Chapter 15
“Dahling, this is tragic.”
Maisy held up the plate he’d painted for his mother in grade three. It showed her boggle-eyed and long-haired, surrounded by what were probably meant to be dogs but looked more like demons. Toby felt a pang for the boy who’d wanted to make his mother smile… and the man who’d held onto the keepsake in the hope his mum would want to hold onto it.
“Chuck it,” he said, holding out the plastic trash bag. “I don’t wanna take that to Savers.”
“Oh, you never know, dahling, someone might be performing a satanic rite and think this is just the very thing.” Maisy put the plate into the second-hand store box and picked up a trophy he’d won in some primary school athletics carnival. “They give these for fourth place?”
Toby made himself smile. It was taking a lot of effort these days. “Mais, you don’t have to help me move.”
“But I love packing,” she said, looking genuinely stung. “It’s cleansing, dahling. Regenerative. Now, this has your name on it, so I don’t think it can go to the charity store, but maybe we could take the little plaque off…?”
Toby looked around at all the boxes he’d lugged wholesale from his parents’ miserable house into his oversized beach mansion. He and Maisy had been clearing for hours, and there were still at least a dozen more to open and sort through. “Why the hell didn’t I do this when I first moved in?”
“You weren’t ready. But you are now, aren’t you, dahling?”
Yes, he was. He was devastated, could barely sleep, and felt lonely as fuck, but he was ready to address the bullshit that had been weighing him down for the better part of… forever.
He’d thought money would help him deal with his baggage, but it had only made it easier to ignore. A million rooms to hide his childhood. A million ways to try to get Tabby DaSilva to see him as a man. The truth, reflected in her face as she screamed at him for abandoning her, was that a real man would have been honest. Would have taken a chance on his feelings without a fortune, a house or a luxury car backing him up.
He’d let her down. He’d let himself down. He’d trapped himself in a haunted funhouse that was no fucking fun whatsoever.
He’d thought he needed status and real estate and more sexual experience when all three things had isolated him from a life he’d enjoyed—working with a small team of people he liked, jamming on the guitar with Scott on drums, playing board games with Tabby and whoever else was free at Silver Daughters. He’d swung for the fences when he’d really needed to sit in the stands with his friends and eat hot dogs.
If he’d only stayed that day in Tabby’s bedroom. Told her how he felt or even asked her out for dinner…
But there was no point thinking that way. It had been almost a fortnight since she had stormed out of his house, and aside from one text, Tabby hadn’t responded to his calls or messages. But he still had hope. That one message had given him more than enough to hold onto. It had come the morning after their fight.
I have no fucking clue what to do about anything, but I’m glad you’ll always have my fingerprints on you, Toby Tennant.
Nose burning with tears, he’d tried to call, but Tabby hadn’t picked up.
I had your fingerprints on me way before you gave me a tattoo,he’d written back. You’re the first—my first love, my first sex, my first tattoo. It all starts and ends with you. Please call me, and I’ll make everything right, I promise.
She hadn’t, but that, unfortunately, made sense. The timing of everything with her mother and Nix’s miscarriage was terrible. He prayed she was bunkered down somewhere with her sisters, trying to process what had happened and that she would, in time, reach out again. But he couldn’t let go of the fear that she’d taken the money he’d given her for his tattoo and run. That she was in some other country, alone and wrestling with herself over what had gone down. But he tried not to think like that for too long, or it would drive him insane.
Tabby had said she was just like her mother, but he knew her better than that. She loved more fiercely than anyone he’d ever known, and she might run away when she got scared, but she always came home for the people she loved. His gut told him she would return, and he prayed it was right.
To kill time, he’d chosen to focus on practical things. Namely, turning his world from one of cold opulence into a place where he and Tabby could have a life together. He’d started by taking a sabbatical from work and selling the beachside mansion. He’d already found a buyer, some investor Maisy knew. The guy had purchased the house, furniture and all, with the proviso that Toby be out by March. He’d agreed to be out by the weekend, even if he had to go to a hotel. He couldn’t stand living in a mausoleum of his own pretentiousness anymore. It was too big and too impractical, and he constantly worried about Mopsy hurting herself going downstairs.
