Banksia Bay. Marion Lennox

      Raff wasn’t laughing. He was simply watchful.

      Judgemental? Because she was marrying Philip?

      Why shouldn’t she marry Philip? He was kind, thoughtful, clever.

      Her fallback?

      Um … no. He was her careful choice.

      She’d gone out with Philip before Ben had died, just for a bit, when the boys had left home, Raff to the Police Training College, Ben to university.

      Philip had left for university, too, but he’d caught glandular fever and come home for a term.

      She’d needed a date for her debutante ball and was fed up with Raff being away, with the boys being obsessed with their junk-pile car when they did come home.

      Philip had the most wonderful set of wheels. He had money even then. But he wasn’t Raff.

      She’d made her debut and she’d found an excuse to break up. The decision wasn’t met with regret. Philip had immediately asked Sarah out.

      Maybe if the accident hadn’t happened … Maybe Sarah and Philip …

      Where was she going? Don’t even think it, she decided. They were different people now.

      Philip especially was different. After the crash … he was so caring. Whenever she needed him, he was there. He’d encouraged her to take up law as well. ‘You can do it,’ he’d said. ‘You’re bright, organised, meticulous. Do law and we’ll set up the best law firm Banksia Bay’s ever seen. We can care for our parents that way, Abby. Your parents miss Ben so much. We can be there for them.’

      And so they were. It was all working out. All she needed to do was avoid the judgement on Raff’s face. And avoid the way Raff made her … feel.

      How could he bear her here?

      One night, one car crash.

      And it stood between him and this woman for ever.

      How could she marry Philip?

      But he knew. It was even reasonable, he conceded.

      Philip was okay. Once he’d even been a friend. Yes, the man made money and Raff did wonder how, but that was just his nasty cop mind. Yes, he took on cases Raff wouldn’t touch with a bargepole. If he got Baxter off …

      He would get him off, but Raff also knew a portion of Philip’s fee would end up as a cheque to the pensioners Baxter had ripped off. Not all of it—Philip was careful, not stupid with his charity—but the town might end up being grateful. Baxter would think he was great as well.

      It was only Raff who’d feel ill, and maybe that was part of ancient history as well. If Philip hadn’t been there that night …

      How unfair was that?

      ‘Tell us about your wedding dress,’ he said, and Abby shot him a look that was both suspicious and angry.

      ‘You want to know—why?’

      ‘Sarah would like to know.’

      ‘I’m going to the wedding,’ Sarah said and pointed to the invitation stuck to the fridge. ‘You should come, too. Did you get an invitation? Where did you put it? Raff’s coming, too, isn’t he, Abby?’

      ‘I’m on duty that day,’ Raff told her before Abby was forced to answer. ‘We talked about it, remember? Mrs Henderson’s taking you.’

      ‘It’d be more fun if you were there.’

      No, it wouldn’t, Raff thought, but he didn’t say so. He glanced at his watch. ‘I reckon they’ll be cooked, Sares.’

      ‘Ooh,’ Sarah said, happily distracted. ‘My honey jumbles. I could make you some more for your wedding present, Abby. Does Philip like honey jumbles?’

      ‘Sure he does,’ Abby said. ‘Who wouldn’t?’

      Honey jumbles. A big cosy kitchen like this. Dogs.

      Would Philip like honey jumbles?

      Maybe not.

      Abby ate four honey jumbles and Sarah beamed the whole time, and how could a girl worry about how tight her wedding dress was going to be in the face of that beam?

      Sarah wasn’t the only one happy. This morning Kleppy had been due for the needle. Tonight he was lying under her chair licking the last of Sarah’s honey jumbles from his chops.

      And Sarah’s beam, and Kleppy’s satisfaction, and Raff’s thoughtful, watchful gaze made her feel … made her feel …

      Like she needed to leave before things got out of hand.

      She needed to go home to Philip. To tell him she had a dog.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Raff asked and he sounded as if he cared. That scared her all by itself. She pushed her chair back so fast she scared Kleppy, which meant she had her dog in her arms and she was at the door before she meant to be.

      She hadn’t meant to look like she was rushing.

      She was rushing.

      ‘Will you take some jumbles in a bag?’ Sarah asked and she managed to calm down a little and smile and agree. So Sarah bagged her some jumbles, but she was holding Kleppy, she didn’t have a hand free, which meant Raff carried her jumbles down to the car while she carried her dog.

      Kleppy was warm and fuzzy. His heart was beating against hers. He was a comfort, she thought, and even as she thought it he stretched up and licked her, throat to chin.

      She giggled and Raff, who’d gone before and was stowing her jumbles onto the back seat, turned and smiled in the moonlight.

      ‘Dogs are great.’

      ‘They are,’ she said and felt happy.

      ‘Philip will be okay with him?’

      Why must he always butt into what wasn’t his business? Why must he always spoil the moment?

      ‘He will.’

      ‘So you’ll tell him tonight.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘I wish you luck.’

      ‘I won’t need it.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘Butt out, Finn.’

      ‘You’re always saying that,’ he said. ‘But it’s not in my power to butt out. It’s my job to intervene in domestic crises. Stopping them before they start is a life skill.’

      ‘You seriously think Philip and I would fight over a dog?’

      ‘I’m thinking you might fight for a dog,’ he said softly. ‘The old Abby’s still there somewhere. She’ll fight for this dog to the death.’

      ‘And how melodramatic is that?’

      ‘Melodramatic,’ he agreed. ‘Call the police emergency number if you need me.’

      ‘Why would I possibly need you?’

      ‘Just offering.’ He was holding the passenger door wide so she could pop Kleppy in.

      ‘You know Philip wouldn’t …’

      ‘Yeah, I know Philip wouldn’t.’ He took Kleppy from her and laid him on the passenger seat. ‘You’re giving him honey jumbles and Kleppy. Why wouldn’t the man be delighted?’

      ‘I don’t know when I hate it most—when you’re being offensive or you’re being sarcastic.’

      ‘Maybe they’re the same thing.’

      ‘Maybe they are. I wish you wouldn’t.’

      ‘No, you don’t,’ he said softly. ‘It helps you keep as far away from me as you want.