They all look at each other with an expression I can’t decipher.
“What?”
Beau answers. “We kind of started working on some stuff while you were on the show. We were going to tell you at some point, but then Max gave us the tour, so we didn’t want to complicate things further.”
“You should have said! I would love to hear what you’ve come up with!”
Beau looks relieved. “Great. Do you want to go through some of it now?”
I check the time. It’s already 4pm. Wow. That went fast. We’ve been here for over four hours.
“Actually, I better head home. Rachel will be wondering what happened to me. But I definitely want to hear what you’ve got at the next rehearsal.”
“No problem,” Jesse says. “I’ll set up a share drive for us so we can store all our files.”
“Awesome.”
I nod my head at the guys and head out to the car, lugging my amp, guitar, and microphone with me.
I sing in the car all the way home. I can’t believe we’re finally branching out into originals. And even if Max doesn’t want us to play them on tour, it shouldn’t stop us from experimenting in our own time. It’s crazy that the whole band was so worried about rocking the boat that we never really talked about trying something new.
But for now, that can wait, because I’m looking forward to a relaxed evening at home with my girls. I need to make the most of it while I can. Rachel hasn’t confirmed whether she and the twins are going to accompany me for part of the tour yet, but I have a feeling she won’t want to come along for much of it.
I pull into the driveway, taking all my stuff in with me. It’s not cheap equipment, so I can’t afford to leave it in the car out on the street.
“Hello?” I call out as I dump everything just inside the door.
Silence.
“Anyone home?”
Still no answer.
I curiously peek inside the living room and the girls’ bedrooms, but don’t find them. They must have gone out somewhere. I dial Rachel’s number and it goes to messages.
Strange.
I make myself a coffee and sit at the kitchen bench. It’ll be 5pm soon. Rachel never usually has the girls out past 6pm unless it’s a special occasion. I’ll start planning dinner, and I’m sure they’ll be home before I know it.
I should probably have a shower first, though. Singing and playing guitar in a garage for several hours can be hot work.
After stripping off my shirt, I’m about to throw it in the washing basket when I pause at the edge of the walk-in closet. Something doesn’t look right.
It takes a moment for me to realise that Rachel’s side is almost completely empty. I open her drawers and notice nearly everything is gone from there, too.
A sinking feeling settles in my chest. Of course, she might have taken everything out to do a spring clean, but when I look up at the top shelf and notice a couple of suitcases are also gone, my heart starts racing.
This can’t be happening.
I bolt over to the girls’ room and rip open their closet. It’s almost empty as well.
What has Rachel done?
I scour the house for a note but am unable to find one. I have no idea who to call. The police? But what if it’s all just a weird misunderstanding? Did Rachel have a pre-planned getaway I forgot about?
No, that’s definitely not the case. Of course I would remember if my partner and children were going away today.
I don’t want to face the possibility that she’s left me. It doesn’t make sense. Has she been blackmailed or kidnapped? Our life was so good. Sure, she seemed a bit moody after I didn’t win Sing to Me, but we were happy most of the time.
I’m very, very confused. Not to mention terrified.
I do another quick check of the house. Where would they have gone? Most of Rachel’s family lives in the UK and she doesn’t have a lot of close friends here in Brisbane. At least, none that would accommodate two young girls. Most of Rachel’s acquaintances are younger than her and childless. Their lives are all about their careers and partying.
That’s it. I’m phoning the police.
I’m just dialling the number when my phone beeps.
It’s a text from Rachel.
I open it.
Holy shit.
ELEVEN
Tash
It’s only three weeks until my meals start being stocked in supermarkets, and I am equally excited and scared. What if they completely flop? Or what if they’re super successful and I run out of stock in the first few days? Obviously, the latter outcome would be preferable, but I want the team who approved the deal to see how professional I am and feel that they made the right decision.
I can’t believe it’s been ten weeks since that first meeting in Sydney. It feels like no time has passed, but also an eternity.
That’s also how long it’s been since I met Lincoln, and I have to say, my crush on him has not subsided in the least. I check his Instagram feed every day, hoping he posts a new selfie I can drool over, or provide a little further insight into his personal life. But in a way, how I feel about him is now more the way I’d feel about any attractive celebrity—a sort of pretend fantasy with my own ideals projected on to him. If I met him again, I’d probably be disappointed by how little he resembles what I’ve built up in my head.
He finally posted about his secret news, and it turns out he’s going on a national tour. I am so buying a ticket for that show, even if I have to go alone.
It’s Monday morning, and I have just arrived back home after dropping Daisy at school. I make myself a cup of tea and sit down to look through my Instagram feed. Felix has a gorgeous new artwork that vaguely resembles a close-up of lilies, painted in a rainbow of vivid blues, greens, and oranges. He and I regularly comment on each other’s posts with supportive messages. It’s a shame he lives in Sydney because I think we’d hang out all the time in person otherwise. The other people I follow are mostly acquaintances posting shots of their weekend adventures. I click the small heart icon beside most of them and then go to the search function. Lincoln’s name is at the top, as usual. I still haven’t summoned the courage to officially follow him, but if he was able to see his account stats, he’d discover I was one of his top fans.
A mix of emotions flows through me when I see his most recent post. It’s a black square with white text that reads Betrayal shows up where you least expect it.
What does that mean? Has JC’s manager cancelled the tour? That would be a pretty big betrayal, considering what happened the first time he made it big in the music industry.
I scroll to the comments. Lincoln hasn’t written a caption underneath, but dozens of his followers have posted messages.
Are you OK?
I’m sorry to hear you’re going through a tough time. My thoughts are with you.
What’s wrong?
Is your tour still on?
And then I see a message from Felix. He should have learned from last time, but apparently not.
Hang in there, buddy. I’ll see you soon.
I wonder if that means he’s coming to Brisbane, or if Lincoln is going to visit him. I so badly want to contact Lincoln, but it doesn’t seem right. I only really spoke to him for a few hours over two-and-a-half months ago.