“You’ve made a tidy little profit, dahling,” Maisy had said when all the legal stuff was signed and sorted. “What next?”
“Next, I find a house I actually want to live in.”
That had been easy, too. Now that he knew what he wanted, he searched real estate websites and quickly found a three-bedroom, one-story place in Abbotsford that was just his style. It had a bathtub, a garden framed with roses, and a lemon tree in bloom.
“Très rustic,” Maisy declared when he showed her the photos. “Shall we inspect?”
A whirlwind visit, another private sale, and it was his. Now, he and Maisy were picking through the remains of his old life as Mopsy snoozed in her dog bed nearby. Toby checked his watch and saw it was almost noon. “We should break for pizza or something soon.”
“Wine,” Maisy corrected. “Wine and cheese, and then we can take our first trip to the charity store.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Toby stretched his arms over his head. “You want champagne or?—”
His doorbell brrringed downstairs, and Toby jumped a mile, as he had ever since Noah had shown up in the middle of the night.
“Did you already order pizza, dahling?” Maisy said, still picking at the plaque on his fourth-place trophy.
“No.” Moving to the wall panel, he checked the front camera, something he’d also made a habit of doing since Noah barged in. His stomach dropped. Noah was back, and he wasn’t alone. His old boss, Scott Sanderson, was standing beside him. “Fuck.”
“Who is it?” Maisy demanded.
“Noah. Tabby’s brother-in-law. The guy who showed up here a few weeks ago,” he said, his heart pounding. “And Scott, my old boss, is with him. Jesus, why are they here? What the fuck’s happened?”
Maisy tilted her head to the side. “Shall I fetch a weapon, dahling? I could use a broom if push comes to shove?”
Smiling weakly, Toby headed for the stairs. “It’ll be fine. I’ll go see what they want.”
Maisy scooped up Mopsy and followed, her heels clip-clopping on the floor.
“Why don’t you just stay up here?” Toby said, his nerves mounting with every downward step.
“And miss all the fun? We wouldn’t dream of it, dahling. Would we, Mopsy?”
“Hmm,” he said tersely but was glad to have them beside him when he reached the front door. Whatever had brought his old mentor to his house, he doubted it was anything good. Giving Mopsy’s golden head a rub, he opened the door to see Scott and Noah, both wearing jeans, T-shirts and tired expressions.
“Hello there,” Scott said, his smile warm but wary. “Sorry to drop by unexpectedly like this, but it’s somewhat of an emergency.”
Toby hadn’t heard Scott’s calm, upper-class accent in two years. That and his smile were so reassuring that it shocked him. He’d missed Scott, and he’d forgotten just how much.
“I-I… It’s all good,” he stammered. “How… what’s happened?”
Scott stepped forward, arms wide. “Give me a hug first, you muppet.”
Toby hugged him, and to his surprise, Scott squeezed him tight. “Congratulations on your job and your house, Toby,” he said quietly. “I’m very proud of you.”
And maybe he was just exhausted, but Toby almost teared up. “Sorry for not giving you notice and bailing on the band and?—”
“Water under the bridge,” Scott said firmly. With a final squeeze, he stepped back. “Can we come inside and talk?”
Toby glanced at Noah, who looked as hangdog as his scary features would allow.
“I’ll stay here,” Noah rumbled. “I deserve that.”
“Don’t,” Toby said. “Come in. Scott, Noah, this is my friend?—”
“Maisy!” Maisy stepped forward, kissing Scott’s cheek and shaking Noah’s huge, tattooed hand.
“It’s so wonderful to hear another English accent in this entirely too-sunburnt land,” she said to Scott. “Not that I don’t appreciate the way Australians say ‘GARAAAGE,’ but you know what I mean, don’t you, dahling?”
Scott smiled politely. “Agreed. How do you know?—”
“Oh, Toby and I go way back, dahling. Now, we were just about to crack open some bubbles. Would you like to join us? Or would you prefer beer or coffee or something suitably masculine like that?”
She seemed to be addressing Noah, whom she clearly found fascinating. Considering how middle-aged women usually felt about Noah—that he should be in permanent police custody—he seemed bemused by her offer. Toby wasn’t. Maisy’s only real fears were synthetic fibres and dry weddings.
