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  Wolfgang lifted the roller door and let himself into the garage. What his family referred to as the shed was actually an extension of the garage, little more than a storeroom at the back. Wolfgang kept his traps and his father’s old long-handled nets there. Entry was by way of a creaky iron door opening from the rear of the garage. There was an outer door too, but that was never used – Wolfgang was not even sure if there was a key. He tugged the interior door open and switched on the light. Everything appeared to be just as he’d left it on Thursday, except for the absence of his second trap. Wolfgang brushed away a European wasp buzzing around his head. What had his father been doing in here anyway? Wolfgang was about to turn and leave when he noticed a flash of colour inside the remaining trap. What on earth? He crouched and lifted the trap gently onto its end. There was a butterfly inside it – a faded and very battered common brown.

  Wolfgang carried the trap outside and set the butterfly free. It fluttered away, brown and yellow in the slanting fingers of sunlight that poked through the grevilleas growing beside the driveway. It was possible that he might have overlooked one butterfly in his traps on Thursday evening, but two?

  Dad, thought Wolfgang, what have you been up to?

  He returned the trap to the shed and removed the baited cloth. Normally he did this when he returned from a collecting trip, but on Thursday he’d forgotten. Careless. Then something occurred to him: perhaps his father had used fresh baits. The coarse-weave cloth was still slightly sticky. He sniffed it. The alcohol had long since evaporated, but he could still smell the apricot jam he’d been using lately. Not his father’s work then – the old man had always sworn by honey.

  The wasp was back, circling Wolfgang’s head. It could smell the jam, too. Wolfgang stood and batted the insect away. He wasn’t fond of wasps, but they didn’t scare him as they did some people. There were two wasps, he realised. One was still circling, the other crawled along the top edge of one of the partially open louvres in the small window above him. No, there were three! A third yellow and black wasp had just landed on the trap.

  How were they getting in?

  Wolfgang pulled on the stiff, cob-webby window lever until he could see between the frosted panes of glass. Aha! A section of the flywire had pulled out of its frame, leaving a triangular hole roughly the size of his hand. Another common brown – this one in better condition than the one he had just released – hovered just outside the opening.

  So the old man had been right. Wolfgang had caught the black butterfly.

  It had flown in through the window and found its way into the trap he’d carelessly left baited.

  33

  Audrey phoned later and invited Wolfgang to her birthday party.

  ‘I thought it was last night,’ he said.

  ‘It was supposed to be last night, only I wasn’t there,’ said Audrey. ‘Will you come?’

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be inviting you if I didn’t want you to.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Wolfgang said. He played with the telephone cord. They hadn’t had a chance to talk at the cemetery that morning. ‘Audrey, I’m sorry about yesterday.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m sorry about the other night.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. You got a headache.’

  ‘I didn’t have a headache,’ Audrey said in a small, guilty voice. ‘I got scared.’

  ‘Scared?’ he said. ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of the pool.’

  ‘But you go there almost every day.’

  ‘I don’t go in the pool,’ Audrey said.

  Wolfgang remembered the day she’d walked down the ramp and put her face under the water, and how disappointed she’d been when her sight wasn’t restored. ‘I think your dad’s right,’ he said. ‘That whole Marceline Flavel thing was a put-up job. They probably arranged it to con people into coming here – you know, to get more tourists. There’s nothing miraculous about the pool.’

  ‘The water slopes, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Apart from that. Father Nguyen more or less admitted there are no such thing as angels.’

  Audrey was silent.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Wolfgang asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, um ... What time’s the party?’

  ‘Around seven, seven-thirty. It’ll be mostly rellies, but they’re a pretty friendly bunch.’ There was a short pause. ‘Wolfgang,’ Audrey said softly, ‘do you believe we have other lives?’

  ‘Reincarnation, you mean?’

  He heard her sigh. ‘I don’t really know what I mean. See you tonight, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You will come, won’t you?’ she added quickly. ‘You don’t think I’m too crazy or anything?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re crazy, Audrey.’

