Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(57)

“I don’t get the impression people think you’re lying, mate.” Falk had nearly reached the end of the barrier he was working on. “I reckon honestly it’s because they remember themselves at your age. How reliable they were. Or weren’t, more likely. Most people probably look back and think they wouldn’t have trusted themselves to be sure, at your age and in that position.”

“What about you?” Joel looked over. “Would you have trusted yourself?”

“No.” Falk’s answer came so quickly even Joel smiled. “I did a couple of pretty stupid things as a kid, like everyone. I wouldn’t have taken my word for it.”

The boy nodded. He doused a scrawl of graffiti with cleaning fluid and lifted his cloth but didn’t move, paused mid-thought. He seemed to be debating something. Finally, he started to clean, but more slowly now. He glanced sideways at Falk.

“So, that night last year—” Joel was hard to hear. His head was down, and he was focused on the railing. “I was already stationed at that first-aid post when I saw Zara go out of the east exit. She was with a couple of other girls from our school, but she saw me and came over and said hi. Asked if I was sure I didn’t want to come, because a lot of our friends were going. But I really didn’t want to because—” Joel tossed his cloth on the barrier and reached down to stroke Luna’s head instead. “Because I couldn’t face it, or whatever. Being here, at this time of year, drinking and having to pretend like it’s all fine.” He frowned in a way that made him look suddenly younger. “And anyway, I was already working by then. I’d told Gemma I’d do the whole shift, so I couldn’t just leave.”

Joel scratched his dog’s ears as he stared at the scribbled graffiti, still stark and legible despite all their work. “Anyway. We all knew Dwyer wasn’t going to be around to shut things down that year, so there was already this feeling that things could get a bit crazy out here. And Zara said she might not stay too long, because her dad was giving her grief about needing to spend some time with her mum.” Joel paused. “I thought there was maybe a chance she’d end up coming back before my shift was over. So—” He stopped again, for longer this time, then shrugged. “So, I was kind of half looking out for her. At the exit. In case she did come back early or something, you know?”

Yes. Falk looked over in the dim light. Yes, he did know what Joel was trying to tell him but didn’t want to spell out loud. There was no need to, anyway, because Falk could picture it now, with vivid, hormonal clarity. To be that age, watching a girl he liked leave with her friends, trailing the faint tantalizing promise of return. Falk knew that feeling well and he also knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he himself would have had one eye glued to that exit for the entire night, too.

“Okay,” he said, and gave a small nod. Even in the growing dark, he could see a flush creep up Joel’s face and neck as the boy picked his cloth up again and busied himself scrubbing the last few marks. Falk gave his own barrier a final wipe, and they both stood back to inspect their handiwork. The painted wood shone white in the early moonlight.

“What do you reckon?” Falk said.

“Yeah. Good. Heaps better.” Joel seemed as close to happy as Falk had seen him, and reached out to take his dirty cloth. “Thanks for—”

He stopped as they both heard the movement along the track at the same time. Falk listened. Footsteps against the packed dirt, coming from the direction of the festival. They turned together, but it was Joel who recognized her first.

“Oh. It’s just my stepmum.” He raised his hand. “Gemma?”

“Joel? Oh, good. You’re here.”

Falk remembered her voice even as the figure was still taking shape and then, all at once, he could see her for himself. He straightened, suddenly a little self-conscious in his sweat-damp running gear, and watched Gemma Tozer come along the track. She was wearing jeans again, and her shirt was creased at the elbows. Her hair was up, Falk noticed, like the first time he’d seen her, sixteen months ago in the packed Southbank bar.

Gemma’s relief at seeing Joel morphed into baffled surprise as she drew closer, absorbing more of the scene in front of her with each step. She blinked, her eyes moving from her stepson to the barrier to the memorial to the cleaning cloths in their hands and then, finally, coming to rest on Falk.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello, again.”

He smiled at her, automatic and impulsive. He couldn’t help it.

And there in the dark, with the evening sky huge overhead and the water still and calm below, she smiled back. He breathed out. They stood looking at each other for a drawn-out beat, then Gemma glanced past him to Joel, who was busy zipping his cleaning stuff into his backpack.

“This looks really nice,” she said, running her hand over the shining wooden barrier, pausing only briefly at the scrawled graffiti. “Great job.”

Joel shrugged and waved his free hand toward Falk. “Aaron helped. He’s Zara’s uncle’s friend—” He stopped as Gemma nodded.

“Yeah. We’ve met once, actually.”

“Oh, right.” Joel shrugged, his stepmother’s social life clearly of limited interest, and swung his bag onto his back. He was taller than Gemma and had to look down to make eye contact with her when they spoke. “Are you coming home, too?”