The four of them settled around Toby’s dining table with drinks and a platter of camembert, chicken liver paté, and water crackers. Scott seemed perfectly content to talk to Maisy about finance as Noah engaged him in car chat, wanting to know how much horsepower the Lambo had, how many cylinders, what engine, and what the zero-to-one ratio was. Toby answered as best he could with his mind firmly on Tabby.
Mopsy toddled happily around their feet, trying to procure treats. She soon homed in on Noah, who Toby saw was slipping her whole crackers with paté. The big man appeared to be on somewhat of an apology tour for his home invasion, without actually saying the words. Toby didn’t mind. He’d had nightmares about the look on Noah’s face as he stood, weeping about Nicole’s miscarriage. He wanted to ask how Nicole was doing but couldn’t think of a way to bring it up without stepping on a conversational landmine. Beneath their calm exteriors, Noah and Scott seemed tense to the point of trepidation. Scott kept scratching his neck hard enough to leave marks, and Noah was checking his phone every few minutes. Yet, neither was in a rush to get to why they were actually here. As the cheese vanished and their glasses grew empty, Toby caught Maisy’s eye, willing her to work her social magic and figure this thing out.
“… anyway, we’ll have to return to this delightful conversation later,” Maisy announced. “You’re obviously here for a reason, Scott, and Toby and I still have a lot of packing to do.”
“You’re moving?” Scott asked him with a frown. “You just bought this place.”
“It’s too big for me,” Toby said impatiently. “Look, Scott, please just tell me what’s going on?”
He and Noah exchanged loaded glances.
“Well, the first port of call is apologies,” Scott said, folding his hands on the table.
Toby stared at his old boss. “You want me to?—”
“No,” Scott said firmly. “Noah?”
The ex-biker didn’t turn red, but splotches appeared beneath both of his heavily shadowed eyes. “Sorry for showing up here when I did,” he muttered. “I fucked up.”
Toby looked down at Mopsy, who was licking the back of Noah’s hand for all she was worth. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“You shouldn’t. You were a mate, and I… I didn’t mean to make things with you and Tabby worse. I’m sorry.”
“How is little Tabitha?” Maisy asked. “Toby’s been worried sick about her.”
Scott and Noah exchanged another pointed look, and Toby guessed what they were thinking. “Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Mais,” he said. “She’s family.”
“Thank you, dahling,” Maisy said, re-filling her champagne flute. “But from what I know about your family, we can do better. So where is Tabitha?”
“No idea,” Scott said heavily. “She’s, uh, missing.”
Toby shoved his chair back so fast that Mopsy barked. “What the fuck? Where?”
“We don’t know?—”
“Why didn’t you fucking say something when you first got here?” he shouted. “We need to be looking for her right now!”
He headed for the stairs. He’d get dressed and go find her this instant; he’d call in every favour he had with every rich cunt he’d ever spoken to and get helicopters in the air; he’d rally his podcast listeners, get them to ostrich march their way from the top of Victoria to the bottom and back again to find her?—
“Stop,” Noah barked, a little of the enforcer returning to his tone. “She’s not in trouble as far as we know. She left a note for the girls saying she needed space and was going to the beach for a while.”
“The beach? Where?”
“We don’t know,” Scott said. “She didn’t say, and her phone’s turned off. She left the morning after she returned from what we now assume was a visit to see you.”
Toby felt his face grow hot. Scott had known all about his crush on Tabby, and despite the tension of the moment, it was still a little embarrassing to have his ex-manager knowing that they’d hooked up.
“We didn’t… nothing happened,” he said, flushing harder. “She was really out of it. Not drunk or anything, just strange. Staring like she couldn’t actually see anything.”
“I believe she was in shock,” Scott said quietly. “She, Sam, and Nicole had just given their mother documents requesting that she not contact them again. Deborah eventually signed them, but she said many things in the interim. Things that seem to have left significant scars on all three girls.”
“Mothers,” Maisy sighed into her champagne. “They do that. Did Tabitha pack much before she left?”
“No. She took off around 3 a.m., sneaking out of her bedroom window, and then she got a cab or an Uber. She and Nicole had a… well, they fought earlier, and things were all rather rushed and heated.”
