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way of using the club during daylight hours, she’d been subjected to eye-rolling and accusations of being
so
pedestrian.
    Maybe there was something to it. She was on her own, in Melbourne, it was light outside and she was sober, but too bad. She found a
Best of the 80s
CD in Sebastian’s large collection. From what she’d seen, all her neighbors left for work early, so she hoped for no complaints. She pushed back the furniture in the living room, turned the music up loud and danced to Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ “Geno” and Spandau Ballet’s “Gold.”
Midway through a Duran Duran song,
the polished floorboards gave her an idea. She took off her sneakers and started sliding from room to room in her sock-covered feet. She changed CDs, finding Ravel’s “Bolero” and turning that up full blast as well. She did both Torvill and Dean’s actions, making herself laugh. She and Sebastian had loved floor-skating as children, until Fidelma laid carpet in the hallway and main rooms. The dust coming up through the floorboards made her sneeze, she’d said.
    Sylvie hadn’t heard from her mother since leaving Sydney. She’d almost rung her four times. Each time she’d stopped. Fidelma was probably still at her coastal retreat. With Ray. Painting. Meeting her dealer. There was the shimmer of hurt that her mother hadn’t rung to see how she was getting on, but it was a feeling she’d become used to over the years. It wasn’t malice on Fidelma’s part, as Sebastian had pointed out. It was absentmindedness. It still hurt.
    As she slid to a halt near the answering machine in the hall, the light was flashing. Two messages. She hadn’t heard the phone ring over the music. She pressed the button.
    “Great-Aunt Mill calling, Sylvie. I’ve had a marvelous idea. Would you please start keeping a note of some handy household hints for me? All tried and tested. I’m getting forgetful so I think the best thing is to tell you when I think of them. Carla next door says I should buy one of those Dictaphone gadgets but I thought, no, that’s silly. I can tell you and you’re young and you’ll remember for me. Denture-cleaning tablets are ideal for bleaching white table linen. So simple, isn’t it? Thank you, Sylvie. No need to call back.”
    The second message was from her sister Cleo. Her voice filled the hallway.
    “Hi, Seb. Hi, Sylvie. Hope Melbourne’s good. Sylvie, I can’t find that dry cleaning anywhere. We’re back in Sydney for an opening night and I need my blue dress. Where did you put it?”
    Sylvie hadn’t put it anywhere. In the flurry of packing and getting ready to leave, she’d forgotten to get it. Oh bloody hell. She could call a courier and ask them to collect it and drop it around to Cleo. They should be able to give it to her without the docket. She’d ring them first and—
    She stopped. Or she could ring Cleo back and tell her she was sorry, she’d forgotten, but perhaps Cleo could collect her own dry cleaning.
    She dialed the number before she lost her nerve. She could almost hear her heart beating. Voicemail, please, voicemail. Her plea was answered. “Cleo, it’s Sylvie.” Her voice was croaky. She gave a little cough. “Hi, all’s great here. Sebastian’s apartment is beautiful. The weather’s good. Um, your dry cleaning—” About to back down and say she’d organize it from there, she had a vision of Sebastian frowning at her, mouthing, “Don’t let them bully you. Stand up for yourself.” She stood up straight. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately I didn’t get time to collect it. The docket’s in the in-tray on the desk in the studio. Hope your holiday’s going well. See you.”
    She had to stop herself phoning back and apologizing again. She went out for a walk around the block, away from the temptation. When she got back fifteen minutes later, there was another message.
    She pressed the button. Cleo, again. “Hi, Sylvie. Thanks for letting me know about the dry cleaning. What