Urgh.Did Max have to look at her like that? ‘Jett doesn’t keep my interests anywhere, let alone near his heart. I’m a job.’
Max opened her mouth at the same time Daisy poked her pink head of curls through the door. ‘Uh, sorry, Nella, but there’s some little old lady and a really loud younger lady here looking for you ...’
‘Fuck.’They found me.
Max pursed her lips. Nella mentally added her name to the list of people she’d let down lately, right below Poppy Raven.
Nella squeezed Daisy’s arm in thanks and ducked out the back door, tucking her hair up under a yellow cap with the Bindi Bindi fish ’n’ chip shop logo that was conveniently hanging on the coat rack.
The summer heat was laced with a cooler, saltier tang than the pressurised humidity back in the city. In spite of everything swirling around her mind, she took a deep gulp of the fish, cinnamon donuts and petrol on the air – the smell of Bindi Bindi. The smell she used to associate with summer and home. But now it felt like everything she remembered was starting to rot. She could see Zia Rob’s Alfa Romeo through the alleyway separating her building from the bakery and coffee strip. They’d be setting up a perimeter at the edge of town, snipers on the rooftops – Italian girls could not so much as change their normal morning coffee order without their entire family knowing by lunchtime. Italian zias and nonnas had more undercover agents and civilian informants than the FBI.
Nella could really use her getaway driver right about now. But she could just as easily kill him for dragging her back here. Zia Rob and Nonna just wanted the Barbarani secrets staying in the family; they didn’t actually think she was the best person for the case. And Tom had made it clear where he stood.
Her headache started to bang its little fists against her skull as she strode past one of the banks, getting closer to Eliza’s vet clinic. Like it knew she could get her hands on a prescription with no end date for some deliciously illegal animal medication just behind the glossy white door. Nella should have replied to Eliza’s messages and called her back. She was her only friend who’d survived the challenges in primary and high school – well, she was Nella’s only friendbecauseshe’d survived all the challenges, including, most notably, Challenge 18 (Know how to swim. You have to actually do the strokes to stay afloat – don’t expect friendships to just survive if you’re not putting in the work).
As a surfer, and because they met in the Under 12s Nippers group, it had been Eliza’s idea to base the challenges off the Swim to Survive manifesto for clarity. ‘It makes perfect sense,’ Eliza had said, slurping her strawberry milkshake. ‘You need to weed out the people who are just going to surround you because your dad’s a billionaire.’
And it had started that way, until Sally Sue. That was when Nella’s challenges became even more about survival – she wasn’t going to mess up again. Challenge 17 (If you bleed, even a little, you’ll be able to tell who the sharks are).
Maybe before she went back to the city she’d get a drink with Eliza.Or maybe,she thought as she passed the window of a new nail salon that had sprouted from the graveyard of the old thrift store,we could get our toes ...
‘Ma?!’
Her mother, who had been in bed, too distraught, according to Zia Rob, to watch the police swipe Nonno Emilio’s wine from the shelves, was in the sunny window seat of Prestige Nails and Spa, hair wrapped in a black silk towel and her half-pedicured toes in the hands of a salon assistant.
Nella called out again but it wasn’t until the third ‘MA!’ that Vittoria Barbarani finally acknowledged her eldest child, raising an eyebrow (darker than normal – freshly re-tinted) in the way Nella was painfully aware she did too when annoyed. Before she or her fledgling migraine knew what was good for them, the warm smells of the sunburnt street were gone and Nella was inhaling the chemical fumes of polish and acetone as she pushed through the door and over to her mother’s red plastic armchair.
Vittoria looked Nella up and down. ‘You’re back, are you?’
‘Zia Rob said you were resting.’
‘I am.’ Vittoria smiled, blowing on her fresh fingernails, lacquered in deep red – the colour of the wine the La Marcas had successfully pulled from their shelves. ‘I assume you didn’t get here on your own? That boy’s always driving you out of the trouble you put yourself in.’
‘I wasn’t in trouble. And Jett dragged me back here for no reason. You’ve already got a lawyer. You don’t need me. And FYI, Jett or Tom could have just brought the papers for me to sign.’
Her mother’s entire frame went as still as her forehead with its shiny hints of fresh Botox. ‘What are you going to do when he leaves? How will you get yourself out of trouble then, Antonella?’
‘What are you talking about? Who’s leaving?’
‘Your driver.’
Nella frowned. ‘Jett’s leaving?’ The burn she’d felt at the sight of her mother so casual and uncaring about everything was replaced by a terrible, falling sensation like she’d been kicked down an empty elevator shaft.
‘I thought Tomaso was just threatening to hire that other lawyer,’ her mother continued. ‘I didn’t think he’d actually do it. I bet the rest of the family have something to say about that. Your father would be ashamed of you for not taking this case for us.’
‘Ma. How do you know Jett’s leaving?’
‘I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. I suppose youhaveforsaken your entire life back here, so he probably assumed you’d denounced the Barbarani name for good.’
‘Ma.’
‘They called me. His new boss – Kevin or Keith or something – just wanting to make sure he wasn’t a murderer or anything. Actually, once they saw the name of our estate that’s probably exactly what they were checking.’ She gave a wry smile.
‘So, what, you just let him hand in his resignation?’ This was impossible – her mother’s grief was clearly clouding her perception of reality. Jett wouldn’t have resigned, but more to the point, the Barbaranis wouldn’t havelethim. Jett had been their driver since Nella finished high school. Everyone loved him more than they loved actual blood relatives.
‘No, I tore it up and dunked it in my negroni. Then I made him a deal. He does what I ask, he goes.’
‘Where the hell’s he going?’