Noah made a low grumbling sound, and Toby sensed there was something they weren’t saying. Something big. He looked across at Maisy, who narrowed her eyes. “What was the fight about?”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss that at this point,” Scott said, pure finance PR.
Toby paced across the room. “Did she book a flight? Is she still in Australia?”
“We think so. Sam found her passport in her room. Although knowing Tabby…”
Toby’s stomach twisted. Yes, knowing Tabby, having a fake passport, or leaving behind a fake passport as a decoy wasn’t out of the question.
“Which is why we’ve come to see you,” Scott said. “Well, one of the reasons. We assume you’re not hiding her under a dresser somewhere?”
“No,” Toby said heavily. “I haven’t seen her since that night.”
“Yes, we thought so. And do you have any idea where she might be?”
“She was talking about… Colombia,” Toby said. “But that was a while back, and if she doesn’t have her passport?”
“I don’t think she’s left the country,” Scott said. “It’s just a feeling, but it wouldn’t be like her to vanish. Obviously, it would in some regards, but not to leave her family in such a state with no intention of returning. No, I think she’s by a beach in Victoria somewhere. New South Wales at the furthest.”
“Right,” Toby said, his head heaving with possibilities. Most of Victoria was bordered by coast. She could be anywhere.
“We found this,” Noah said, showing him a photo on his phone.
It was an image of a yellow notepad covered in doodles. There was a beach umbrella, a black minidress, a loaf of bread, an arrow, two parallel lines, and the word ‘Traralgon’ crossed out beside a pair of handcuffs.
“Sam and Nicole have gone to Traralgon,” Scott said in a hollow voice. “They’ve been there two days but haven’t found anything to suggest she’s there or has been there.”
“Shit.” Toby stared at the picture, willing the doodles to make sense. To tell him what Tabby was thinking.
“So, what’s the plan?” Maisy asked. “Does anyone know how to interpret these scribbles?”
“No,” Noah grunted. “We need to find Edgar and ask him to come home.”
Toby stared at him. He’d forgotten about Tabby’s father, though considering the man had been AWOL the whole time he’d known her, that wasn’t surprising. “Have you already spoken to him?”
Noah made a low, grumbling noise.
“We’re having trouble on that front,” Scott said, with a sidelong look at Noah. “We know he’s in Ubud, but we can’t get hold of him. Either he hasn’t paid his landline bill, or something happened…”
“It’ll be the landline,” Noah muttered. “That’s Ed. Useless with modern tech.”
Toby decided to ignore the ‘referring to a landline as modern tech’ thing. “Ubud? As in Bali?”
“Yes,” Scott said. “As far as we know, he’s still there, but we can’t make contact.”
“Okay, well, at least it’s not too far away. What are you gonna do?”
Again, Scott and Noah looked at one another.
“What?” Toby demanded. “What are you gonna do?”
“They want you to go to Bali, dahling,” Maisy said, sounding amused. “I’d imagine that’s the reason for all the roundabout talk before now.”
“What?” Toby spat. “Scott?”
His old boss flushed to his hairline. “I… yes. Look, we’re in a tight spot, Toby. I can’t get any time off work, and we need Edgar. He and Tabby were close. He might know where she’d go in a crisis, but we can’t reach him, and we need to.”
Toby’s chest went tight. However he’d thought this meeting would pan out, he didn’t think it would involve going on a rescue mission to Bali to recover Tabby’s dad. “What about Noah?”
“I’m not going anywhere near Bali,” the big man muttered.
“Why not, dahling?” Maisy asked with interest. “Did you have a bad seafood experience?”
“No.”
“Then why?” Toby asked, looking Noah right in the eyes. “You’re the one who’s been talking to him this whole time.”
Noah clenched his jaw. “Look, I don’t wanna get into it, but my old man’s over there.”
“Oh,” Toby said, seeing the problem immediately. Noah’s ex-biker dad probably wasn’t someone you wanted to run into at a baggage carousel, even if you weren’t the son who’d left the MC life behind. “Right.”
“Right, what?” Maisy asked. “What’s wrong with your father, Noah, dahling?”
“Everything.”
“Even so, surely you won’t come across him in a city of millions?”
