Chapter 1
Sagging against the counter, she assessed the surrounding shelves.
Were the summer shirts folded crisply, Japanese style, and sorted by size?
The new shipment of ties unpacked? Satisfied everything was in order, she heaved a sigh and checked her mental clock, which she imagined as being like the lap clock on the wall above the Colville swimming pool, its red hand sweeping inexorably towards the zero at the top, counting down to one chore, then the next, on and on into infinity.
From the moment Katrina woke until the moment she went to bed, that red hand never stopped moving, propelling her from task to task.
And according to the clock, she had a few minutes to fix herself before her next job began.
First, she straightened the Breton top she wore over a white button-down, each sleeve neatly rolled.
Then, using her phone camera as a mirror, she reapplied her lipstick, fixed her mascara, combed her brows and checked her highlights.
She worked hard to keep herself in order, and the older she got, the more effort it took.
In fact, she worked hard to keep her whole life in order.
Take her phone, for instance, which was stuffed with messages about the uniform shop, the upcoming Centenary Gala, tonight’s dinner party, the meal train she was organising for the lovely Colville dad who was going through chemotherapy, the secondhand blazers Nicola wanted put aside for her daughters, and the difficult dachshund that Gabby was asking Katrina to mind in the holidays.
Katrina would eventually answer every call for help, but right now, she was too tired.
Pressing her palms against her eye sockets – gingerly, so as not to ruin her make-up – she allowed herself a small rest.
A minute later, she was roused by the school bell. But as she reached for her handbag, she stopped. With a sickening jolt, she realised her finger was bare. Where was her two-carat diamond engagement ring?
A roar filled her ears. Craig would notice right away if she wasn’t wearing her ring.
He’d accuse her of being careless, of being too busy gossiping with the customers.
Years ago, he’d fondly dubbed her ‘Chatty Katty’ for her ability to make friends with anyone – Uber drivers, hedge-fund managers, small children, even dogs – but now he used that nickname with a slight sneer.
In Craig’s opinion, Katrina spent too much time at Colville.
Too much time working for free in the uniform shop, too much time driving Justin to after-school activities and weekend sport, and far too much time with Colville people, like the poor school secretary, who had just lost her mother, and the new English teacher who was having terrible trouble getting his toddler to sleep.
But Katrina would never forget how supportive Colville had been to her when she’d first arrived in Year 8, after years of school-hopping and false starts.
Her mother’s social-climbing quest for a better life had encompassed so many houses, schools, men .
. . but finally, thanks to Colville Grammar and the rock-solid, well-heeled stepfather who’d paid her fees, she had found a safe harbour.
And after enrolling her sons there, Katrina had been determined to give back to the school all the wonderful things it had given her.
Craig, meanwhile, would have preferred his wife to spend more time cleaning the air-conditioning filters and planning budget meals.
He was always sending her Instagram accounts depicting large, thrifty families who spent a mere $50 a week on groceries.
Those thrifty families ate tinned chickpeas every night, something that would never work for the Webbs because Craig preferred sirloin steak to legumes.
And yes, Katrina did like a chat, but she’d never been distracted enough to lose her ring.
A flutter started in her throat. Stop panicking, she told herself. She was a wife. Wives always found things.
She’d been wearing the ring when she had politely but firmly separated those Year 11 mothers who’d been tearing out each other’s hair extensions to get at the last $60 secondhand blazer.
She’d also been wearing it as she folded the size 12 knits, because she’d snagged the diamond on a sleeve.
And she’d definitely been wearing it as she talked to the Year 7 mother in the flouncy floral frock, who’d admired everything in sight – Katrina’s ring, Katrina’s highlights, the school uniform, the grounds, the teachers, the students.
‘Colville has such a wonderful community,’ Flouncy Floral Mum had said. Katrina heard that line a lot. Translated, it meant: rich North Shore families send their children to Colville.
‘It is wonderful.’ Katrina always wanted new parents to understand that a Colville education was not about wealth and status. ‘They’re a nice bunch of kids who have each other’s backs. My youngest is in Year 9, and I came here, too. So did my stepfather. I still have great friends from Colville.’
She knew she’d been wearing her ring then, because the woman had kept glancing at it. Calculating the carats, probably.
Katrina scanned the room, pulse racing. Her gaze caught on a pile of lumpy plastic bags.
