Snowy, Kara’s very white Japanese Spitz, had taken to chewing on things that he saw as belonging to Kara. Kara was the one to gather all the sofa cushions around her every time she sat to watch TV.
“Poor Snowy. I bet Kara’s missing him, too.”
“I’ll bet she is.” James begged off, yawning and making me promise to call him before I left Sydney in the morning.
I began packing my things into the suitcase. From the start, I should have done what James suggested—hire a private investigator. It’d been far too difficult trying to do this on my own.
Locking the suitcase, I perched on the edge of the bed, staring around the bland, lonely room. Should I try to fly out tonight? There was no point now in staying. Then another thought: should I get the ball rolling with a private investigator? James was busy—this was something I could do. I told myself it was too late to call anyone until I remembered that the time would be different in London.
Switching on my laptop, I checked international times. Eight p.m. in Sydney, Australia, was roughly three a.m. in America and nine a.m. in England.
I decided to look for someone now. Someone in London. I browsed through the results for private investigators. They were expensive—upwards of a hundred American dollars per hour—but money wasn’t a problem. I just needed someone who’d do a thorough job.
I tried a couple of people first who said they had a high success rate. But I found myself listening to recorded messages on their answering machines. No, I wasn’t prepared to wait all day for a call back. I wanted to talk to someone now. I came across the website of a lady named Rosemary Oort. The website wasn’t as flashy as the others I’d looked at, but her words sounded comforting: I research every case personally, approaching each one with enormous care and sensitivity. Sorry, but I do not take on cases of suspected infidelity.
Maybe she was what I needed.
Picking up my phone again, I called her office.
27. Gray
I JUMPED AWAKE IN MY CHAIR as the phone rang, snatching it from my pocket and answering it so as not to wake Lilly.
“Gray?” came the voice. “It’s Verity. How’s Lilly doing?”
I glanced across at Lilly’s small form in the hospital bed. “Still sleeping. She’s doing okay.”
“Poor mite. Have the doctors said when she’ll be coming home?”
“Yeah, maybe later today, maybe not. They’re watching how she does on the antibiotics and steroids.”
“Well, tell them from me they should keep her a bit longer. I’m still getting this house in order. It’s a brothel.”
I winced at the word brothel. “Verity, c’mon, it was a bit messy—”
“A bit? There’s stuff everywhere! So much clutter. And there’s the matter of mould around Willow’s window. I was quite shocked. I’m dosing the entire room in mould killer.”
“Evie’s always taking care of the mould. Gets worse when it rains like this for days. She tried using the harsh stuff before, but Lilly broke out in a rash—”
“Nonsense. You have to kill it or it will come back.”
“Okay, cool. I gotta go now. Doctor’s just come in.”
There was no doctor. But I was too exhausted to argue with Verity. I was raw. Everything inside me emptied out. There was no sleep in hospitals. Things beeped and rattled all night, and nurses and doctors came in and out.
A doctor suddenly appeared in the room, twisting reality and making me not have told a lie to Verity. I didn’t know whether to feel cheated or virtuous.
“Mr Harlow,” he said, “Lilly appears to be stable. And I’m sure both you and she would be more comfortable at home. You can take her home this afternoon, but if she develops any worrying symptoms, then bring her back in.”
“How will I know? What kind of symptoms?”
He looked surprised. “If the fever returns or her breathing becomes rapid or strained, or if she just seems to be worse in some way.” His forehead puckered into a deep V. “Have you managed to contact her mother?”
“No . . . not yet. But Evie’s mother is staying with us at the moment.”
“Oh, good. Before you go, I’ll give you some information on how to clear the bronchial airways each day.”
Three hours later, I gathered up my sleepy daughter and took her home. She didn’t express surprise or ask questions, seeming to be in a distant, hazy zone of her own. I had the depressing thought that we all take this life journey alone, even children. They could get sick or die, and that cross was theirs to bear.