“Well, seeing he said he’d kill me if he ever saw me again, that’s not a risk I wanna take,” Noah said drily. “Probably best I avoid the place.”
“What about Sam?” Toby said before Maisy could ask any gleeful follow-up questions. “Why don’t she and Nicole go to Bali?”
“They are… Not speaking to either of us at present,” Scott said, his gaze firmly on the table.
“Found out I’ve been talking to Ed this whole time,” Noah muttered. “Nikki fucking lost it.”
“And Samantha threatened to unman me,” Scott said mildly. “I only found out a day before she did when Noah spoke to me about it, but as far as both girls are concerned, we’ve been in this together for months.”
Maisy cackled over her wine. “This is all just very fascinating, boys.”
“I’m sure they’ll forgive us in time,” Scott said a little louder than necessary. “At heart, Sam and Nicole know that Noah had no choice but to keep Edgar’s secret. But they’ve already got a lot on their plates, and this was the… final straw, you might say. Noah and I thought you might get the job done a little faster. And time is of the essence.”
“And getting their dad back might you get out of the doghouse?” Maisy asked.
“Yes, perhaps,” Scott admitted. “That would be nice.”
“So, you want me to go to Bali?” Toby pressed. “When? Now?”
“Well…” Scott looked uncomfortable. “I know you’re not… I mean, I don’t know what your level of commitment to Tabby is?—”
“I love her. I love her, and I’ll do whatever it takes. What’s Edgar’s address?”
Scott’s mouth fell open. “Okay, well, we don’t have an address, but?—”
But Toby was already returning to the stairs. “Text me what I need to know,” he told Scott. “I’m gonna pack and head straight for the airport. I can be in Bali tonight. Tomorrow. I don’t know what the time difference is, but I’ll go right now.”
“It’s still morning,” Noah said. “You’ll get there in daylight with the right flight.”
“Then I’ll get the right flight.”
Toby thought of Tabby’s big blue eyes filled with tears. Scott and Noah weren’t the only ones in the doghouse. He’d earned a place there, too, and he’d get out of it by any means necessary. He stopped at the foot of the stairs: “Is there anything else I need to know, guys?”
A loaded silence fell. Scott scratched his neck. Noah checked his phone.
“Guys?” Toby repeated.
Both men shook their heads.
“There’s nothing else,” Scott said.
“All done,” Noah added, reaching for his beer.
Toby didn’t believe them for a second but decided he didn’t have time to figure it out. He had a flight to catch, a father to retrieve and a woman to save and love forever.
“Dahling?” Maisy called as he began climbing the stairs.
Toby winced. He was abandoning her and their packing attempt, and he’d have to ask her to care for Mopsy while he was gone on top of that. He turned, ready to promise whatever it took to stay on her good side, but Maisy spoke first.
“I’m Googling flights,” she said, frantically tapping her phone screen. “I’ll book the first empty seat and take Mopsy back to my place. It’ll be so lovely to have some company.”
Toby was beyond touched. “Maisy, you’re so fucking amazing?—”
“I know, dahling. Just get me some champers through Duty Free, won’t you? Only no Veuve. I can’t stand that stuff.”
“Dom Pérignon,” he promised. “As much as they let me take.”
* * *
Ngurah Rai International Airportand its surrounding streets were cramped with people. The weather was humid and heavy, like a weighted blanket on his head. Toby battled through the traffic and, taking Noah’s advice, rented a scooter from a nearby store. He hadn’t ridden a bike in years, but it was pretty straightforward, especially with a phone holder that let him see Google Maps. He hit the open road after almost two hours of traffic jams and near misses, riding alongside trucks and taxis as they travelled three vehicles to two lanes. When he reached the jewel-bright fields and open jungle, he felt like he could breathe again. He’d taken the first available flight to Bali, and between the smell of microwaved fish and baby screams, it hadn’t been a relaxing time, especially on top of his stress about Tabby. He’d tried to call her from Melbourne Airport, but she hadn’t picked up. He didn’t know how he’d be able to sleep until he knew she was safe.
“Edgar will know,” he told himself as he swerved to avoid another pothole. “Edgar’ll sort everything out.”
