"Yewse, I've got such a grouse feeling about this!" Nev was thrumming with excitement, and it caused her bike to waver dangerously from side to side on the wide beach-front path. "Wait – is that house purple?" She stood on her pedals and careened away, leaving Bailey and I to watch her toned butt disappearing around the next curve.

"This is a bad idea," I murmured, not for the first time since leaving Dean's place earlier that morning.

The day had begun awkwardly; I'd woken up late in Dean's bed, trying to fight the waves of memory as they crashed over me. The sheets smelled of him, and after my argument with Rueben, my night had been haunted by dark dreams I was certain only happened because of the proximity to Dean's private space and Rueben's judgement.

Rueben and Mischa were gone when I finally ventured out into the kitchen, but Nev and Bailey were waiting for me. Nev had a dangerous shine in her eyes. "We're going to find Simon's family!"

"Sorry, what?" I'd slept like hell and my brain was running late to the conversation, stuck on a packed commuter train somewhere in my subconscious, anxiously checking its watch every ten seconds.

"Think about it! Simon told us everything we need to know to find them – his ex-wife's place was on the beach near Luna Park, it's purple and it has gargoyles. Remember?"

My brain texted me from the subway, a vague memory of Simon's 'who hurt me' night when he'd spoken about where his kids probably were right now. But... "Nev, why would we go to see Simon's kids?"

"Because! We can tell them their dad died a hero!" Nev flicked her long rope of hair behind her back, and I noted that someone, probably one of her nieces, had braided it into an intricate twist. "We have to do this – for Simon."

Bailey and I locked eyes, and they gave me a quick head shake. I knew Bailey well enough to hear their thoughts: don't say no. Give her this. Exasperated, I said, "Nev, it sounds lovely, but my bike broke last night – the chain is screwed, and I'm not walking to St Kilda."

"No problem! I already checked with Rueben and he said you can his bike for the day. He's taking Mish to the docks to check on the yacht, and they decided to walk for a change."

So many thoughts bustled in my head like a bevy of drunk girls in front of a nightclub mirror. Had they walked to take longer so Rueben would avoid seeing me? Would they just take the yacht and go? Did I even want to speak to him again?

Out of excuses, I sullenly dressed and followed Nev and Bailey out the door into a very warm and windy day. We'd started our ride at the Port Melbourne end of the waterfront homes and were leisurely making our way along the bay.

But so far, nada. Sighing, I said loud enough for Bailey to hear, "You know this is nuts, right? Either we don't find them and she'll be gutted, or we do and I can only imagine how well that's going to go down. You can't just keep humouring her, Bailey."

"Maybe I should just lie to her face," replied Bailey without taking their eyes off the road. "That's working out gang-busters for you, dear."

"Jesus. Claws away, please."

"I spoke to Rueben briefly this morning. He's pissed and I can't say I blame him."

"I was going to tell him. He just... worked it out first." My face burned from both sun and shame. "I didn't say anything because I knew he wouldn't understand, same as you have never understood."

"Same as you don't understand Nev. She needs this."

Annoyed that the conversation had swung so easily away from me and back to the pretty girl, I grew petty. "What about you, Bailey? What do you need? You're going to ditch me and stay here for her, for a fantasy."

"You really think what you have with Dean isn't a fantasy?" they shot back. "Glasshouses, Ms Kay."

Summoning my most mature self, I hissed, "Bite me," then pushed after Nev.

The bay water pulsed next to us, a living organism that happily stroked the sand. I noted that the waves were the clearest I'd ever seen them; probably because there were no shipping trawlers and cruise ships stirring up the bay bottom. Surely that was a good sign?

I wanted to feel hopeful, to indulge in Nev's simple way of seeing the world, but I couldn't. I'd read once that the more intelligent a person was, the less likely they were to be happy. It was a thought that had always comforted me in the dark days – I might be miserable, but I'm smarter that you – but now I would have traded every IQ point in my bag for some of her dauntless cheer.

