13
The ON AIR light flared red.
‘That was ‘Greedy’ by Tate McRae,’ Blake said into the mic, wrapping her fingers around her coffee. ‘You’re waking up with Melbourne’s number-one breakfast show, Mack and Blake in the Morning.’
‘And if you were listening Friday,’ Mack added, ‘you’ll know things got…spicy.’
Sam hit play on the edited audio grab.
His name is Leo. And I want to find him.
Then Mack’s voice: She’s launching a manhunt, people. A hot one. Vintage 2013. White tee, mystery vibe, possibly imaginary.
The audio grab ended.
Blake tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, anchoring herself. She suddenly felt too exposed, like the whole city was pressed against the glass, watching her.
‘Thanks for that, Sam. Nothing like hearing yourself commit to a deeply personal quest on air. Again.’
‘It’s been three days and messages to our DMs and inboxes haven’t stopped,’ Mack said. ‘Eurofest sightings, half-memories, one guy who insists Leo’s his neighbour in Byron.’
‘And let’s not forget the woman who claimed she made out with him in a karaoke bar in Krakow,’ Blake added, forcing a thin smile.
Mack leaned closer. ‘And now…we get serious.’
Blake straightened, her stomach fluttering with something between anticipation and dread.
‘On Friday morning,’ she said, keeping her voice level, ‘we got a call from Victoria Police, offering to help. And today, we’re joined live in the studio by someone who might actually put a face to the name of my mystery man. Please welcome Senior Sketch Artist James Foster from Victoria Police.’
‘Morning,’ James said, settling into the guest chair. ‘Thanks for having me.’
Blake turned in her chair, twirling the headphone cord between her fingers. The sketch artist was waiting, pencil ready. Thirteen years of memories about to be reduced to lines on paper.
‘All right, James,’ Blake said, clearing her throat.
‘I’ll do my best. He was about twenty-five.
Tall, really tall. Six-four maybe? Strong jaw, but not heavy.
Thick brows. Dark, bold. They made him look intense, but there was softness underneath.
His skin had this warmth to it, olive tones.
Mediterranean maybe, or just blessed with colour. ’
James nodded, pencil already moving. ‘Shape of the nose?’
‘Straight,’ Blake said, the image crystallising. ‘Maybe…no, definitely straight. Long-ish. He had a side profile you’d trust in a crisis. But his smile…’ She hesitated, wondering if she was revealing too much. ‘It was crooked. Pulled up more on the left. And he had one dimple.’
She tapped her coffee cup unconsciously. ‘Just one.’
The memories hit her: that teasing grin across the table at Heartstring, the devilish smile after he sucked the chocolate from her mouth off his thumb, the full-blown smile that broke across his face when they finally broke apart at the footy after the most intense kiss of her life.
James continued sketching. ‘Hair?’
‘Dark. A rich deep brown. Thick but soft. Parted…I think to one side? Think early Henry Cavill, before the Hollywood polish. And always clean-shaven in the morning, but by evening he’d have a shadow coming through.’
Mack leaned closer, smirking. ‘Oh, we’re going prestige.’
‘He wasn’t bubblegum,’ Blake said, defensive. ‘He looked timeless.’
‘What about his mouth?’ James prompted.
‘Full lips. Wide mouth. Really defined cupid’s bow.’
James asked, ‘Body shape?’
Blake hesitated longer this time. This felt too intimate, too revealing of how closely she’d studied him.
‘Broad shoulders. Athletic, but not bulky. Long limbs. Narrow waist. Strong legs, the kind that say he…stays active.’
She paused, reaching for her water bottle. The memory of his walk surfaced unbidden: through the crowd at the pub, down her hallway, every step deliberate and aware.
‘Eyes?’ James prompted.
‘Dark brown, almost black,’ Blake said.
Sam caught her eye and tapped his screen. They were three minutes into the break. Time to wrap up.
Mack took over. ‘All right, Melbourne. James is gonna work his magic. If you think you know this man, or remember that wild Eurofest week, text or call fourteen-sixteen-twelve.’
Blake added, trying to steady herself, ‘Coming up, we’re taking your wildest leads. And if what I just described sounds familiar, let us know. Every clue matters.’
‘And first,’ Mack said, flashing a grin, ‘here’s Sabrina Carpenter.’
Sam cued ‘Espresso’. The ON AIR light dimmed.
The studio buzzed under the music. The air conditioning kicked up, rustling papers.
Behind the glass, Britt threw two thumbs up, grinning widely, ready to post the sketch the moment it was ready. Chelsea was also there, frantically adding some of the descriptors to the whiteboard. There were two new street teamers from promo ready on the phones.
The song faded. The ON AIR light lit up again.
‘That was “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter,’ Mack said. ‘And this might be the strangest Monday we’ve ever had.’
Blake leaned forward, grounding herself in the familiar ritual of live radio.
