I send a screenshot of the post to Millicent.
Look what Lincoln posted on IG. What do you think it means?
She types back. I don’t know. Probably just some vague-posting to boost his profile. Maybe lyrics to a new song?
Me: But Felix said he’s going to see him. There might be something wrong.
Millicent: There’s nothing you can do if there is.
I sort of agree with her, but it seems weird not even offering condolences if something bad happened.
Me: You’re right. I’m just being a crazy stalker again.
Millicent: You are. Now go do some work. Or get back on that dating site and expend all that sexual energy on someone you’re actually allowed to sleep with.
I post the emoji with the tongue sticking out as a way of ending the conversation.
I might just send a quick message to Felix. There’s no harm in enquiring after someone’s wellbeing.
After some careful consideration, I write, Hey Felix! I hope you’re well. Have you spoken to Lincoln recently? I just wanted to check he’s all right after that post he put on Instagram—but I didn’t want to bother him directly. Please pass on my best wishes. Tash.
I spend the next half hour trying to focus on work, but I’m not very successful. I’m supposed to be liaising with the supermarket chain’s marketing department so we can finish organising advertising for my meals, but every time I start browsing through my photo gallery to look for appropriate images, my thoughts wander back to Lincoln.
Finally, my phone dings with a notification from Felix.
Hey, chicky. I don’t know the full story yet, but I’ll be in Brisbane tomorrow afternoon. I’ll contact you on Wednesday morning if that’s OK?
I write back that I look forward to hearing from him.
I hope Lincoln is all right.
It doesn’t sound like he was just posting lyrics to a new song.
***
I can barely concentrate at all for the next couple of days, although I know I need to keep working hard. Slacking on my dream while waiting to talk to a friend about my celebrity crush would be stupid.
However, I still wake up at 5am on Wednesday morning, unable to stay asleep. I make sure my phone is charged and the volume is turned up, and I even leave it within a few feet of the shower while I wash my hair.
I don’t pay attention while I’m preparing Daisy’s lunch, and accidentally make her a peanut butter sandwich, even though her school has a total nut ban. For the record, she doesn’t like me making really elaborate food for her every day, and sometimes just wants a plain cheese sandwich and store-bought cookies like her friends.
Felix finally contacts me at 10am, by which time I have refreshed both his and Lincoln’s Instagram feeds at least a dozen times each. I know this isn’t the behaviour of a normal person, but I’m unable to stop.
When the message comes through, I dive on my phone.
Hey, Tash. I’m making Lincoln come with me to the Muschalla Gallery in Red Hill this morning. You want to join us?
Do I want to go with them? Ha! If I wrote back how badly I did actually want to join them, I’d probably scare both of them off forever. So instead, I write, I’d love to but are you sure? Will Lincoln mind?
Felix: Lincoln isn’t capable of much rational thought right now. I could use the extra support.
Uh-oh. That definitely doesn’t sound good.
Me: OK. When are you leaving? I’ll meet you there.
Felix: 45 minutes?
Me: Sounds good. See you soon.
Poor Lincoln. Something really bad must have happened if Felix is talking like that.
I dress in some white jeans and a faded denim shirt, thinking I need to look—and act—like a supportive friend, rather than an insane groupie.
I tie my hair into a bun and head out the door, my heart thumping. Who knows what kind of situation I’m about to encounter?
I live in Highgate Hill in an old-fashioned Queenslander, and there’s a bus stop just outside my door. I own a car, but due to the lack of free parking around the city, it’s usually more convenient to take public transport. I’m just deciding whether I should take my car today when a bus pulls up. That answers my question. I jump on and scan my pass.
Half an hour later, I arrive at the Muschalla Gallery and nervously head inside.
Felix and Lincoln are already in there, but they’re facing the other way, looking at a gorgeous painting by a local indigenous artist.
The floor is polished timber, so they both turn when they hear my footsteps. Felix’s face lights up, and he hurries over to give me a hug. “Hey! It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too! Thanks for inviting me.” I anxiously peer over his shoulder at Lincoln. His face is expressionless. Felix follows my gaze and whispers in my ear. “Don’t take it personally if he seems a little distant. He’s been through a lot these past few days.”
I tentatively make my way over to where he’s standing. “Hi. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along. Felix said it was okay, but if you need some space…”
He gives me a small, tired smile. “No, please stay. The more distraction, the better right now.”
I figure I’ll find out what’s wrong soon enough, so I make it my mission to lighten the mood as much as possible.
“I love the paintings here,” I say to Felix. “Are any of them yours?”
“No, but I hope to soon have some on display. Not that I need a reason to come and visit my buddy here, but I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and talk to the gallery owner.” He tilts his head towards the back of the room, where a tall woman with a blonde bob is headed for us. “Speak of the devil.” He approaches the woman and kisses her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you in person, Deirdre.”
“Likewise.” She smiles politely at Lincoln and me. “I see you’ve brought a couple of friends.”
“Yes, but they’ll entertain themselves while I chat with you.” He turns to me. “Why don’t you take my boy for a coffee and meet me back here in half an hour?”
I panic. I thought the three of us were going to hang out together. I am wholly unprepared to be alone with a depressed Lincoln Page.
Lincoln nods. “Cool. Text me if you’re done earlier.” He then looks at me. “Have you been to Channing’s around the corner?”
“Actually, yes. They have really good chai.”
He points to the door, ushering me out first. “A chai and a slice of their fig-and-almond tart sounds really good about now.”
I force myself to relax. It’s all going to be fine. I can do this.
Lincoln obviously needs a friend right now, so I’m going to fill that role.
TWELVE
Lincoln
Inside Channing’s, Tash makes me stay put while she orders the chai and tart. She then sits back down and looks at me. I avoid her gaze and stare out the window.
“How’s…how’s your music going?” she asks tentatively.
I wave a hand dismissively. “Fine.”
“So, the tour’s still on?”
I nod, my mouth set in a straight line.
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks.
“No, it’s a good thing,” I say flatly.
“You don’t seem very happy about it,” she points out gently.