Chapter 15
Concerns are growing for a Sydney woman who has not been seen for ten days. Police have today launched an appeal for information on the whereabouts of retired tennis coach Joy Delaney.
The 69-year-old was reported missing by her adult children, and officers have been unable to locate her. Family members say they received a text message on Valentine’s Day described as “out of character.” It is believed that she may have been riding a green bicycle with a white wicker basket.
A search of local bushland and bike tracks involving more than one hundred volunteers from the local community has found no sign of her. Police are requesting that anyone with CCTV or dashcam footage in the local area please come forward.
A silver Volvo has been seized as part of the investigation and will be tested forensically over the next few days.
Investigators are keen to talk with a former visitor to the family home, Savannah Pagonis, who may have important information. Police have stressed that Ms. Pagonis is not a suspect or a person of interest. “Any piece of information, no matter how small or seemingly trivial, could prove crucial at this point,” said Detective Senior Constable Christina Khoury.
The missing woman’s husband, Stanley Delaney, is helping police with their investigations.
“Helping police with their investigations,” murmured Teresa Geer as she carefully cut out the article from that day’s paper with the big kitchen scissors, as was her habit, even though her children teased her for it. It was strange how everyday habits like clipping newspaper articles had sudd
enly become antiquated.
She couldn’t decide if she would show this clipping to her daughter when she got back home from her appointment. Obviously Claire would have already heard that her ex-husband’s mother had gone missing.
It would be worrying and confusing for her. There was nothing worse than having to feel sorry for people who had wronged you. You don’t want lottery wins for your enemies, but you don’t want tragedies for them either. Then they got the upper hand.
Damn those Delaneys. Teresa had once been fond of the Delaney family, but that had all changed in an instant five years ago. She would never forget her daughter’s shattered face when Claire told her what Troy had done.
Not only had he broken her heart, but it was all Troy’s fault that Claire was now married to an American—a nice American, but an American who lived in America.
When Troy and Claire had been married they had lived one of those hybrid lives where they continually traveled back and forth between the US and Australia, as if New York and Sydney were merely a bus ride apart. That’s how Claire became friends with a Texan girl in New York called Sarah, who eventually invited her to her wedding a year after Troy and Claire split up, which was where Claire met Sarah’s divorced brother, Geoff, and there was nothing wrong with Geoff, except for his address. Austin was a very fun and friendly city, but so was Sydney! Her new son-in-law just smiled when she pointed that out. He wasn’t quite as interested in her as Troy had been. Troy had been kind of flirtatious with her. Teresa had enjoyed his flirtatiousness. It upset her now to remember that. They’d all been hoodwinked. Geoff was no Troy. He hated flying. He didn’t want a hybrid life. He wanted a life where Claire saw her Australian family maybe once a year. Claire was back in Sydney now, staying in the spare room, which was wonderful, but once she got back on that plane, Teresa might not see her only daughter for months.
So thank you for nothing, Troy Delaney.
She pushed the point of her scissors against the headline of the newspaper article: CONCERNS GROW FOR MISSING WOMAN.
His damned mother would choose to disappear right now, of all times.
She had liked Troy’s parents. They were just an ordinary, down-to-earth couple, like her and Hans. She had imagined them all being grandparents together. Surely she would have noticed if there had been cracks in their marriage that could have led to … something catastrophic. But that was five years ago, and maybe every marriage had secret cracks that could turn into chasms.
She laid down the scissors and crumpled up the carefully clipped newspaper article into a ball. She wasn’t going to say a word to Claire about her former mother-in-law unless she mentioned her first, and then she’d tell her that yes, it was upsetting, but she must try her hardest not to be upset. The Delaneys were nothing to do with them anymore.
If only that were true.
Damn that Troy Delaney.
Chapter 16
LAST SEPTEMBER
Troy Delaney watched the streets of his childhood glide by from the passenger seat of Logan’s car: lush lawns, sharp-edged hedges, ivy-covered brick walls. A postman on a motorbike slid a single letter into an ornate green letterbox, a magpie swooped violently toward a cyclist’s helmeted head, a dog walker trotted after three little designer dogs, a young mother pushed a double stroller. There was nothing wrong with any of it. There was nothing to complain about (except for the magpie, he hated magpies). It was all perfectly nice. It was just that the unrelenting niceness made him feel like he was being lovingly suffocated with a duvet.
He closed his eyes and tried to recall the cacophony of noise and canyonlike streets of New York, where he’d been twenty-four hours earlier, but it was like Sydney suburbia canceled out New York’s existence. Now there could be nothing else but this: this soft, bland reality, his older brother driving, a tiny, smug grin on his unshaven face, because Logan knew Troy didn’t want to be here.
“Love the scarf, mate,” he’d said, predictably, when he saw Troy, who’d worn it just to annoy him. “You look really intimidating.”
“Pure cashmere,” Troy had answered.
“This is really very kind of you guys,” said a low female voice from the back seat.
“It’s not a problem.” Troy turned and smiled at the girl sitting composedly behind them in his brother’s shitbox of a car.
Savannah. His parents’ bizarre little charity project. She sat upright, her hair pulled back in a schoolgirl ponytail to reveal slightly protruding, tiny ears, like an elf’s. Her pale face was makeup-free. She had the kind of thin, bony body and hard face that speaks of addiction and the streets. There was a nearly healed cut over one eye with faint purplish bruising, and Troy tried to feel the sympathy she obviously deserved, but his heart was as hard and suspicious as an ex-girlfriend’s.