You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

‘Let’s get something to eat before we look at shoes,’ Bridget says, burying the receipt in her handbag.

They’re eating sushi at one of the food courts when Bridget’s phone begins to ring. It’s Dave. She mentioned to him that she had an important date with her daughter. Dave has a family, too; he understands the delicate dance between home and work. Shane is extremely competent, but Cara needs her mother for this one.

‘What is it?’ Bridget’s mind is full of sequins, silicone bra cups, and shoes that achieve the dual purpose of elegance and comfort (which everyone knows is impossible!).

‘Sorry to interrupt, Bridge. I’ve got something huge.’ Bridget can only just make out what he is saying against the background noise of the food court. ‘We’ve found the Yamaha and the gun.’

Did she hear him correctly? She presses the phone to her ear. ‘Together? In the same place?’

Dave confirms it: the motorbike and gun have been found in a storage facility in Brookvale. Thomas Malouf’s name is on the paperwork.

‘Secure the scene,’ Bridget commands. ‘Don’t let anyone touch anything until forensics get there. I’m on my way.’

She hangs up. Cara is staring at her. Oh dear.

‘It’s okay, I was getting tired anyway.’ Cara stands up, her unfinished sushi box in hand. ‘Can you drop me home on your way?’

‘Sure. Sorry. We’ll get the shoes next weekend.’

The investigation looks like it will be wrapped up by then. Bridget didn’t see this coming.

Thomas Malouf killed his barrister. Then he killed himself.

43

MEGAN

The home stylist arrives on Monday morning. Clipboard in hand, she moves from room to room, her frown becoming more pronounced as she goes. She ends with a declaration that none of the furniture is up to standard except the beds, which can be disguised with good linen and cushions.

‘The right furniture will accentuate the space. First impressions are vital!’

Then she tells Megan how much it’s going to cost for furniture rental and a six-week campaign.

Megan phones Seb later in the morning. ‘Good thing Mum was at work. She’d have said a flat no. I signed up for it. Plus I booked the removalists for Friday.’

‘What if it takes longer than six weeks to sell?’

‘Don’t even go there.’

‘I’ll come on Friday to help,’ he says impulsively. ‘I’ll get an early flight.’

‘Great! I’ll be coming off a twelve-hour shift, so I won’t be much good.’

Her shift hours are 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. this week, her least favourite timeslot. Starting work as everyone else is finishing. Driving home as dawn is breaking, knowing you need to go straight to bed when all your instincts are telling you otherwise. Forcing yourself to sleep, forcing yourself to wake up, forcing yourself to stay awake. But it’s only for four days, then four days off to compensate.

Megan is excited to see her brother so soon. She checks the time: hours to go before her shift starts and plenty of work to do. Seb’s old bedroom is next to be tackled. She has been avoiding it; it’s been used as a dumping ground for years. Dust mites in the air and a faintly musty smell: not quite the first impressions the stylist was talking about. Megan opens the window before setting to work. The wardrobe is so full its doors don’t properly close. She clears everything from the rails on to the bed. Mostly spill-over from her wardrobe and Roslyn’s. A few old things of Seb’s: a leather jacket he used to live in and a pair of old Levi’s. Some of her dad’s clothes, too. Did Roslyn forget they were here, or couldn’t she bear to part with them?

Megan has been trying not to think about her dad during this process. He mortgaged himself to the hilt to save this house. In his mind, it was all they had left. Selling feels like a huge betrayal.

Sorry, Dad. I hope you can’t see any of this.

The top shelf of the wardrobe is out of her reach; she goes to fetch the step ladder from the garage. Lifting and manoeuvring the ladder reminds her muscles how sore they are from the boxing on Saturday. But it has to be said: hitting something hard really did help. She is still sad about Lucas. She is still asking herself ‘what if’, but accepts there is no way to change the timing of when they met. Her face was taut and dry when she woke this morning, a reminder that she’d cried herself to sleep again, but she opened her eyes with fresh resolve.

He was never mine. It was all in my head. I’ll get over this.

The contents of the top shelf are eclectic. Most of it has been there a long, long time. Mouldy skiwear. A few bulky sweaters. Some dusty photo albums. Megan sweeps what she can to the floor, and goes up and down the ladder half a dozen times with the rest. Once it’s empty, she wipes it down with a damp cloth, then folds the ladder away.

The room looks worse than when she started: a cyclone of clothes on the bed, balls of fluff on the carpet, the air thick with dust. It’s funny that out of all the stuff in this room, Seb owns the least. She puts his things in a pile – he can go through it when he gets here Friday. On impulse, she sits down on a corner of the bed and flicks through the photo albums. School photos, all the way from a cheeky five-year-old with a gap in his front teeth to the long-haired handsome boy who graduated. Seb with his beloved guitar, eyes staring at sheet music while his fingers automatically picked the correct chords. Seb and his beleaguered football team, who – as she remembers it – very rarely won their games.

A few pieces of paper are wedged in the back of one of the albums.

Certificate of Achievement for Music and Performance: Sebastian Lowe

Travel Itinerary Nepal: Sebastian Lowe

Apprehended Personal Violence Order: Sebastian