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“Turns out if you tell the public there’s cash on the table, everyone suddenly remembers something.” I slid Robbie’s plate toward him just as he plunged his whole hand into the gravy. I grimaced as droplets landed down the front of his Captain Feathersword pyjamas.

Nicola huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m sorry, honey. Maybe it just needs time. Not everyone watches the news straight away.”

“Maybe,” I said, though it came out distracted. I picked at my food, turning the peas over with my fork. I shouldn’t have said it, I knew I shouldn’t. But I did. “You…do you think she saw it?”

Nicola stilled, and for a moment, all I could hear was Robbie humming to himself and the scrape of cutlery against plates. “Peter,” she said quietly. And I knew the tone. It was the same one she used when she didn’t want to upset me.

I didn’t think anyone really believed Evie could still be alive. Sometimes I didn’t think I did, either. But what kind of brother would I be if I just let her disappear? Just…let her fade away in my memory? She deserved better than that.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s just…” Nicola exhaled unsteadily, shaking her head. “I want to believe she is still out there too, but then I think about what that means,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “What she would be going through if that were true.” She sniffled and Robbie held up a crumpled napkin toward her. She took it, her expression softening. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

I stared down at my plate, my fork scraping against the ceramic as I pushed around the vegetables. Yeah, I did the same thing. Sometimes I’d have moments where I was alone with myself, and I thought about what she could be going through if she were alive in that moment, and then I make myself sick with the visions that I’d come up with. Because nothing was worse than reality.

After dinner, we shared leftovers from the ice-cream cake we’d had the night before to celebrate Evie’s twenty-fifth birthday—a tradition we still upheld in this household. Then we’d bathed Robbie and put him to bed. Nicola disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the house while I stood at the sink, scrubbing dishes while the TV murmured in the background as the familiar sounds of a wheelie bin coming from the opened kitchen window reminded me that tomorrow was garbage day.

Right.

I dried my hands and headed outside, double-checking the front door was locked before hauling the yellow-lidded bin towards the curb. The lid slammed shut with a hollow crack, louder than it should’ve been in the quiet. I wiped my hands on my slacks to remove the invisible grime before the sound of wheels on gravel caused me to glance up and see the familiar figure of my neighbour, Wayne Gatz, dragging his own bin down his long driveway.

“Evening, Wayne,” I called.

He glances over. “How ya going, mate?”

“Yeah…alright.”

“Watched the telly last night. Good on ya,” he said. “Hopefully we get some good news soon.” He grunted as he pulled the bin to the curb. “Those boys are far too young to lose their lives like that,” he grumbled as I wiped the sweat off my face with the bottom of my shirt, watching as he pulled his bin up beside mine, then stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Seriously,” he said, quieter now. “How’re you really holding up?”

I chuckled without humour as exhaustion crept in. “Her birthday was yesterday.”

Wayne nodded slowly. “I know, son.” His grip tightened briefly before letting go. “She would’ve been what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”

My heart pinched at his use of past tense, even though I did the same thing sometimes. “Twenty-five.”

The pity on his face wasn’t unfamiliar. Wayne had been at the forefront in helping the search parties when Evie was taken. He’d spoken to local news networks and the newspapers, trying to do what he could to help. But after a while, just like everyone else, he’d stepped back and accepted that she was probably gone.

“It’ll get easier mate, I promise. When Sharon died, I thought I’d never get over it, but look at me now. Happy as a pig in shit.” He cackled, the brash sound echoing around the quiet street. I forced a tight smile as we stood there in silence, longer than we should’ve.

Wayne didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t even blink. Something cold slithered down my spine.

“Anyway,” he muttered. “I’ll see you later. Goodnight, mate,” he grumbled as he shook my hand before he turned and headed back up his driveway, boots crunching against gravel. The darkness swallowed him slowly, inch by inch, until there was nothing left.

“Night,” I murmured.

Then it was just me and the crickets. I rubbed my eyes and inhaled deeply before exhaling, a warm shower and a nice, cool bed calling my name. But as I turned to leave, something caught my eye. Wayne’s bin was overfilled, lid barely sitting right.

I hesitated at first. It was nothing. Just rubbish. But something…pulled. I looked back up his driveway before cautiously moving closer to get a better look, and when I did…I froze.

My stomach dropped so fast, it felt like the ground disappeared with it. A deafening ringing pierced my ears, removing all sounds and sensations from around me.

Because crudely cramped in the corner of the overflowing bin…was the familiar empty box of a Woolworths ice-cream cake.

CHAPTER NINE

JACKSON