‘There’s a place I’d like to go with you.’
‘Okay,’ I said. She could have asked for the moon that night and I’d have found a way to get it for her. Letting her choose yet another swanky, rich-lady dinner place was fine. It saved me trying to figure out where the hell to take her anyway.
‘Seven o’clock?’ she prompted.
‘Where will I meet you?’
‘I’ll text you tomorrow.’
‘Okay,’ I said, and then, just to make doubly sure we were both on the same page, I added quietly, ‘It’s a date.’
‘It’s a date,’ she echoed, and then, flashing me a quick smile, she scooped her phone up from the table and glanced at the screen. She pressed a few buttons and then murmured apologetically, ‘I really need to go.’
‘Okay,’ I said, and we slid out of the bench seat and automatically started walking back towards the road behind the bar.
‘Can I get you a taxi?’ I asked her.
‘No, the town car is on its way. Do you need a lift somewhere?’
‘Thanks for the offer but I think your driver would have a panic attack if I told him my address. I’ll get a cab.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘I live in a terrace near one of the public housing towers in Redfern.’
Molly frowned at me and shook her head. I responded with a quizzical frown of my own.
‘How can you live in Sydney and not know the Redfern towers?’
‘I don’t really know anything about Redfern, I just know it’s a rough place,’ she admitted.
‘You’ll probably be pleased to know gentrification is well and truly underway, it’s not nearly as rough as it once was. Plus, it’s actually a great place to live,’ I said. Molly nodded and smiled, but I could see that she wasn’t convinced. I was about to launch into a spiel about the suburb I loved, but she distracted me by pointing into the distance behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a taxi approaching, but I shook my head. ‘I’ll wait with you until your car comes.’
‘I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘I don’t mind. Frankly, I could do with some back-up in case your father is waiting in hiding in my cab.’
She grinned at me. ‘I have a feeling you can handle yourself, Leo. Take it, I’ll be insulted if you don’t.’
I hesitated, but Molly stepped in front of me and waved vigorously, calling the cab to a stop beside us. ‘Text me when you get home safely?’ I asked. It seemed wrong to leave her standing alone by the side of the road at night, even though we were in a busy and perfectly safe part of the city.
‘God, listen to you,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘I agree to have dinner with you and suddenly you’re my bodyguard.’
As I opened the cab door, I swept my gaze over her. Molly slowly reached up to smooth her fringe down over her forehead, trailing a finger behind her ear and down her neck, then she rested her hand against her shoulder as stared back at me intently. Whatever the chemistry was, it was alive and humming between us, and there was no doubt in my mind now that she was as conscious of it as I was.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I said.
‘Oh, you will,’ she assured me quietly, and then she closed the taxi door.
9
Molly – July 2015
It’s a twenty-hour flight from Rome to Sydney, including the brief stop at Singapore where the plane is refuelled. Leo is in a hospital bed that has been fitted into the jet, and he sleeps on and off, around meals and brief chats and long stints reading the newspapers that someone thought to load onto the plane for us. When we’re finally coming into Sydney and I look out my window to see the Harbour Bridge below us, I find myself unexpectedly teary as I breathe the sigh of relief that I’ve been holding onto since I flew out.
Several more hours pass before Leo is admitted and settled in the hotel-like room that will be his home for the foreseeable future. The rehab centre is plush, and he’s treated like a celebrity from the moment we enter the front doors. I know he’ll be comfortable there – and most importantly, at least for a while, he’ll be safe. This is not something I have ever been able to take for granted with Leo.
My phone has been ringing off the hook since we landed – his friends and family are dying to come and see him, but with the exception of his parents, I’ve asked them to wait until he’s had a chance to settle in. And then, once a nurse has finished Leo’s induction, we’re left alone for the first time in a day. Leo flicks through the paperwork they’ve given him while I sit at the end of his bed and stare out of the large window at the beautifully landscaped gardens that surround the rehabilitation centre.
‘What do you think?’ he asks. I drag my eyes back to him from the window and smile.
‘It’s great, as long as you’re happy with it.’
‘I can’t believe you organised this so quickly.’