  It was only after he had put the phone down that Wolfgang remembered he had told her parents he was going to Melbourne that day. Well, he had changed his plans. Perhaps he could say that the early morning trip to the cemetery had resulted in him missing his ride to Melbourne. No. He had told enough lies already. If they asked – and he didn’t think they would – Wolfgang would simply say that Audrey had invited him to her party and he hadn’t been able to refuse. And this time he wouldn’t be telling them a lie.

  34

  It wasn’t really a party, it was more a family gathering. Audrey’s nan and pa were there, as were an aunt and uncle from Ballarat with their two adolescent daughters, an elderly second cousin who turned out to be a nun, and Martine’s fiancé, Dan, who had driven up that afternoon from his parents’ dairy farm near Colac. Much as he had at the cemetery that morning, Wolfgang felt like an interloper. But everyone was friendly and welcoming. Obviously they had been told about him before he arrived.

  Martine took charge, leading him round the Babacans’ crowded family room and introducing him to everyone.

  ‘So this is the famous Wolfgang,’ said Keith’s brother Frank, squeezing Wolfgang’s knuckles as they shook hands. ‘Hackett has reason to be worried, I hear.’

  ‘Hackett?’

  ‘Grant Hackett – the swimmer.’

  ‘Why should he be worried?’ Wolfgang asked.

  Frank gave him the now-familiar Babacan wink. ‘Modesty. I like that in a man.’

  Frank’s wife, Tracey, kissed Wolfgang on the cheek. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, lightly touching the back of his hand with her fingertips. ‘We’re all a bit potty, but you’ll get used to us.’

  It was going to be a challenge, Wolfgang thought.

  ‘These are my grandparents,’ Martine said, steering him over to the couch. She raised her voice. ‘Nan and Pa, this is Wolfgang, Audrey’s friend from the pool.’

  The old man leaned forward and offered Wolfgang a misshapen, arthritic hand. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Wolfgang. I used to be quite a swimmer myself, if you can believe that.’

  ‘I’m sure you were, Mr Babacan.’

  ‘It’s Fitzgerald – I’m Bernadette’s father. But you might as well call me Pa, everyone else round here does.’

  The old woman smiled. ‘We think it’s wonderful what you’re doing, Wolfgang.’

  ‘I’m not exactly thure ...’ he stammered.

  Martine said loudly, ‘Nan and Pa are really pleased you’re teaching Audrey to swim.’

  ‘Oh ... that,’ he said, processing this information in light of this conversation and Frank’s comments earlier. ‘Yes. She’s, um, coming along very well.’

  ‘We’ve all been very worried about her,’ Nan went on. ‘When she ran away from that blind school, I said to Pa –’

  ‘Wolfgang has to meet the others now,’ Martine interrupted, placing a firm hand around his elbow and drawing him away. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘I didn’t know Audrey ran away from school.’

  ‘I expect there are a lot of things you don’t know about my sister.’

  ‘Like, for example, I’m her swimming instructor,’ Wolfgan
g said dryly.

  ‘That’s what Audrey wanted everyone to think.’ Martine fixed him with her penetrating green eyes. ‘I’d hate to see her get hurt, Wolfgang.’

  He felt a deep blush rising to his face. ‘So would I.’

  ‘Good. Because it would be very easy for someone to take advantage of her. How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty.’

  She studied him. ‘You seem younger.’

  ‘A lot of people say that. How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  You seem older, he might have said, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  ‘What school did you go to?’ Martine asked.

  ‘Saint Aquinas.’

  Her well-shaped eyebrows drew together. ‘I don’t remember you. You’d have been, what, two years behind me? I left in two thousand and one.’

  Wolfgang was annoyed with himself. He shouldn’t have said Saint Aquinas – he knew Audrey’s family were Catholic. ‘I would have been in Year Ten,’ he said, when in fact he’d been in Year Six in 2001 – or was it Year Seven? It was frightening how one lie led to a whole chain of them. ‘I remember you, I think. Your hair wath longer, wathn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Good guess. ‘I was a bit of swot. I spent most of my time in the library. Any chance of that drink, Martine?’

  She nodded. ‘Sorry. What would you like?’

