Page 147 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

I lower my head as my vision blurs with tears. The mention of Mum, what she went through unbeknownst to me, and the damn hormones, it’s a wonder I’m not a blubbering mess.I have to be strong.

My aunt wraps me up in a hug. “He’s putting you first, darling, and that couldn’t make me happier.”

“Yeah, he is.”

We’re in such a good place, but could it all be taken away from us? D-day for court looms.

“Come on.” She ushers me into the kitchen and orders me to put my feet up while she makes us a tea. I tidy the paper and notebooks on the table as she unwraps a tray of homemade coconut macaroons. The nostalgia linked to the sweet smell of the treats hits me right in the heart.Nan’s recipe. Mum, Jean, Nan, and I all in the kitchen together, baking up a storm.

Jean places a steaming cup in front of me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I mumble around a mouthful of coconut goodness.

“How did you go in the search for the father?” Her voice is small. I know it’s probably not something she wants to bring up. “Heard anything more from Steph?”

I swallow, the biscuit rough as it makes its way down my throat. “No luck. Steph messaged me a few weeks ago to say she was still trying. Do I just let it go? If she can’t find him, I’ll have no hope. I don’t know where he lives, what he does, his last name.”

She pulls out the chair opposite me, pushing the stack of paperwork aside to make room for her tea. “I don’t know, darlin’.”

Jean focuses on the papers for a moment before scooping up my notepad. She runs her fingers over the doodles in the corner of the page, focusing on the owl and crescent moon.

“Did you draw this? It’s great.”

“Thanks. You know I’ve always been a doodler.”

She shakes her head and scoffs. “It’s the darndest thing. My friend from Greystanes High School used to draw something like that. Skylah was obsessed with the moon, and this locket she had was similar. She wore it everywhere.”

My heart thumps hard in my chest. “What did you say?”It couldn’t be the same Skylah, could it?

“This friend from school—”

“Skylah?”

She frowns. “Yeah, she was a sweet thing. Can’t say she had much taste in men, but she was always kind to me. Why?”

My heart beats wildly.My aunt potentially knew Jerry’s mum?Am I seeing more into this than I should? There would be thousands of women with that name. But how many with such a distinct locket?

Bloody hell. I have to be cool about this. I’m not even supposed to know about her. Jerry trusted me with that part of him and I won’t misplace that trust.

I school my interest and clear my throat. “N-nothing. It’s an unusual name.”

I have to tell Jerry, but first I have to see what else she knows.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Bile teases at the back of my throat.

Aunt Jean shakes her head. “We graduated same year, class of nineteen-ninety-one. I didn’t see her for a couple of years after that. We ended up living in the same crappy apartment complex. The last time we hung out was probably in ninety-four?” She nudges my elbow with hers. “Back when I was rockin’ to AC/DC and Guns N’ Roses.” She laughs out loud. “You were still in nappies.”

I chuckle at the thought of my strait-laced aunt, headbanging and rocking an air guitar, imitating Bon Scott. “Rock on.” I make the sign with my hand, curling my middle fingers into my palm.

Being eight years younger than my mum, it’s no wonder they had different tastes. Mum was into the Rolling Stones, The Doors, and thanks to her love of Genesis, I know the lyrics to every Phil Collins song.

She smirks. “Yeah, my taste in music has changed, okay?” She scratches at her temple. “Anyway, last time I saw Skylah she was heavily pregnant. She must’ve split up with the boyfriend at some point, took the Combi. I never laid eyes on her or the car again. A while later he trashed the place. Cops got called and the landlord kicked him out.”

A million things stir around my brain. Jerry’s only a year younger than me, so Skylah must’ve been pregnant with Jerry. Is the boyfriend Jerry’s father? Does she know his name?

I swallow hard and try to calm my racing pulse with slow breaths. I must tread carefully. “What a douche,” I add after a beat. “I bet his name was Nick. I’ve never met a Nick I liked.”

“Ha, me neither,” Aunt Jean says. “You’re close though. His name was Nate. He certainly was a looker, tall, dark hair. Spent hours a day working out. He was a year or two above us. Not sure he graduated. Nice as pie to your face, but I came across him in the complex from time to time. Plenty of sketchy types would drop around. Whatever he was into, I got the impression from the self-assured way he spoke that he wouldn’t be the type to mess with.”

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