. Really.”
“Thank you. Yeah, we’re all pretty proud of it.” She smiled. “I’m happy you got to see it.”
“Yeah, I am, too.”
Falk watched Gemma across the table. Her hair looked darker under the low light from the caravan and the trees. She hadn’t taken it down this time, he noticed. He’d vaguely wondered at times what it would be like if he ever found himself in this situation with her again. They’d spent one evening together sixteen months ago, and Falk was acutely aware that he’d probably airbrushed and edited at least some of it without meaning to. But here in the warm spring air, sitting in front of each other in the flawed flesh, he felt the same as he had on that cold, wet Melbourne night. Stay. She was watching him, too. He sat there in his running clothes and drank his water and tried to read her face. They both blinked as her phone suddenly buzzed loudly against the table. Gemma leaned forward.