We hunted along the meandering water-frontage, ogling homes that had been worth millions before millions stopped being worth anything. Stately manors, towering apartments, architecturally-forward showpieces. None of them were purple, but many of them had opened their doors to the community, sharing garden patches and extra bedrooms.

Luna Park loomed around the next bend; I'd expected an abandoned theme park to be as creepy as every Hollywood fright flick had set me up to believe, but in the daylight it was just another community space with people milling around, trading and working. The slats of the wooden roller coaster were being torn up and carefully stowed away in the Haunted House, for winter wood I guessed, and children ran and played among the productive adults.

Huh. My brain had finally arrived at its desk and pointed out something I'd missed; my heart didn't hurt looking at the kids. I saw them - babies in prams, toddlers making a break for it while their grown-ups were distracted, older kids playing tag - and nothing pinched inside me the way it used to. Maybe I was finally over what had happened to me, or maybe I just had more things to grieve these days so my failed pregnancy was slipping down the list of things that caused me emotional pain.

We pushed on past the eerie laughing clown face gates of the amusement park and around the next bend. "It has to be here," said Nev insistently.

"We'll keep looking," said Bailey.

We rode until St Kilda gave way to Brighton, until it was clear the house wasn't there. "Maybe it was a bit back from the beach, or on a side street," said Nev. "We can try again another day, right, Bailes?"

Bailey nodded. "He'd be happy you tried, Nev."

I barely contained a snort. Simon would be thoroughly pissed to know we'd attempted to contact his children. What was it about death that made people glorify the ones who'd passed and attribute entirely new personalities to them? When I went, I wanted people to be honest: she was a big mouth, a problem solver, she did a ton of self-sabotage, and she loved too hard.

On the ride back, I swatted a fly off my nose and the motion caused me to glance across the road towards a high wall hugging a tight corner. Atop the imposing brick was a snarling stone demon; beyond that, a flash of pale purple.

I nearly didn't say anything; I knew how this would end. But a sadistic side of my personality wanted to watch some drama that wasn't mine, to grab popcorn and see someone else make a mess of things for once. "Hey, Nev? I think I found it..."

We wheeled our bikes over to the soaring steel gates. The house didn't face the beach, which seemed like poor planning for a bayside block, but instead turned its stately front to the south, as if it was too aristocratic to do anything as gauche as gaze out to sea. The paint was more of a light lavender, which accounted for why we missed it the first pass. I was pretty certain we'd all been looking for a Ribena-type purple.

Unlike the neighbours, this home was locked up tight. Nev pulled uselessly on the gates. "Yo! Anyone in there?"

"There," said Bailey, pointing out a young boy who played in the grass beside a hoary oak tree. "Oi, matey! Can you get a grown up for us?"

The child stood and placed his hands on his hips, unimpressed. I gasped, and Nev clapped her hands to her mouth. "Oh my god, you guys, did you see that?"

"Yes," said Bailey in awe. It was exactly the same way Simon would stand when he was annoyed or perplexed, the gesture perfectly recreated in this small human.

"Mum!" the kid yelled. "Someone's trying to get in the gates!"

Two figures emerged from the house; a woman with a severe fringe, and a man with a raised cricket bat that clearly wasn't intended to smack red balls. They were older than us, in their thirties, and their faces were set in masks of defensiveness. "Get inside," the woman said urgently to the boy, and the two adults approached us.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice hard.

"The scar," murmured Bailey. Sure enough, there was a shining thread of silver that trailed down the woman's face from her brow to her cheek.

She noticed us staring and arranged her hair to fall forward, obscuring the fault line. "I said what do you want? This is private property."

"You're Maisie," I said quickly. To the man beside her, I made an educated guess. "And I think you're Alan. Your mum is Mary, and this house used to be your grandfather's."

"How... how do you know all of that?" said the man, who had to be Alan from the look of awe on his face.

"We've been travelling with your dad," said Nev proudly.

Maisie's face flickered from shock to anger in less than a second. "That drunk loser? Don't tell me he's here. If he's sent you lot to try and butter us up so he can come crawling back into our lives, tell him not to bother. The world might have ended, but that doesn't change the fact that we want nothing to do with him – does it, Alan?"

