“Not Celeste.” Tom gave her an odd look. “To that journalist.”

“Oh,” said Jane. “God, no. No, I haven’t. I won’t. Ed said I should say no thank you when she calls in a firm, polite voice and hang up fast, the same way you do with a telemarketer. He said people get this strange idea that they have to talk to journalists, and of course you don’t. They’re not like the police.”

She had no desire to talk to the journalist. Too many secrets. Just thinking about the policeman interviewing her in the hospital made her feel breathless. Thank God Bonnie had decided to confess.

“Are you feeling OK?” Tom stopped and put his hand on her arm. “I’m not walking too fast?”

“I’m fine. Just out of condition.”

“We’ll get you back to your normal athletic self.”

She flicked his chest with her fingertip. “Shut up.”

He smiled. She couldn’t see his eyes because he was wearing sunglasses.

What were they now? Very dear friends who were more like siblings? Flirty friends who knew they would never take it any further? She honestly couldn’t tell. Their attraction at the trivia night had been like a tiny perfect blossom that needed tender nurturing, or at least a drunken first kiss up against a wall in the school car park. But then everything that happened, happened. Their little seedling got stomped on by a big, black boot: death and blood and broken bones and police and a story she hadn’t yet told him about Ziggy’s father. They couldn’t seem to get back on track now. Their rhythm was all off.

Last week they’d been out together on a date-like night to the movies and dinner. It had been perfectly nice, perfectly comfortable. They were already such good friends from all the hours they’d talked when she worked in Blue Blues. But nothing had happened. They hadn’t even gotten close.

It appeared that Tom and Jane were destined for friendship. It was mildly disappointing, but not devastating. Friends could last a lifetime. The statistics were better than for relationships.

This morning she’d gotten a text from her friend’s cousin, asking if she wanted to get together for that drink. She’d texted back Yes please.

They walked to the park bench with the plaque dedicating it to VICTOR BERG, WHO LOVED TO WALK AROUND THIS HEADLAND. Those we love don’t go away, they sit beside us every day. It always made Jane think of Poppy, who was born the same year as Victor.

“How’s Ziggy?” asked Tom as they sat down and went to open their sandwiches.

“He’s good,” said Jane. She looked out at the expanse of blue. “Great.”

Ziggy had made friends with a new boy at school who had just moved back to Australia after living in Singapore for two years. Ziggy and Lucas were suddenly inseparable. Lucas’s parents, a couple in their forties, had invited Jane and Ziggy over for dinner. There were plans to set Jane up with Lucas’s uncle.

Tom suddenly put his hand on Jane’s arm. “Oh my God.”

“What?” said Jane. He was looking out to sea as if he’d seen something.

“I think I’m getting a message.” He put a finger to his temple. “Yes! Yes, I am. It’s from Victor!”

“Victor?”

“Victor Berg, who loved to walk around this headland!” said Tom impatiently. He jabbed a finger at the plaque. “Vic, mate, what is it?”

“God, you’re a dork,” said Jane affectionately.

Tom looked at Jane. “Vic says if I don’t hurry up and kiss this girl, I’m a bloody fool.”

“Oh!” said Jane. She felt a rush of goose bumps. Her stomach lurched with elation as if she’d won a prize. She’d been trying to comfort herself with little lies. My God, of course she’d been disappointed that nothing was happening. She’d been so, so disappointed. “Really? Is that what he’s—”

But he was already kissing her, one hand on the side of her face, the other removing the sandwich from her lap and putting it on the seat next to him, and it turned out that little seedling hadn’t been crushed after all, and that first kisses didn’t necessarily require darkness and alcohol, they could happen in the open air, with the sun warm on your face and everything around you honest and real and true and thank God she hadn’t been chewing gum because she would have to have swallowed it quick-smart and she might have missed the fact that Tom tasted exactly the way she always suspected he’d taste: of cinnamon sugar and coffee and the sea.

“I was worried we were destined for friendship,” she said when they came up for air.

Tom brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “Are you kidding? Besides, I’ve got enough friends.”

83.

Samantha: So we’re done then? You’ve got everything you need? Quite a saga, eh? We’re all back to normal now, except all us parents are being extremely nice to one another. It’s kind of hilarious.

Gabrielle: They’ve canceled the spring ball. We’re sticking to cake stalls now. Just what I need. I’ve put on five kilos from the stress of all this.

Thea: Renata is moving to London. The marriage is kaput. I would have tried harder myself, but that’s just me. I can’t help myself, I just have to put my children first.

Harper: Naturally, we’ll be visiting Renata in London next year! Once she’s settled, of course. She says it might take a while. Yes, I am giving Graeme a second chance. One trashy little nanny isn’t going to destroy my marriage. Don’t worry. He’s paying. Not just with his cracked ribs. We’re all off to see The Lion King tonight.

Stu: The biggest mystery is this: Why didn’t that French bird ever make a move on me?

Jonathan: She actually did make a move on me but that’s off the record.

Miss Barnes: I have no idea what happened to the petition. No one spoke of it again after the trivia night. We’re all looking forward to a new term and a fresh start. I thought we might do a special unit on conflict resolution. It seems appropriate.

Jackie: Hopefully the kids can be left alone now to learn to read and write.

Mrs. Lipmann: I think perhaps we’ve all learned to be a little kinder to one another. And to document everything. Everything.

Carol: So apparently Madeline’s book club didn’t actually have anything to do with erotic fiction at all! It was all a joke! Such prudes they turned out to be! But funnily enough, just yesterday, a friend from church mentioned she belonged to a Christian Erotic Fiction Club. I’m already three chapters into our first book, and I won’t lie, it’s quite fun and really rather, well, what’s the word? Spicy!