The Good Sister(38)

‘Of course I know. Wally told me.’

A pause. ‘Fern, do you know what Shout! is?’

I roll my eyes. ‘An app,’ I say. ‘Something to do with ordering drinks.’

‘According to the article I read, Rocco and his partner sold it in 2016 for a hundred million dollars. A hundred million dollars, Fern! The article also said that Rocco is one of the most promising computer programmers the world has ever seen. He was in Silicon Valley before he came to Australia. He’s been compared to Linus Torvalds and Steve Wozniak! Apparently, people were lining up to work with him when they sold Shout!, but then he just went off the grid. It was quite mysterious. People assumed he was living it up on a private island or something . . .’

I glance around the room, noticing a spiderweb in the corner that I really must take care of.

‘Fern, your friend is a gazillionaire. Does that interest you even a little bit?’

I sigh, considering her question. Does that interest me? I suppose it does. At the same time, of all the things I know about Wally, the fact that he is a gazillionaire (not technically an actual word) is the very least interesting.

‘Not especially,’ I say, waving again at Wally through the window. As Rose starts to reiterate all the reasons I should be interested, Wally waves back.





On Monday morning, Wally comes to my door to ask if I’d like to have dinner with him.

‘It’s Monday,’ I explain. ‘I have dinner with Rose on Mondays.’

Wally leans against the doorframe, his gaze resting lazily over my shoulder. ‘Tomorrow, then?’

‘I have dinner with Rose Tuesday nights too.’

Wally narrows his gaze. ‘Do you dine with Rose on any other evenings?’

‘Thursdays, after karate training.’

He laughs. Then he stops. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes.’

‘Every week?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘Wow.’

I frown. ‘Why wow?’

‘I don’t know. That’s just a lot of dinners with one person.’

‘Is it?’ Given the fact that married couples presumably have dinner together seven nights a week, it doesn’t seem like such a lot. Then again, Rose and I aren’t married.

‘I guess I could cancel,’ I say on a whim. But even as I say it, I get a funny feeling. I don’t think Rose would like to be cancelled on. ‘It’s just one night. She’s probably jet-lagged after her long flight, anyway.’

I expect Wally to smile at this, but instead he gives me a funny look. ‘Who are you trying to convince, Fern?’


Wally leaves and I text Rose. Bizarrely, I feel nervous as I thumb the words onto the screen.

Do you mind if I cancel dinner tonight?

In a matter of seconds, my phone begins to ring.

‘Why are you cancelling?’ Rose demands the instant I answer.

‘Well . . . it’s just . . . Wally asked if I wanted to have dinner with him.’

‘Oh.’ Rose is silent for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that I’d already defrosted the chicken.’

‘Couldn’t we have it tomorrow?’

A sigh. ‘But I’ve been looking forward to it all day.’

Rose’s voice has a different sound to it, slightly juvenile and whiny. A gnawing sense of unease tugs at me. At the same time, the idea of cancelling on Wally, and having to explain this to him, is enough to make me dig my heels in. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I need to cancel.’

This time the silence on the other end lasts so long, I wonder if Rose has hung up.

‘Rose?’

‘Have dinner with Wally,’ she says abruptly. Her voice sounds funny. I open my mouth to ask if everything is all right, but before I can, she has ended the call.


I forget about the Rose situation the moment Wally walks into my flat (fifteen minutes early) that night. I’m anxious about the fact that all I have in the fridge is sausages, yoghurt and puff pastry, but Wally quickly puts me at ease by ordering pizza, which we eat at my round table. It is most strange, seeing my second chair hosting a guest. Normally, it is simply a storage space for my unread books.

‘Rose googled you,’ I say, as we settle into the couch afterward. ‘She read an article that said you sold your app for a hundred million dollars.’

Wally cocks his head thoughtfully. ‘The article was accurate. That isn’t always the case.’

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘You live economically for someone with a hundred million dollars.’

He laughs. ‘I don’t have a hundred million dollars. I got my share of it. But I had a business partner and we had a number of investors who all got their cut. And a good chunk went to tax and our charitable organisation for underprivileged children . . . But you’re right, I do live frugally, considering my means.’

‘Why do you work at all?’

He appears to consider this. After a moment, he shrugs. ‘What else would I do? Sit around counting my gold? Besides, working is important to a person’s mental health.’

I agree wholeheartedly with this. I can’t think of anything more important to my mental health than my work at the library. ‘How is your mental health?’ I ask. ‘I mean . . . the last time you were working on an app, things didn’t go so well for you–’