Blood Secret by Jaye Ford

together before she spoke. ‘He had affairs. When he disappeared, he was with other women.’
    Rennie didn’t speak. Was struck dumb by the words. By their implication. By Trish’s inference. She struggled to find voice. ‘And you think he’s . . . with another woman?’
    â€˜I don’t know, hon.’
    She wanted to stand up and yell that he wouldn’t do that. But something stopped her. A spark of fear, a tap of doubt, her sister’s voice. We don’t get a happy ending. We’ve seen too much shit. We’re too fucked up. No one can love that.
    Max said he loved her and she’d believed him. Now she wondered if she’d wanted a better life so much she’d let herself forget the one that had shaped her. Had she been kidding herself for five years?
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11
    Rennie pushed her chair back and swiped up her mobile and keys. ‘I need to go.’
    Trish held onto her arm. ‘You haven’t eaten anything. You should try to have something.’
    â€˜I . . . can’t. Not now. I just need to . . . go.’
    â€˜Then take something with you.’ She signalled to the counter. ‘Eliza, put a muffin in a bag for Rennie.’
    â€˜Would you like it heated, Rennie?’ Eliza called.
    Rennie waved a dismissive hand. ‘Forget it.’
    Trish followed her through the cafe, keeping her voice low. ‘I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, but in the circumstances, I thought you should know. It doesn’t mean that’s what’s happening now. It might be something else entirely.’
    Rennie stepped into the street, her squint in the glare feeling like a scowl. ‘He’s missing and so far every possibility has a horrible outcome.’
    Eliza appeared in the doorway and held out a bag. ‘Apple and cinnamon.’
    Rennie took it to avoid further discussion, flicked her eyes back to Trish. ‘Ask Pav who Max might stay with.’
    Trish’s face filled with regret and concern. ‘Rennie, honey . . .’
    â€˜And ask Pav who Max stayed with the other times.’ She didn’t wait for a response, just headed for the car park with long, resolute strides, not sure what the hell to think now, just knowing that moving felt a whole lot better than sitting in Skiffs waiting for Trish to drop another bombshell.
    What would she do if Pav came up with names? Ring and ask to speak to Max? If he answered, at least she’d know he wasn’t dead or hurt. At least that’d be a change on the past.
    At the lane as she stopped to check for traffic, she saw the man with the camera again. He was across the road, outside the real estate agency, looking back along the street towards the lake. The camera was hanging from his neck, a chunky thing with a fat lens that he held onto with a cupped hand, as though he was supporting its weight – or ready to click a photo.
    Rennie turned the corner, glancing over her shoulder again. He was studying the display in the window now, properties and early Christmas decorations, his back to her. Old habits made her take a mental snapshot – average height, slight build, brown trousers, beige shirt, brimmed hat. She walked a few paces, took another glimpse, hoping to catch a reflection of his face but the sun was bright overhead and all she saw was the mirror image of the lane opposite and herself looking furtive as she headed away.
    Out of sight of the street, she wove a path between the scattered vehicles in the car park, agitated with doubt and indecision. Should she tell the police Max had disappeared before? Would they contact Leanne for the details, follow up on the women he’d stayed with previously? It was years ago – would he still know them? Maybe there were others now. Maybe last night’s proposal was a final test – rejection, and he was done. Across the tarmac, the uniform cop was still standing by the crime