Page 64 of Serenity Falls

‘Well, maybe not all boys,’ I say.

She regards me with a half-smile, as if assessing me. ‘Maybe.’

Brandon stirs slightly in the pushchair and yawns.

‘I should get him settled down for a proper nap.’ She starts to walk up the driveway. For a moment I think it’s a little rude, and then she stops and looks back. ‘Well, are you coming or are you gonna stand there all day crisping in the sun?’

Inside, the house is warm and dark. Most of the blinds are pulled. To keep out the sun, I guess, but it creates a slightly claustrophobic feel. Not helped by the fact that the aircon doesn’t seem to be working very well.

A set of stairs rises in front of me. To my right, through a half-open door, I can hear the low chatter of the TV and see what looks like a den with shabby stuffed sofas. So, Hailey and Brandon don’t live here alone. Maybe they live with her parents? Hailey leads me past the den, down the hall, into a brighter kitchen-diner.

Battered work units are semi-fitted along one side and a large pine table takes up a lot of the space. Sliding glass doors lead out to the yard. Pretty much every work surface is cluttered with pots and pans, magazines, stacks of Tupperware and boxes and tins. The table is covered in the familiar detritus of a young child. Lego, crayons, toy cars, half-scribbled pictures and unidentifiable malformed Play-Doh creations. Time passes so quickly. It feels like yesterday that our table was just like this.

Hailey unbuckles Brandon from the pushchair and scoops him up into her arms. ‘I’m just gonna put him down for a bit. He’s a nightmare if he doesn’t get his afternoon nap.’

‘I know the feeling,’ I say.

‘Open the doors if you like,’ she says. ‘It draws a bit of breeze through. We can sit outside, under the shade.’

‘Won’t it stop the aircon working?’

She laughs. ‘Oh, our aircon isn’t on. We don’t waste the cash unless the mercury busts a hundred.’

‘Right.’

That explains why the house feels so stuffy. I wander over to the glass doors. They’re smeared with dirty fingerprints and traces of food. I twist the key and yank them open.

The yard is big, even at this end of town. I step outside. A sagging canopy overhead provides a little shade. A couple of chairs, a plastic table and a rusty barbecue have been arranged underneath.

Like the front, the lawn here is more dirt than grass and strewn with children’s toys. A mini trampoline, skittles, a few balls of varying sizes. A basketball net hangs on one wall. In the middle of the garden there’s a large rectangular space covered in wire mesh. I take a few steps forward, curious. It takes me a moment to work out that it’s a swimming pool, drained of water.

‘So, you want some lemonade?’ Hailey calls from inside.

‘Yeah, that would be great,’ I say.

Moments later she steps outside carrying a tray with two glasses of cloudy lemonade and a plate piled with cookies.

‘Lemonade is home-made. Cookies are out of a packet.’

She sets the drinks and cookies down and we take a plastic chair each. I take a sip of the lemonade. It’s ice-cold, zingy and delicious.

‘Wow. This is fantastic.’

‘Well, least I can do for the man who tried to save my son’s life.’ She winks, and I flush.

‘Well, trying to rescue a hat isn’t quite so heroic.’

‘But I appreciate it just the same.’

I nod in acquiescence. ‘Then you’re welcome.’

We both sip our lemonade for a moment.

‘I guess you think I’m a terrible mother,’ Hailey says.

I stare at her. ‘What? No!’

‘Letting my son wander off near a lake.’