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I glance to the match timer in the far corner. We’ve been playing for almost an hour and my strapped knee feels tight, but not painful, which is a welcome relief. I won’t mind losing if I know I’ve played my best and put on a good show, but having to retire due to injury would be heartbreaking.
‘Time,’ the umpire says beside me. ‘Madani.’
The umpire directs us back onto the court. As hard as it is, I push Noah from my mind. There’s no use being distracted. I have a grand slam to win.
33
Noah
It’s just after six when I finally leave the Rosewood, dashing the few blocks home to change. Thanks to a stumbling tradie who spilt half his schooner down my back, I stink of apple cider and sweat. He had the audacity to ask for a free refill, too.
I grab my phone from my satchel as I half walk, half jog, and am immediately flooded by messages from Gabriel.
Where are you? Ineed you here.
Please get back to me.
Are you on the train?
I only live fifteen fucking minutes from the Rosewood, and yet, it feels like I catch every bad traffic light and get stuck behind every slow Sunday-afternoon walker on my way home.
Quick as anything, I duck down the alley and dash through the narrow backstreets, avoiding milk crates and narrowly slipping past a delivery truck that goes into reverse just as I dart behind it. It brakes hard and someone swears at me, but I don’t care. I keep running.
I’m at the end of our block and making good time when I notice something on the road. Something golden.
The golden thing bounds closer and, horrifyingly, I realise it’s Sadie. I swallow down my dread as I call her to me, my voice high and saccharine so I don’t scare her. When she gets close enough, I loop my arms around her neck and hold on to her collar.
‘You okay, girl?’ I rub my hands over her face. She seems fine. Maybe she just got out. She’s lucky I was here when I was. Hell,Iwas lucky I was here when I was. Margie’s street isn’t that busy, but if Sadie had got to the end of the block, she could very easily have run onto the tramline.
I walk her back to Margie’s place, hunching over to keep a hand on her collar, and realise the front door’s wide open.
There’s no one else around. The street is quiet. Perhaps Margie’s just left it open and didn’t realise? She could be engrossed in a book or a podcast or thinking about how many papers she still needs to mark, and it’s just slipped her mind. Just this once.
I lead Sadie into the yard and close the front gate. Down the road, a tram rattles past.
‘Margie?’ I call into the house, dropping my keys on the hall table.
Sadie hangs back by the fence.
That makes me stop in the threshold. Sadie always pushes past me to get in the door first.
‘Sades?’ I call, patting my leg. ‘Come here.’
She doesn’t move. Fear—cold, sickly fear—runs down my spine. I don’t know what to do. There’s something stopping me from going into the house, but I also can’t turn away. My phone is a heavy weight in my pocket. I should take it out. I should call someone. Anyone.
‘Margie?’ I manage again.
Heavy footfalls echo down the hallway. I feel the vibration through the floorboards before I see him.
The first thing I think when I see my dad is that he’s shorter than I remember. If we were standing side by side right now, I’d be a bit taller. He’s always been such a huge, terrifying presence in my life that I’d always pictured him physically bigger. Wider. Stronger.
His beard is long and wiry with wisps of grey hair. There are dark circles under his eyes and a bruise on his cheekbone, and his nose is crooked from when he broke it after a bar fight one night.
‘Come in.’ Dad’s voice is deep. Raspy. ‘Close the door. Sit down.’
I turn to Sadie and call her in. She hesitates, pawing the ground.
‘Now, Noah,’ he thunders. That’s the voice I remember and the trauma sparks, burning in its intensity. Immediately, I’m back there. Back in that house. Back under his thumb, terrified of defying him.