Her brother's face showed only shock, and he lowered his bat in silence.

Nev's voice rose as she defended her road dad. "He wasn't a loser – he had a disease. And no, he's not here, but you'd be lucky if he was because he was one of the best blokes I've ever met."

"Was?" asked Alan softly.

"He died on the road with us," said Bailey. "He defended us against someone who would have hurt Karla and Nev. You should know your dad was a hero."

Alan's expression gave nothing away, and I wondered if he'd even heard us. Maisie, on the other hand, showed enough emotion for the both of them and then some. She sneered. "Good riddance. He ruined my face and my life. He was a drunk who only ever thought about himself, and I'm glad I never have to see him again."

Nev took a breath, and I knew she was preparing to screech. I laid a hand on her shoulder and took over. "That might have been the man you grew up with, but that's not the man we knew. Our Simon was generous and funny and he defended people who needed it. He still drank, but he worked for me for years and I never had a problem with him. And for what it's worth – he loved you both very much, until the day he died."

"It's worth nothing," said Maisie. Her voice was saturated with sarcasm as she said, "I'm so glad you got the father we wished we'd grown up with, but forgive me if I'm not about to cry my eyes out over a man I haven't seen or wanted to see in years."

She jutted her chin at us. "You need to leave. Alan, come on." With staccato steps, she stormed back up the cobblestone driveway and into the magnificent home.

Alan hesitated. As he squinted, I could see shades of his dad in his face, in the cant of his eyebrows and the shade of his beard. "Did... Do you think he had changed?" he asked uncertainly.

"As much as a person is capable of change," I said, aiming for honesty, not platitudes. "He had his faults, but he was a good man."

His eyes were growing puffy. "I read the emails he sent us. I didn't reply, but I looked at them all."

It wasn't enough, but it had to be. "It was nice to meet you," said Bailey, leading us away from the gate, leaving Alan to absorb what we'd said.

Once we were out of earshot, Nev exploded. "This is such bull! Simon's kids are arseholes! They didn't even care he was dead! He's their family, and they didn't give a toss!"

"Nev, you place too much weight on family," I said, throwing my leg over Rueben's bike. "Just because you share blood with someone doesn't mean you're close or you care about them or that you owe them anything. Family only means what the people in that family make it mean."

"Well, family should mean something," she retorted. "My fam are the best – you'll see when you come to dinner tonight and meet them."

"Dinner?" I said, wondering if I could fake a cold or an injury or an STD, anything that would excuse me for the night.

Nev eyed me cannily. "Everyone is coming to dinner – that includes you, Karla. This might be our last night together before yewse are off, so yeah, you're coming and don't make me fight you on it."

"Please, Karla," said Bailey quietly as Nev pedalled away furiously. "I need some moral support tonight."

Cornered, I said, "Fine."

Back at Dean's place, I locked myself away in the master bedroom and tidied up as best I could. Nev had loaned me a scarlet maxi-skirt with a stretchy waistband that belonged to her sister which I paired with my fitted black tee, the last clean item of clothing in my backpack.

Looking in the mirror, I analysed my reflection. My belly was definitely smaller, but I hadn't had the drastic Biggest Loser-style transformation I'd been hoping for since starting this journey. Still, I looked okay-ish; my arms were browner and my skin was clear. I would have left the room feeling pretty good if I hadn't realised at the last minute that Liana's skirt was from a maternity collection.

In the kitchen, Bailey was drinking wine while Nev played chess with Mischa; neither of them were following the rules from what I could see, but they were happily dancing Dean's marble knights against the glass board while making horse noises.

The little girl looked up. "Woah. You look so pretty."

"Thanks," I said, blushing furiously.

"You need a flower for your hair. I saw a red one outside!" Mish scampered off out the front as Rueben emerged.