  ‘Beer, thanks,’ he said. ‘A Crownie, if there is one.’

  As soon as he had his drink, Wolfgang excused himself and went looking for Audrey. He couldn’t find her anywhere. Bernadette was in the kitchen transferring vol-au-vents from an oven tray onto a rectangular china platter. They smelt delicious.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Babacan, do you know where Audrey is?’

  ‘I think she might be outside having a cigarette.’ Bernadette used the tongs to point with. ‘Go out through the sliding doors and turn right.’

  The patio was in darkness. Wolfgang spotted the red glow of a cigarette down the far end. ‘Audrey?’

  The cigarette jerked downwards and disappeared. ‘Oh, hi. Sorry to desert you in there, but Martine kind of took over.’

  Wolfgang carefully made his way along the patio towards her. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. Audrey sat on a porch swing with Campbell lying at her feet.

  ‘How do like my rellies?’ she asked.

  ‘They think I’m your swimming instructor.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s kind of what I told Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Mind if I sit down?’

  ‘Sure.’ She moved sideways to make room for him. ‘Smoke?’

  ‘No thanks.’ He settled beside her on the swing, their arms not quite touching. Campbell’s tail slapped rhythmically against his ankle. ‘They know I don’t teach swimming.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your parents.’

  The swing creaked as Audrey shifted her weight slightly. He felt the warmth of her against his arm. ‘I told them you’ve been giving me lessons,’ she said. ‘I know it’s a lie, and I’m sorry to make you part of it, Wolfgang, but Mum keeps getting on my case.’

  ‘About me?’ he asked warily.

  ‘No, about me. About what I do at the pool every day.’ Audrey sucked on her cigarette. ‘So I told them I’ve been learning to swim.’

  ‘What about Martine?’

  ‘Martine would know if I was lying. Anyway, she’s good at keeping secrets.’

  Wolfgang hoped so. He raised his beer in front of his eyes and looked through the brown glass at the nearly full moon. ‘What were you doing at the cemetery, Audrey?’

  It was several moments before she answered him, and when she did her voice was defensive. ‘I like it there. It’s the one place I can go at night and feel safe.’

  Safe? In a cemetery at night? ‘Wouldn’t it have been safer to have stayed home?’

  ‘They were going to spring a party on me,’ Audrey said, ‘and I wasn’t in the mood.’

  ‘You knew about the party?’

  ‘I overheard Mum talking about it to Aunt Tracey on the phone, so I got out before anyone arrived.’

  ‘But you stayed out all night,’ Wolfgang said.

  ‘I fell asleep, okay?’ Audrey said sharply. ‘Is there a law against falling asleep?’

  ‘Sorry I asked.’

  Audrey sighed and touched him lightly on the arm. ‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.’

  Take what out on me? he wondered. ‘I’ll tell you what there should be a law against – saying sorry on your birthday.’ Wolfgang leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday, Audrey.’

  ‘Do you know what would make it really happy?’ she said softly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you kissed me properly.’

  Wolfgang placed his beer carefully on the patio next to the leg of the swing. He felt his whole body trembling.

  ‘How about you get rid of that cigarette,’ he said. It must have been two or three minutes later when the patio lights snapped on. Audrey let out a little gasp as Wolfgang jerked away from her, kicking his beer over as he did so. The swing rattled and Campbell scrambled hurriedly to his feet.

  ‘What is it?’ Audrey breathed.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Keith, who had stepped out through the sliding door from the kitchen. He watched, frowning, as Wolfgang righted the bottle. A dark pool of beer spread slowly across the wooden decking. ‘Audrey, they’ve been looking for you inside.’

  ‘Okay, Dad, I’ll be right in.’

  Keith remained where he was as Audrey straightened her clothes and stood up. Wolfgang stood too. His brain seemed frozen; he could think of nothing to say. He tried to take hold of Audrey’s arm to guide her inside, but she lightly pushed his hand away.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I know my way around here.’

  ‘Wolfgang, have you got a moment?’ Keith said, coming towards them.

