‘Table for three?’ Dev says, when we arrive at the cafe.
Dev is the proprietor of The Pantry. He took over the premises three months ago. Previously it was called the Lunch Basket and was run by a husband-and-wife team who always looked irritated when you wanted to order something. Dev, on the other hand, is a thirty-something hospitality natural fresh from the city. He remembers customers’ names and coffee orders, gives colouring books to cranky kids and offers free desserts to old ladies who’ve finished their coffee and have nowhere else to go. The town had lost their minds when he arrived, and now the only complaint is how hard it is to get a table. But today, with the weather being nice, most people are sitting outside at the tables Dev has set up on the grass, and there is plenty of space inside. He shows us to a window table and says, ‘I’ll leave you to peruse the menu.’
‘So,’ Mei says, when Dev has left, ‘we have an announcement.’
I notice suddenly that Kat and Mei are holding hands.
‘We’re pregnant!’ they say together.
Kat reaches into her bag, pulls out a small white card and pushes it across the table. I gasp as I clock the familiar black square, the scratches of white, the abstract blob in the centre.
‘Kat is carrying,’ Mei says proudly, and as soon as she says it, I’ve never seen anything so obvious. Kat’s face is rounder. Her breasts are larger. Her hair is shiny and thick and lustrous. She appears both healthier and more tired at the same time.
I slide out of my seat and throw my arms around them jointly, burying my face in Kat’s lovely, thick, pregnancy hair. I remain there for several seconds, joy washing through me, before returning to my seat. ‘Congratulations! This is the best news.’
‘I’m fourteen weeks along,’ Kat says. ‘I know you usually tell people at twelve weeks but I’m superstitious. This is the first time I’ve eaten out in months; the morning sickness has been too horrendous for me to stand the smells.’
As if on cue, Dev places a bowl of clam chowder on the next table along. Kat turns green. ‘Oh God. I think I’m going to . . .’ She leaps from her seat and dashes to the bathroom.
‘Wow, that’s some morning sickness,’ I say, watching her disappear.
When I turn back to Mei, I’m surprised to find that her expression is serious.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘I know, Pip.’
I don’t have to feign my confusion. ‘You know what?’
‘I know.’ Mei glances around and lowers her voice. ‘I know it was Amanda Cameron on the cliff.’
The adrenaline spikes in my blood immediately.
‘I’ve been following it, Pip. I read in the paper that she’d died unexpectedly. I used to work for Max too, remember?’
It’s funny, but I had forgotten. I hadn’t even considered the fact that she would make the connection.
‘Yes, it was Amanda,’ I admit, when I realise I have no choice. ‘But it was a coincidence, Mei. Gabe didn’t even recognise her. She came to the cliff to jump, that’s all.’
‘Then I assume Gabe has told the police of their connection?’
I don’t reply. Mei nods. It’s almost as if she’s not surprised. It puzzles me. Mei knows Gabe pretty well. She loves him. She knows he wouldn’t harm anyone.
‘He didn’t mention that he knew Amanda because it would have looked bad.’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It would.’
The silence between us drags on for several seconds.
‘Gabe wasn’t involved in her death,’ I say. ‘You know that right?’
But before she can answer, the door to the bathrooms swings open revealing a slightly less green-looking Kat. Mei leans forward. ‘I haven’t told Kat about this. She’s pregnant and having a rough time of it, and I don’t want to worry her. But I don’t believe it was a coincidence that Amanda was on that cliff.’
‘Guys,’ Kat says when she reaches us, ‘I don’t think I can stay inside with the chowder smell. Can we move to an outside table?’
Kat and Mei call Dev over and a flurry of explanations and congratulations ensue. I muster up a smile but I’m too shocked by my exchange with Mei to engage in any of it.
‘Right this way,’ Dev says, taking our menus. ‘Coming, Pippa?’
I nod and gather up my things.
You’re right, I want to say to Mei. It wasn’t a coincidence. But it wasn’t Gabe’s fault. It was mine.
32
PIPPA
THEN
Dr Ravi, Gabe’s psychiatrist, was a kindly man with a thick grey beard and a pleasantly chaotic office. His vibe, according to the reviews I’d found online, was ‘old school’， but in a good way. After Gabe’s first appointment, he’d echoed the reviewers’ enthusiasm.
He really listened.
I felt understood.
He made me believe I could be helped.
Gabe and I sat across the desk from him expectantly. It was Gabe’s third appointment, but the first time I had joined him. In the lead-up, there’d been a mountain of paperwork to complete, covering everything from Gabe’s family history of mental disorders and long-ago school reports, as well as questionnaires for Gabe and me to complete. There was also a questionnaire to be completed by a boss or work colleague, but we had decided to skip that one to maintain Gabe’s privacy. Now, the psychiatrist was prepared to give us a diagnosis, and I was holding out hope that he might offer a treatment – preferably in pill form – that would fix Gabe.
‘Have you heard of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder?’ Dr Ravi asked.
I had, but only in passing. It conjured up an image of a naughty, fidgety little boy in third grade. ‘You think Gabe has ADHD?’
‘I thought that ADHD only affected children,’ Gabe added.
‘It is commonly diagnosed in children, but about half of children with ADHD will continue to experience symptoms into adulthood. And given what I’ve learned about your childhood, Gabe, it seems likely that your symptoms could have been overlooked due to the lack of close parental involvement while you were young.’
The more Dr Ravi told us, the more sense it made. Gabe had almost every symptom: trouble focusing or hyperfocus; physical restlessness; rapid or impulsive speech; disorganisation; trouble with impulse control; periods of prolonged depression. The psychiatrist recommended a combination of medication and therapy, and he referred Gabe to an ADHD coach.
Gabe started taking the prescribed stimulants immediately. I bought every book I could find on ADHD. Gabe was going to be the poster boy for ADHD management, I decided, and I would be the poster wife.
Gabe threw himself into his new identity as an adult with ADHD. He met with his coach, he followed his new routines, he downloaded the apps. It took a while to get the medication right. At first it seemed to make him even more manic than before, but Dr Ravi adjusted the doses, and eventually he settled down. The change was nothing short of miraculous. He stopped going out all night; in fact, he hardly went out all. He was promoted once, and then again. He was making so much money that we bought a house in a nice neighbourhood with plans to renovate it.
Most evenings were spent on the couch, watching home renovation shows and discussing vaulted ceilings, and weekends were spent at the new house, watching Gabe talk to tradesmen and warning him not to be a pest. He was fascinated by their craftsmanship and peppered the tradies with questions as they worked. Often, after we left the house, we’d wander through the streets of our new neighbourhood with Freya riding on Gabe’s shoulders.