should get a good night’s sleep,’ he said.
‘Yes, but there are things we need to discuss.’ He’d like Kleppy when he saw him, she decided. Kleppy of the limpid eyes, wide and brown and innocent.
She should change his name. To Rover? Rover was a Philipish name for a dog.
But Kleppy suited him.
‘What do we need to discuss?’ he was asking.
Say it.
No. Introduce him to Kleppy as a done deal.
‘Just … caterers and things. I don’t want to make too many decisions on my own.’
He smiled and kissed her and she had to stop herself from thinking dry and dusty. ‘You need to have more self-confidence. Make your own decisions. You’re a big girl now.’
‘I … yes.’
‘Anything you decide is fine by me.’
‘But you will drop by?’
‘I’ll drop by. Night, sweetheart.’ And off he went for his night with the boys. His dad and his uncles. Bowling. Yeeha!
And that was the type of thinking that was getting her into trouble, she decided. So cut it out.
Philip was a lovely man. He was handsome. He was beautifully groomed. They’d had a very nice holiday last year—they’d gone to Italy and Philip had had four suits made there. They were lovely suits. He’d also had two briefcases made—matching ones, magnificent leather, discreetly initialled and fitted out to Philip’s specifications. She’d only been mildly irritated when he’d decreed—for the sake of the briefcases—her surname would be his.
What was the issue, after all? She was to be his wife.
But buying suits and briefcases had taken almost half of their holiday.
Cut it out!
It was just … Raff had unsettled her. This whole day had unsettled her.
‘So go home and organise your house for one small dog, then go organise caterers,’ she told herself. ‘Oh, and pay for Kleppy’s stolen goods. Just do what has to be done, one step at a time.’
And then go out to Raff’s?
Aargh.
She could do this.
She could visit Rafferty Finn.
She could do it. One step at a time.
The rest of the afternoon was full, but Abby and her dog were front and centre of his thoughts. He shouldn’t have offered to bring Kleppy home. Not this afternoon. Not ever.
He didn’t want her coming here.
After dinner, Raff washed and Sarah wiped, while Sarah told him about her day, the highlight of which had been minding Kleppy.
‘He’s a sweetheart,’ his sister told him, her face softening at the thought of the little dog. ‘He’s so cuddly. Why does he love his bra?’
‘He’s a thief. He likes stealing things. He’s a bad dog.’ He found himself smiling at the thought of strait-laced Abigail Callahan having to front up and pay for stolen goods.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to keep thinking of Abby. Not like this.
She was Philip’s fiancée. Anything between them was a distant memory. It had to be.
But Sarah was looking doubtful. She looked down at Kleppy, snoozing by the fire, his bra tucked underneath him. ‘He doesn’t look bad. He’s really cute and Abby’s very busy. Are you sure Abby wants him?’
Raff hardened his heart. ‘I’m sure.’
‘And Abby’s coming tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Abby’s my friend.’
She was. The tension of the day lessened a little at that. No matter what lay between Raff and Abby, no matter how much she hated seeing him, Abby had always been Sarah’s friend.
They’d all been best friends at the time of the accident. Ben and Raff. Abby and Sarah. Two big brothers, two little sisters. Philip had been in there, too. A gang of five.
But one car crash and friendship had been blown to bits.
In the months that followed, no matter that Abby had loathed Raff so much that seeing him made her cry, she’d stuck by Sarah. She’d visited her in Sydney, despite her parents’ disapproval, taking the train week after week to Sydney Central Hospital and then later to the rehabilitation unit on North Shore.
Back home, Sarah’s friends had fallen away. Acquired brain injury was a hard thing for friends to handle. Sarah was still
Sarah, and yet not. She’d struggled with everything—relearning speaking, walking, the simplest of survival skills.
They’d come so far. She could now almost live independently—almost, but not quite. She had her animals and their little farm Raff kept for her. She worked in the local sheltered workshop three days a week, and twice a week Abby met her after work for drinks.
Drinks being milkshakes. Two friends, catching up on their news.
Raff would pick Sarah up and she’d be happy, bubbly about going out with her friend—but Abby would always have slipped away from the café just before Raff was due. Since the accident, Abby had never come back to their farm. She’d never talked to Raff unless she absolutely must, but she’d never taken that anger out on Sarah.
‘I’m glad Abby’s coming tonight,’ Sarah said simply. ‘And I’m glad she’s getting a dog. Abby’s lonely.’
Lonely? Sarah rarely had insights. This one was startling. ‘No, she’s not. She’s getting married to Philip.’
‘I don’t like Philip,’ Sarah said.
That was unusual, too. Sarah liked everyone. When Philip met her—as of course he did because this wasn’t a big town—he was unfailingly friendly. But still … In the times when Raff had been with her and they’d met Philip, Sarah’s hand had crept to his and she’d clung.
Was that from memories of the accident?
The accident. Don’t go there.
‘There’s nothing wrong with Philip,’ he told Sarah.
‘I want Abby to come,’ Sarah said, wiping her last pot with a fierceness unusual for her. ‘But I don’t want Philip. He makes me scared.’
Scared?
‘The man’s boring,’ Raff said. ‘There’s nothing to be scared about.’
‘I just