He felt like he was going to visit a sage on a mountain—some fictional being humans had only ever whispered about. That obviously wasn’t the case, but still, from everything he’d ever heard about Edgar DaSilva, he was more myth than man.
Upon reaching Ubud, Toby’s stomach sank. The easy part was done. Now, he had to actually find Edgar. There was no address, he didn’t own a mobile phone and the landline had been disconnected as far as he and Scott could make out. Again, on Noah’s advice, he stopped in at the dodgiest pub he could find, a dusty, run-down place with a faded leprechaun on the sign and an American expat behind the bar.
“I’m looking for Edgar DaSilva,” Toby said. “Do you know where he might be living these days?”
The bartender frowned. “Ed? Yeah. The house on the hill. It’s about five minutes from here.”
The house on the hill was small, no more than a couple of rooms, but it was apparent someone artsy lived there. Chisels stood beside half-formed wood carvings of monster fish and several wooden easels on the lawn.
“Please,” Toby muttered. “Please be here. Please.”
He knocked on the front door, but there was no reply. Wanting to swing his fist through the nearest monster fish, Toby turned to head back to his scooter when an older man came around the corner. He was tall, his long grey-brown hair tied back in a ponytail. He was also absolutely covered in tattoos, and when he smiled, Toby saw all three of Edgar DaSilva’s daughters in his face.
“Hello there,” the older man said pleasantly. “What can I do for you today?”
Toby’s heart started beating so hard it hurt. “Hi, sorry for interrupting, but are you…?”
“Edgar DaSilva?” The older man’s smile grew wider. “Yes. And who might you be?”
“Toby Tennant. I’m, uh, here about your daughters…”
“Ah.” Edgar rubbed the daisy chain tattoo on his left wrist. “Yes, it was starting to feel that way. Come inside, Toby. I’ll make some tea.”
The interior of the house was cramped and untidy, but clean. Every possible surface was covered in tubes of paint and canvas, wooden frames and carvings, chisels, and tins full of brushes. Toby sat in one of Edgar’s many chairs and, over an entire kettle’s worth of tea, told the story of Deborah DaSilva’s arrival, Scott and Noah’s visit, Tabby’s disappearance, and Nicole’s miscarriage. Edgar listened intently, his face shifting between sorrow and worry, but Toby sensed an underlying serenity in the man. As though his concern couldn’t touch an inner knowledge that absolutely everything would be fine. He now understood what Tabby, Scott, and everyone else had said about Edgar. He made you feel better. Calmer. Like he was giving you strength of character with every sip of tea and passing word.
“… and so I flew to Bali,” Toby finished. “Because we all—that is Sam and Nicole and Scott and Noah and Tabby—need you to come home.”
“Right,” Edgar slapped his hands on his tattooed knees and stood. “Time to get moving then. Where did I put that suitcase?”
He wandered to his paint-splattered shelves and poked at a few jam jars full of what looked like wood chips. Toby was confused, not just by the fact Edgar seemed to be looking for a suitcase in a jar, but by his complete lack of surprise.
“You… you’ll come back to Melbourne with me?” he asked.
“Of course,” Edgar said.
“For how long?”
Edgar turned, his weather-beaten face full of confusion. “Oh, for good, I’d imagine.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, I’ve been missing home of late. My girls. My old plants. The studio.”
Toby’s head felt like it was melting off. “So… why didn’t you come back?”
Again, Edgar looked puzzled, as though the answer was obvious. “I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“You, as it turns out. Now, where is that…?” He turned and began shifting through piles of loose paintings. Toby knew he should get up and help if only to save valuable time, but he couldn’t let Edgar’s last comment go.
“Sorry,” he said. “Did you know I was coming?”
“Of course not. I haven’t been able to get the phone line reconnected. It’s been a real pain.”
“Then what were you waiting for?”
“Guidance,” Edgar said, lifting a pile of neatly folded T-shirts off an armchair.
“About what?”
“Not about, from,” he said, moving the t-shirts to a different armchair. “The universe always tells you these things if you’re willing to listen.”
Toby must have let his disbelief show on his face because Edgar laughed. “Don’t worry, Toby, you don’t need to believe me. Now, do you want a rest, or should we head straight for the airport?”