‘I owe you one right now, Jude, but I’m not going to that dump again. I’m too old for sticky floors and loud, angry bands. I want somewhere with soft lighting and delicious things to eat and a cocktail menu at least six pages long.’
Katy was waiting when Judith got there. She’d taken a corner booth, and her head was bent over her phone. This was out of character. Katy was a talker, a social butterfly. She was always excited to meet a stranger, loved a big group, and could find common ground with almost anyone. Judith had seen her talk parking rangers into ripping up tickets and convince sales assistants to take late returns. Katy managed to do that kind of thing, not because she was some kind of manipulative genius, but because she genuinely liked people, and they felt it.
‘Hello, Kat,’ Judith said. She leaned in to hug her friend. ‘What are you doing tucked away in the corner?’
‘Oh god. Nico has an assignment due tomorrow. Digitech. He was supposed to take photos of our browser and hub and other stuff, and do a PowerPoint presentation but of course he left it to the last minute, so he keeps texting me and asking me where everything is.’
‘Can’t Ollie help him?’ Nico was Katy’s twelve-year-old son. Ollie—Oliver—was Katy’s husband. He was a defence lawyer.
‘He’s working. Bianca’s at home, but she’s not much help.’ Katy reached up and hugged Judith back. ‘But that’s enough of that. He’ll figure it out. I had a wine while I was waiting, but why don’t you grab the menu and we’ll order something more interesting?’
Judith retreated to the bar and retrieved a couple of menus. She handed one to Katy, then settled in, knowing that the process of ordering would probably take a while. Katy did not like to be rushed. She’d always been like that, even when they were little kids together in primary school, when all she’d had to choose from was the content of her own lunchbox.
‘I’m getting the Espresso Zabaione,’ Katy said, after five or six minutes had passed. ‘Why don’t you get the Yuzu Mule? You’ll like that, and that way I can taste it.’
‘Sure.’
Katy nodded. ‘And let’s get the Everything Board charcuterie, and a little cheesecake to share.’
‘Sounds good.’ Judith went to place the order. She brought back a packet of chips.
‘Oh, good call,’ Katy said. ‘We can have these while we’re waiting.’ She ripped the bag along the side and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘So. What’s new with you? Any man on the scene? What happened with Geoff? Was it Geoff? John? I can’t remember.’
‘It was Jacob, probably. And I’m pretty sure that’s done.’
Katy gave Judith one of her level gazes. ‘When are you going to settle down? Are you going to freeze your eggs? If you’re thinking about it, you know you’ll have to do it this year. It’s probably already too late.’
Judith laughed. ‘Yeah. Last time we met you told me to never ever have kids and to run a mile from any man who makes me feel clucky.’
Katy made a face. ‘I was probably right. Kids are a nightmare. I mean. Gorgeous. Lovely. Centre of my life, but a nightmare. Bianca wants to go to uni in Sydney. Did I tell you that? I told her she must have confused her parents with people who have money, and she told me she can just borrow to pay for it.’
‘Bianca will be fine. She’s razor sharp.’
‘She’s not razor sharp if she’s going to borrow tens of thousands when there are perfectly good universities here in Melbourne.’
‘She just doesn’t want to live at home.’
‘She’d better get used to the idea.’
The barman brought over their cocktails, served them with a flourish, and retreated, disappointed by their not-so-impressed reactions. Judith considered telling Katy about Linda and the proposed anniversary mass for Gerry, but she decided against it. She didn’t have the energy to turn the insanity into a funny story, and if she couldn’t make light of it, what was the point of getting into it at all? Katy knew all about Linda and the fantasy land she lived in. She’d heard a version of the story a hundred times.
‘Cheers.’ Katy raised her glass and clinked it off Judith’s. She took a sip of her cocktail. ‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
Judith took a sip of her Yuzu Mule. It was a little sharp.
‘So,’ Katy said. ‘About your favour. You know I’ll have to log the request under CISS. I’ll need to put in a LEAP case number at some point.’
‘That’s fine,’ Judith said. ‘No problem.’
‘If it’s no problem, then why are you bribing me with cocktails instead of sending the request in through usual channels?’
Judith raised an eyebrow. ‘If you think I’m paying for the next round, on my salary...’
Katy didn’t laugh. Her brown eyes were locked on Judith’s. Katy was a case manager with the Department of Families, Fairness and Housing, which was horribly underfunded, and had been horribly underfunded for her entire career. CISS was the Child Information Sharing Scheme, a system that allowed authorised organisations to share information to support child wellbeing or safety. By the usual channels, Katy was referring to the process Judith would usually have to follow if she wanted to get access to information about children in care—a formal written request with her police ID number, a LEAP case number, signed off by her superior officer and sent to join a queue of similar requests that would take a minimum of a few days to process, and sometimes as long as a few weeks.
‘I just don’t want to wait,’ Judith confessed. ‘The usual way takes too long. This feels more urgent than that. That’s all I can tell you.’
Katy nodded. She took out her phone and opened her notes app. She took another sip of her drink. ‘Okay, so you wanted to know about the Giffords.’