  He passed his daughter going the other way, Campbell trailing at her heels. Wolfgang watched them disappear inside. She could have allowed him to help her – pretended, at least, so he could go with her – but instead she had abandoned him. Left him to face the music on his own.

  ‘Would you like to sit down,’ Keith said.

  It was a command, not a question. Wolfgang settled himself nervously on the edge of the swing. His heart hammered in his chest. I should have stayed home, he thought as Keith lifted a plastic chair from a stack of them near the wall and positioned it facing him.

  ‘Have I made a mistake about you, Wolfgang?’

  ‘I don’t think tho.’

  Keith narrowed his eyes. ‘Help me out, then. You have a girlfriend in Melbourne, yet here you are slobbering all over my daughter. Explain to me why I shouldn’t be concerned.’

  ‘I don’t have another girlfriend,’ Wolfgang heard himself say.

  ‘Two weeks ago you told me you did.’

  Wolfgang looked down at the big dew-jewelled bottle in his hand. ‘It was thtupid, I know, but I thought if I told you I had a girlfriend, you’d think I wath more ... I don’t know, thomeone you could trust with your daughter.’

  ‘Well, it would seem I was wrong about that,’ Keith said.

  ‘No you weren’t, Mr Babacan. You can trust me. I like Audrey a lot; I’d never do anything bad to her. That’s why this whole deal sucks. She’d practically die if she found out I was being paid to see her.’ Wolfgang hauled himself out of the swing. ‘I guess I’d better go.’

  ‘No, wait a minute.’ Keith held up one hand, palm forwards like a policeman stopping traffic. ‘Sit down. Please.’

  Wolfgang lowered himself reluctantly back onto the swing, but further away from Keith, on the end where Audrey had been sitting. It was still warm with her body heat. He wished he could go back two weeks to the day her father came to see him at the pool. No, he would say. You might be rich, Mr Babacan, but you can’t buy friends for your daughter.

  Keith’s head was bent right forward. He raked the fingers of one
hand through his wiry red hair and seemed to address his next words to the decking. ‘You’ve been honest with me, son. It’s time I was honest with you.’

  Wolfgang had only been partially honest, but he felt better for having unburdened himself. Perhaps he would confess his other lies – about his age, about attending university – to Father Nguyen. Keith looked him in the eye.

  ‘How much time have you spent with Audrey?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Wolfgang shrugged. ‘We’ve been out a few times. New Year’s Eve, the zoo. Mostly we meet at the pool.’

  ‘She doesn’t swim, does she?’ asked Keith.

  Wolfgang hesitated. He felt he was being asked to betray a confidence. ‘She wants me to teach her.’

  ‘Does she go in the pool at all?’

  ‘No,’ he said. Well, once, he thought – the day she ducked her head under.

  ‘What does she do all day if she isn’t swimming?’

  ‘She likes it there – having all those other people around her. I think she’s lonely.’

  ‘But what does she actually do?’ Keith insisted.

  ‘Just lies on her towel like everyone else,’ Wolfgang said. Not like everyone else: Audrey lay in the shade and barely moved all day. Hippo-girl. ‘She listens to her music.’

  ‘That day you took her to the zoo,’ her father said. ‘How was she on the train?’

  ‘What do you mean, Mr Babacan?’

  ‘Was she talkative? Was she bright and alert the whole time?’

  ‘Well ... not exactly.’

  ‘She slept most of the way, didn’t she?’

  Wolfgang shrugged. How did Keith know that? ‘I guess it’s pretty boring being on a train if you can’t read or see out the windows.’

  ‘Do you want to know why I really hired you?’ Keith asked, dragging his chair closer. ‘I was hoping you’d keep her awake.’

  ‘Keep her awake?’

  ‘During the daytime,’ Keith said. ‘Or, if that didn’t work, I was going to ask you to look after her when she went out at night. It would have meant giving up your day job, which was why I was prepared to pay you so much.’

  Wolfgang moistened his lips. Their faces were only twenty centimetres apart, he could see the large pores in Keith’s nose. ‘I don’t get any of this,’ he said. ‘Has Audrey got a sleeping disorder or something?’