THE OTHER SIDE OF SYDNEY

CHAPTER THREE

What Lies Beneath

Saturday afternoon, I came home with a shopping bag I probably couldn't afford and a photograph I wished I had never seen.

Ollie greeted me with a slipper. Mine, obviously. He didn't steal other people's shoes, although he hadn't had much opportunity.

"That's the left one," I told him. "Where's the right?"

He dropped it and hurried toward the kitchen. An answer of sorts.

I'd promised myself not to look at the photograph again. I set the Thread & Thistle bag on the bedroom chair, hung up my coat, made coffee, and immediately opened the desk drawer.

So much for promises.

The woman in the emerald dress was still turned toward the camera. When I'd first seen the print, she'd been facing away. My phone still held the photograph I'd taken of that earlier version. I put the two images side by side for perhaps the twentieth time.

They disagreed. That wasn't a metaphor.

On the back of the print were the same words: Do you remember? Some things are remembered before they happen.

"No," I said to the photograph. "I don't."

Ollie came back to see whether I was talking about food.

I put the print away. I'd taken pictures of both sides and saved copies. If anything else changed, I wanted to know what had changed and when. That seemed more useful than standing in my kitchen arguing with a piece of paper.

It also occurred to me that I'd started describing this behavior as useful. I hadn't slept particularly well since Room 814.

By five-thirty I'd checked the lock twice, answered some work mail I didn't need to answer, and called Claire.

Voicemail.

"Hey, it's me. I'm home. Everything's fine, which is an interesting word to use these days. Call when you can."

I almost added a joke about mysterious hotel people. I didn't. I wanted to hear her voice, and I was angry with myself for wanting it quite so much.

Usually I would have called her the moment I left Thread & Thistle. She'd ask whether I'd spent an obscene amount of money. I'd lie. She'd know. Then I'd tell her about Elise, and Claire would make me repeat every awkward thing I'd said in the fitting room.

Instead I was wondering what Claire had told Marianne and why the thought of that cottage weekend …