door was open and Mary Kate was gone. “I guess she stepped out for a minute. I suggested earlier that she take a walk down to the creek. She probably decided to do it before you rang the doorbell.”
“Of course.” Cole studied Jane’s averted face. Why did he have the feeling she was hiding something? Why would Mary Kate go out and leave a pot bubbling away on the stove? Unless she didn’t want to see him? He didn’t like to think Jane would try to turn his daughter against him and yet…where was the girl? “Did she know I was coming?”
“Yes.” Jane moved past him toward the staircase that rose from the junction of the lounge room and the study. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon. Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
Cole climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor. The worn carpet, the light falling across the banister from the window at the end of the hall, flashed him back to a winter afternoon thirteen years ago. Esther had gone to Melbourne to pick up supplies for her glazes. Jane and Cole had been out riding and had come home wet and muddy. Jane had run upstairs to change.
She was waiting for him now, at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed over her stomach. Their eyes met and hers skittered away, as if she knew the direction his thoughts had taken. Cole pushed his memories to the back of his mind where they belonged.
“This is the main bedroom, as you know.” She opened the door on a room crammed with more of Esther’s bric-a-brac. Jane’s suitcase sat atop a cedar chest at the foot of the bed and spilled clothes onto a dark red coverlet. Hastily she stuffed bras and panties inside the case and shut the lid.
Cole left the bedroom after a brief inspection and headed next door to the bathroom. “How’s the plumbing holding up?” As if on cue, the hot-water pipe started knocking.
“It’s a bit dodgy,” Jane admitted. “There’s an ominous gurgle when you flush the toilet as if it’s deciding whether to go down or up.” She paused. “Do you have to mention all this to prospective buyers?”
Cole didn’t answer right away; he was looking around. The avocado-green sink, toilet and bathtub, as well as the pink curtains and bath mat, had never been updated. Cole remembered peering into that speckled mirror to see if his amazing experience with Jane had changed him visibly. The wonder had been there in his eyes, but years later the scars were all on the inside.
“It’s against the code of conduct for real estate agents to cover up faults in a house,” Cole said, making a note on his clipboard.
He stopped in the doorway of the next bedroom and went silent. His room. Later, Jane’s room. Now their daughter’s things were scattered everywhere. Faded floral curtains moved in the breeze from the open window. An ancient rag rug in pink, yellow and pale blue softened the wooden floor, and a chipped white-painted dresser sat to one side. Movie posters—a decade old— still decorated the pale lavender walls. Casablanca, Flashdance, Mad Max .
There was the bed. High, single, virginal in white paint and a floral coverlet that matched the curtains.
Well, not quite virginal.
That afternoon he’d gone upstairs to see what was taking Jane so long. And come upon her half-dressed. There’d been a long frozen moment when their eyes met. Then her arms had dropped away from her bare breasts. He’d stepped inside the room. And shut the door. He remembered how his hands trembled and how her mouth had tasted of hot chocolate—
“There’s nothing in here you haven’t seen before,” Jane said abruptly, moving past him out of the room.
“Mom!” a girl called. Footsteps thudded on the stairs. “The stove’s broken. The egg pot boiled over, the element went pffft and the electricity cut out.”
Mary Kate burst into the hallway. Cole dragged his mind out of the past as he looked upon the daughter he’d seen only a handful of times in his life. His heart raced as eyes uncannily similar to his own stared back at him. “Hello, Mary Kate.”
“Hi.” She came forward hesitantly, glancing at her mother as if for reassurance.
Cole opened his arms and took her into a hug. Her shoulders were stiff and tense, so he kept it brief, covering his disappointment. “You’ve grown,” he said, feeling foolishly hearty. “How tall are you now?”
Mary Kate shrugged and again looked to her mother.
“She’s five feet four inches.” Jane moved over to Mary Kate and put an arm around her shoulder. “She’s really shot up in the past year.”
Everything Cole had imagined saying to Mary Kate when they met flew out of his brain. This wasn’t the warm loving reunion he’d imagined. In the face of her tepid response his own excitement fizzled. He dragged a hand through his hair and felt his scalp hot and damp. “Right, well, let’s have a look at the fuse box.”
The breaker was on the front veranda, so they all trooped downstairs and out into the shade of the overhanging roof. Jane peered at the faded labels above the switches until Cole edged her out of the way and flipped a switch on the top row. “That ought to do it.”
“Mary Kate, go see if the stove is working,” Jane said.
Mary Kate ran inside, her pink thongs flapping.
Cole waited a moment then grabbed Jane’s arm and turned her to face him. “What have you been saying to her about me?”
Jane yanked her arm away. “I’ve never said a word against you.”
“Then why won’t she look at me?”
“I don’t know,” Jane said, pacing. “You can’t expect her to be instantly affectionate. She barely knows you. A few stilted phone calls a year are no substitute for a real relationship.”
“Exactly.” Cole followed her along the veranda, miffed to be speaking to her back. “Whose fault is that?”
Jane spun. “Are we going to hash through this again? I never tried to stop you from seeing her.”
“No, but you made it bloody difficult. I can understand you leaving Red Hill, but did you have to move to the other side of the ocean?”
Mary Kate ran back outside, breathless. “It’s still not on. The toaster is, though, and the lights.”
Cole yanked his tie loose, trying to get some breathing room. “The stove runs off a higher voltage than the toaster and kettle. You’ll have to get an electrician to look at it. The house is old, it needs rewiring.”
Inside, a cell phone rang. “That’s mine,” Jane said, and hurried away.
Alone with Mary Kate, Cole felt perspiration prickling his hairline. “So,” he said. “How do you like Red Hill?”
Mary Kate twined a lock of hair around her finger and gazed at the veranda roof. “It sucks.”
Unlike Jane, who only had traces of an accent, Mary Kate sounded American. She might resemble him in appearance but in all other respects she was as foreign as any stranger in the street.
“I’m really happy you’re here,” he plowed on. “Stephanie can’t wait to see you, too. Do you remember when you were five years old and your mum brought you
