‘London.’
‘Big Ben. Madame Tussauds. Covent Garden.’ He laughed. ‘I visited a couple of years back. Damn cold. Pretty, though. Very pretty.’
She picked up her wine and took a drink.
The man’s gaze moved to the journal. ‘Notebook?’
‘Journal.’
‘You’re a writer?’
‘This isn’t mine.’
He angled his head to see it more clearly. She noticed his eyes were positioned unusually close together; it made him look reptilian. ‘Whose is it?’
‘My sister’s.’
‘Getting the dirt on her, are you?’ She smelt alcohol on his breath and realized from the glassy sheen in his eyes that he was drunk. She glanced around, hoping the waiter might be nearby with her dinner.
‘So tell me …’ He made a waving motion with his hand.
‘Katie.’
‘So tell me, Katie. What are you doing with your sister’s journal?’
She flinched at this stranger’s casual reference to Mia’s journal. She wanted to snap it shut and be rid of this overconfident, drunken clown. ‘It’s private.’
‘Bet that’s what she thought when she was writing it!’ He laughed, then picked up his beer and took a gulp; she could see his inner lip squashed against the rim of the glass.
‘I’m sorry. I think you should leave.’
He looked affronted as if he’d thought the conversation had been moving along successfully. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. Seriously.’
His knee bashed the table as he stood, causing it to rock. Katie’s wineglass teetered, but she caught it by the stem just before it fell. She wasn’t quick enough to save the beer. Golden liquid, light with bubbles, spilt over the open journal. Horrified, she grabbed her napkin and blotted it, but the beer was already seeping into the pages, turning the smooth cream sheets dark and ridged. She watched with dismay as the precise, neat writing on the page began to blur.
‘You idiot!’
Two women at the next table turned to look.
The man raised his hands in the air. ‘Easy, lady. I just came over to be nice.’ He pushed back his chair with force. ‘Guess the game’s up,’ he said maliciously, motioning to the soiled journal.
‘Fuck you.’ The swear word felt sharp and delicious on her tongue.
The man strode back to his friends, shaking his head.
She bit down on her lip, desperate to maintain control, but tears were already threatening. Clutching the damaged journal, she scooped up her handbag and coat.
By the time the waiter had set down a dinner for one, Katie was already at the door. She had left behind her home, her job, her fiancé and her friends because of a desperate need to understand what happened to Mia. But as she burst onto the pavement, damp air closing in on her like cold breath, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry, Mia. I don’t think I can do this.
Maui, October Last Year
Finn laced up his hiking boots in the dark, with a foot on the wheel arch of the hire car. He’d set his alarm for 4 a.m. and driven Mia along winding roads and hairpin bends to the highest point in Maui, atop the Haleakala¯ volcano, to watch the sunrise. At an elevation of ten thousand feet it was bitterly cold, although they had been warned that by midday it would become scorching with almost no shade for hikers to rest.
‘How much water have you got?’ Mia asked, her voice still husky from her doze in the car.
‘Enough for us both.’ He zipped up his coat, locked the car, and tightened the straps of his pack.
They struck out by the light from their head torches. He led, wanting to pick out a route with firm footing. Night hiking could be dangerous as changes in the terrain were difficult to judge, but the path proved smooth and descended steadily into the crater basin. Neither of them spoke, the only sound being the loose cinder ash crunching underfoot like snow.
It was still before dawn and the air was dry and chilled; Finn’s cheeks felt as if they’d been stretched taut. He glanced back to check that Mia was close behind and the beam of his torch illuminated her face. She’d fastened her hair into a loose knot and wore a black fleece zipped to the chin. Her expression was set and determined.
‘Okay?’
‘Okay.’
They continued on as the sky bled from black to a deep violet and silhouettes of looming volcanoes and cinder cones began to emerge. Fit and strong, Mia kept a good pace; she’d once told Finn she loved hiking for the simplicity of travelling from one point to another under an open sky. Since arriving on Maui, she had spent many hours walking the beaches alone, and Finn guessed that she used the time to think about her father. They had been on the island a week, but she hadn’t visited him and Finn hadn’t asked why. Mia would go when the time was right.
Over the years he’d become good at deciphering how Mia felt from the small clues she gave him. For instance, if they were in conversation and she looked up at him from the corners of her eyes, chewing slightly on her bottom lip, it was often an indication that she wanted to talk about something important, and he’d need to slow and soften his voice to give her space to do so. He’d become attuned to such signals after thirteen years of friendship – longer than many marriages – yet the signs he couldn’t confidently translate were what she felt for him.
He stopped. ‘Let’s watch from there,’ he said, pointing to a raised area just off the trail where they could view the sunrise. The sky had lightened to a soft indigo and he removed his head torch, threw down his pack and leant against it. Mia sat beside him, drawing her knees towards her chest. She yawned and he saw the slight arch of her back.
From her pack she pulled a thin blanket borrowed from the hostel and draped it around them both. He could smell her shampoo: peach and avocado. Heat spread through his body. He swallowed, closing his eyes. It was dangerous to be feeling like this.
‘Finn,’ she said, her lips close to his ear.
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you – for coming to Maui.’
‘It would’ve been a different story if your dad lived in Kazakhstan,’