The sight of him made me shiver. I hadn't looked at him properly in days, and weirdly I'd forgotten how attractive he was. He wore the white business shirt from the day we'd met in my offices over a pair of black jeans. The stubble on his face was shifting from rough growth into an impressive beard, and his strong hands smoothed back his hair into something resembling a style. Our eyes connected, and while my libido flared, my emotions shrivelled to see the distance behind his stare.

Nev clapped. "Great! We're all here. Let's go!"

We walked in the mild night air, a sliver of moon casting just enough light to see. Nev and Bailey strolled in front of us, arm in arm. Rueben fell into step with me just as Mish pranced up with a brilliant hibiscus bloom. "There! Watch out, it has some ants in it."

"Thank you, Mish." I gave her a quick hug, then hunted down the stray ants and tucked the flower behind my ear.

"I'm getting one for Nev too!" She bolted off ahead again, leaving me with her dad.

"She likes you," said Rueben.

"I like her."

He let the silence hang between us like a sticky strand of honey. Unable to bear it, I blustered out with, "I was going to tell you. About Dean."

"Hmm." Rueben lifted his hands and gestured as if writing calligraphy in the air.

"Dean Owen Mealy," said Rueben softly, speaking the triple-barrelled name from the uni certificate that had given away my dark secret. "D. O. M. Dean is Dom."

"Yes."

"I had guessed it. I just didn't want to believe that you've been lying to me."

"It wasn't a lie," I defended. "He was only Dom to me when I was with him – it was like he was someone else. And because we didn't want my brother to find out we were dating, it made it easier. I could talk about Dom, and no one realised who I actually meant."

"Was it you that didn't want your brother to find out you were dating his friend, or was it Dean's idea to keep it a secret?"

"Both. My brother has always had this weird thing about me not dating Dean, even when we were in high school."

"Do you think that's because maybe he knew what his friend was like with women and he wanted to protect you from him?"

"No, it's because my brother didn't want the hassle of his baby sister ruining his friendship circle."

"You're still planning on getting back together with Dean, even after how he treated you?"

I felt uncomfortably hot all over. "You make it sound so simple, same as Bailey. Dom- Dean made some mistakes, sure – but if he'll have me, I have to try again."

"That's strong language. Have to – as if you don't have a choice."

"You're twisting my words."

"They're your words."

"Then I'll be clear: I choose to forgive and forget and try again."

"Why?"

"Because Dean is my sunset," I burst out, the words escaping from somewhere they should have been locked up tightly.

"Your what?"

Annoyed at Rueben for delving into this private matter, I pledged not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Affecting pride, I said, "When I picture myself at eighty in my rocking chair, watching the sunset, it's always been Dean I've pictured beside me." I tried to explain what Bailey had never understood, hoping that Rueben would. "That's why I'm trying again, because people can change and he's ready now. He told me he was wrong about breaking up with me when we spoke on the phone."

"I said I wouldn't shrink you anymore, but let's talk about him for a second. What's Dean's relationship with your brother like? They've been out of high school for a while now."

"They're not as close as they used to be. They had a weird argument over some investment a few years back." I'd felt a savage delight when my brother had told me; listening to the anger in his voice when he spoke about Dean was like lancing a boil, pus pouring out, leaving me sore.

"But he visits your brother on his farm, just as the end of the world is about to happen. He's a smart guy – he knows that the farm is a great deal, and he needs a way to secure his place there. What better way than to become romantically entangled with his mate's sister?"

"It's not like that," I said, feeling a burble of acid in my stomach that seemed to side with Rueben on this one.

"The timing seems very coincidental, Karla. You don't hear from him for years, and suddenly he's indicating that he wants you back. It's a win-win for him – either you never arrive at the farm, in which case he can mourn you with your parents and brother like a bereaved son-in-law, basically making himself part of the family. And if you do make it there, he can pick up his games with you exactly where he left off – putting you down, having you cater to all his whims, serving him sexually."

"You don't know him."

"Actually, I do. These types of abusive men are surprisingly easy to predict. They have similar MOs." Rueben stopped and reached for my hand. "Please. I'm not saying you have to decide anything now, but you're highly intelligent, Karla. Look at this logically as well as through your romantic lens."