They were full of old winter uniforms, dumped by outgoing Year 12s who, in early October, couldn’t get rid of them fast enough.
Katrina had hastily sorted them so they could be sold; she remembered digging around in pockets, pulling out the usual crusty tissues, food wrappers and empty vape cartridges.
In one blazer she’d even found a used condom (ugh), which was a new low. Her ring must be in one of those bags.
She pounced on the first, tipping its contents onto the floor. The smell of old sweat billowed up into her nostrils but she ignored it, scrabbling around, grabbing, shaking, tossing. It had to be here.
Nothing.
She was kneeling on the linoleum, emptying the second bag, when a skinny, towering teenager shuffled into the uniform shop. He looked at her with mournful eyes as she flashed a smile at him.
‘Hard day, Jus?’ She resisted the urge to jump up and rub his back.
(Rule number one: no snuggles at school.) God, she loved him, her serious, clever, intense boy.
He and Hamish were the greatest achievements of her life.
And Justin had gotten so tall over the past year.
It made her proud, but sadder than she’d expected.
‘What are you doing?’ He surveyed the mess at his feet, dumbfounded. ‘We need to go or I’ll be late for chess.’
Disaster! But there was no help for it. If Katrina didn’t find that ring, Craig would add it to her long list of failures. He often got worked up about money, even though he had a high-paid job and a comfortable family background.
‘Just give me one second . . .’ Katrina rifled expertly through pockets and unravelling hems, conscious of Justin’s impatience.
‘Mum—’
‘I know, I know. Can you empty that bag? The big one?’
He did, but he was as slow as a wet week.
Then Katrina’s fingertip scraped on something in a pocket. Praying it wasn’t an old baby tooth, she pulled it out.
Her diamond ring sparkled between her thumb and forefinger. Relief gushed through her.
‘You lost your ring?’ Justin shot her a look, as if to say, Dad would have freaked out.
Katrina nodded, then laughed, elated. Reaching for the hand sanitiser, she pumped it all over everything – her hands, the ring, Justin’s hands – then slipped the ring back on, ruefully studying the chaos around her as she picked up her handbag.
‘Mum—’
‘I’m sorry, we’re going.’ If she and Pauline came in early tomorrow, the place would be tidy before they opened.
Otherwise, she’d get a cranky email from the principal, Dr Mayhew, who was a stickler for everything being done correctly and came down hard when it wasn’t.
It should be tidy, providing Pauline showed up.
She hadn’t shown up today. And if she didn’t come tonight, Katrina had just wasted $100 on the ingredients for Tunisian prawns, which were dairy free, nut free, egg free and the only dinner party–worthy recipe she could find that wouldn’t make Pauline Cowper break out in hives.
Katrina flicked off the lights and yanked the door shut.
With Justin trailing her, she hurried across the lush school grounds and through the throng of students and teachers and parents, trying to make up for lost time.
They passed the chapel, the jacaranda tree in the quad, the refurbished pool, the enormous gym and the stately, turreted admin block (once the Colville family mansion), heading for the car park.
‘Hello, Dr Mayhew!’ She waved at the principal as he approached her, untidy and silver haired.
She didn’t feel up to being grilled about the uniform shop, especially when she’d left it in a state.
‘I’ve had a word with the staff committee about those honour boards for the gala and I’m sure we’ll work something out. Can’t stop – chess club!’
Next, she spotted a tousled woman in black gym gear with two teenage girls beside her. ‘Nicola, see you tonight. Kick off at seven!’
Nicola raised her eyebrows and pretended to chug a glass of wine, then called, ‘Did you put aside those blazers for the girls?’
Katrina nodded. As she and Justin wove around obstacles in the car park, someone honked. It was the school secretary in her red Kia.
‘Hey, Mum, who’s going to pick me up today?’ Justin asked.
‘Your dad. We’ve got the Centenary Gala Parents Committee coming for dinner and I need to cook this nightmare of a recipe so Pauline doesn’t end up in hospital.’
They had reached their black four-wheel drive.
‘But Dad always plays eighties rock in the car and it’s complete garb—’
Katrina’s ringtone tootled. ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ Sliding into her seat, she tapped her earbud to take the call. It was Pauline, finally; her voice trickled out of the phone, tired and cracked.