‘Victoria Police sketch artist James Foster has just wrapped the sketch of the man I met at Eurofest in 2013. Thirteen years later, we have a face.’
‘And,’ Mack added, ‘for all our Nancy Drews, Sherlocks, and desperate housewives playing detective at home, the sketch is yours to see. Britt our resident Gen Zer will upload across platforms the moment Blake says we’ve got ’im.’
James rotated the sketchpad towards them.
It wasn’t perfect. How could it be? But it was close enough to make her chest ache.
The slant of the brow.
That wide mouth with the crooked smile.
That left-side dimple.
‘Maybe the jaw a touch sharper,’ she managed, ‘but otherwise…that’s him.’
The sketch made everything real. Morgan’s father had a face now. Blake gripped the edge of the desk, steadying herself.
Mack leaned towards the studio camera.
‘Melbourne, that sketch is live on our socials as of…now.’ He winked at Britt through the glass.
‘If you recognise him,’ Blake added, finding her radio voice again, ‘or if you remember being there that week, text or call us now. We want every lead, no matter how wild.’
Mack pointed at the board. ‘Phones are lighting up already.’
Sam held up two fingers and pointed at the phone board. Line two.
Mack hit the live fader.
‘G’day, Declan from Yarraville. What have you got for us?’
‘Hey, loving this mystery, Blake. Best radio in years. I think I saw someone like that at Meredith Music Festival in 2016. Late afternoon. Up on the hill during the nude run. If you know, you know.’
Blake laughed, grateful for the levity. ‘Thanks for the tip, Declan. A 2016 sighting would be amazing…but Leo was very formal. He wasn’t even dressed for Eurofest, let alone Meredith. I can’t imagine him running nude.’
Mack gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘I can. And I’ll never recover.’
‘And just a heads-up,’ Blake added, ‘our producer Chelsea is very excited to go through nude-run photos. Just in case.’
Sam threw to the next caller.
‘Line three, Asha from Glen Iris.’
‘Hey Blake, hi Mack, it’s Asha,’ came a bright but certain voice.
‘I’m pretty positive I dated him. Around the same time too, maybe 2014?
Blake, are you sure this guy’s some European rock star?
Because I’m pretty sure the guy I dated was from Colac.
His name was Zach. But I swear, it looks exactly like him. ’
Mack gave a low whistle. ‘Well, that’s a twist.’
Blake’s stomach dropped. Another flicker of doubt crept in, unwelcome but insistent.
She’d been so certain. But what if she’d been wrong all this time?
The VIP section at Eurofest wasn’t exactly open access.
And the accent, she hadn’t recognised it specifically at the time, but she hadn’t travelled much.
Still, she’d spent a whole week with him.
She would’ve noticed if he was faking it… wouldn’t she?
She pushed the doubt down, keeping her voice light.
‘Thanks, Asha. We’re casting the net wide.’
Sam cued another caller without hesitation.
‘Line four, Rob from Bentleigh.’
‘My wife reckons the sketch looks like me if you squint real hard,’ Rob said cheerfully. ‘Midlife-crisis hair and all.’
Blake laughed.
‘Tell her she’s got excellent taste.’
‘If Rob turns out to be Leo,’ Mack said solemnly, ‘I’m throwing my mic into the Yarra.’
Sam tapped a message onto the producer screen. Chelsea had passed a note. Caller remembers Blake giving her tickets at a Pies game.
Mack leaned towards Blake, amused.
‘Hey Blake, looks like someone reckons they saw you at a Pies game. Shouldn’t be too hard to remember. You two were probably the only ones there with a full set of teeth.’
Blake snorted into her coffee, shaking her head as Sam put the caller through.
‘You’re live. Who have we got?’
‘Hey, it’s Tash from Brunswick,’ came a nervous voice.
‘You were outside the MCG,’ Tash said. ‘Handing out tickets. You gave my girlfriend and me two of the best seats. You were with a guy. Tall, dark hair, totally out of place in a footy scarf.’
Blake’s throat constricted.
‘That’s him. That’s Leo.’
Mack leaned forward, grinning. ‘Melbourne, we’ve got a live one.’
‘I actually remember you guys,’ Blake said, the memory surfacing vivid and whole. ‘Tash…and Mel?’
There was a pause.
‘I remember you both so clearly,’ Tash said, her voice warming. ‘I remember thinking, the way he looked at you. It was the way I used to look at Mel.’
Mack jumped in, teasing. ‘So we can assume you and Mel are still together?’
There was a beat. A breath caught in the middle of saying yes.
‘No,’ Tash said. ‘We broke up not long after that.’
Blake leaned closer, voice gentler. ‘I’m sorry.’
Tash gave a small, unconvincing laugh. ‘It’s okay. She wanted to travel. Backpack Europe, chase everything while we were still young enough. I didn’t want to hold her back. I didn’t want her to resent me for tying her down.’
Blake blinked hard, willing the lump in her throat down.