Page 21 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“I caught him kissing your sister. She was fourteen.”

“I know, Dad. But he insists it was innocent. That he’d never have taken it further.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I know she saw him today, and they’re meeting up again tomorrow. I’m worried about her. After everything she’s been through, she doesn’t need this.”

He’s referring to the fact that, at eighteen, Elora attended an after-ball party at someone’s house. Her drink was spiked with flunitrazepam, and a group of boys took her upstairs and raped her. It was an event that had a profound effect on the whole family and has dominated our lives ever since, even though we don’t talk about it the way we used to.

At the time, I’d just finished my university degree, but obviously the event overshadowed any celebration I might have had. My parents didn’t come to my graduation because they were busy caring for Elora. I understood—of course I did. I hated that Elora had suffered in that way. I wanted to kill the guys who’d done that to her. But that was just the culmination of a long line of similar stories. I’m the middle child, the secondborn, but somehow constantly in third place behind the oldest and the baby. Forgotten and insignificant.

Self-pity isn’t an attractive trait, Joel. I push it away and concentrate on the conversation. “Elora’s old enough now to make her own decisions about her life,” I say to Dad.

“She’s still vulnerable,” he says. “And you know what Linc’s like. He could sell salt to a slug.”

I bristle. “That’s unfair. He genuinely likes her. He took great pains to explain that he would never have done anything other than kiss her. Fraser and I told him what happened to her. He knows she’s vulnerable. But don’t you think it would be good for her to have some fun while he’s here? She knows him and she trusts him. Don’t you think that’s just what she needs?”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that,” he snaps. “The absolutely last thing she needs is some wide boy seducing her and making her fall in love with him, then abandoning her without a glance back.”

All of a sudden, I’m incredibly tired. “It’s nothing to do with either of us,” I point out. “I’m busy, and I have to go.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the ANZAS awards dinner.”

“Oh, I forgot you were going. How did it go?”

“I won the Archaeological Fieldwork Award,” I say flatly.

“That’s great, Joel. Well done.” He sounds distracted. He’s probably on his computer, Googling ways to get Linc extradited.

“Thanks. Speak to you later.”

I end the call, feeling frustrated and upset. I slide my phone into my top pocket and stand there for a moment, looking out at the view. The lights of Paihia and Waitangi twinkle in the distance, but the sea in front of me is like a yawning chasm. I wish I could dive into it and descend into the other, mysterious world that exists beneath the surface. I’m at home there, in the quiet and the dark. I don’t belong here.

“Hey.”

I turn to see Zoe standing next to me. She slides her hand into the crook of my elbow and tips her head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“Dad.” I run a hand through my hair, forgetting that it’s full of product. The smooth strands separate and spring into their normal curls.

Zoe smiles and reaches up a hand to smooth them down. “You want to talk about it?”

I’d like to, but don’t know what to say that won’t come out petulant and self-pitying, so I say, “Not really.”

She scans my face. Then she says, “Come and dance with me.”

I glance at the room with the flashing lights. The DJ has just started playing the Bee Gees’How Deep is Your Love. I look back at her. “Wouldn’t you rather dance with Hori?”

She chuckles. “Come on.” Taking my hand, she leads me across the foyer and into the room.

It’s not as big as the restaurant, but tables and chairs line the edge, and couples are turning slowly on the square wooden dance floor. Zoe takes me across to one side, turns to face me, and rests her left hand on my shoulder. I slide my right onto her waist, still holding her other hand, and we begin moving.

We don’t speak. We’re about six inches apart, the way friends should be. I’d like to slip my hand around her back and pull her toward me so our bodies are flush, but I don’t.

I want to be more than friends. I want to date her, and kiss her properly, and make love to her, and let everyone know she’s my girl. I’ve been obsessed with her for a long time, and it’s not getting better. But I can’t force her to go out with me. I asked her up here this week to see whether, if we spent some serious timein close proximity, I might be able to persuade her that dating me would be a good thing. But if it doesn’t work, I’m going to have to let her go. I do know that. I’m just not very good at admitting defeat.

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