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ceiling for what seemed like hours. The black dog chased sleep away, stiffened his back when he lay for hours in the one position, and withered his resolve to deal with what the cards had dealt him.
    He’d spent the first few months back in Middle Point drowning his sorrows, finding an escape in solitude and a bottle, any bottle. It was a habit he’d picked up as a young journalist, surrounded by old timers, all equal parts raconteur and reporter, who would tell him about the heyday, when stories were phoned in between beers at the nearest front bar to copy-takers in the newsroom. Those days had long gone as were those old time reporters: carried off by emphysema and cancer and the bottle; by broken marriages and bad second choices. That strategy could only last so long and in the past month he’d cut way back on the booze.
    But it seemed that no matter what he did, or whether he was drunk or sober, each morning brought refreshed memories and still more humiliating regrets about the fact that he was a washed up nobody back in Middle Point. To pass the time, he’d started surfing again, grabbing his board and jumping into the water off the Point and paddling out beyond where the waves swelled and heaved. It was a way better buzz than a drink.
    But he wasn’t out in the water now, here in the darkness and the quiet. In the long, slow hours before morning, he had way too much sleepless time to think. He felt adrift, not quite home and not quite on holidays. He knew he had to remake himself somehow, someway, but he didn’t know where to start. He’d cut himself off from his old world when he’d jumped in his car and come home. He wasn’t the same person anymore, stripped of the two things that had made him who he was; his career and his marriage. The life he’d known was a long way behind him in the dust.
    From somewhere in the house, a whistle of wind snaked its way to him, and Joe realised he must have left the bathroom window open. It chilled his chest, and he pulled the blanket up to his chin, turned on his side away from the window.
    The only light he’d had in the past six months was meeting Anna. The one-time thing with her had helped him forget who he was and what had happened to him, to help him become, if just for one night, someone with no baggage or history. Somehow, and he couldn’t put a finger on exactly why, being with her that one night had felt like a fresh start. He’d been a different Joe Blake, that night and afterwards. He felt like he was back in the saddle and his beaten-up male ego sure needed to feel that way.
    Maybe he’d have to drive up to Adelaide and hit a few bars, try and meet some women or check out one of those dating apps the young guys in the newsroom had used. All it took was a swipe of your finger to indicate your interest in someone’s photo and you were connected. Uncomplicated, no strings attached. Easy.
    Being with Anna had proved he could still hold up his end of the bargain, if you got the drift. And she’d seemed more than satisfied. Way more than satisfied.
    Yeah , he thought, and a relaxed feeling settled over him. He could get back out there and do what any red-blooded, single Aussie bloke would do. Flirting and fucking some attractive women, that’s what he needed.
    As he drifted off to sleep, his limbs slowly becoming heavy, the soothing sounds of the waves a steady rhythm in the distance, his mind began to wander to all the possibilities he might find in the city. He began to dream. And when the scattered images flickered behind his eyes, he didn’t see anonymous blondes with legs and red lips.
    It was Anna dancing in his dreams.

CHAPTER
7
    Grace Morelli elbowed her big sister in the ribs so hard that Anna almost tumbled from her high heels.
    ‘Ow. What was that for?’ Anna hissed, keeping her voice low.
    Grace nodded her head to the left. ‘Check out that dress. I mean, really, would you wear that to your own engagement party?’
    The sisters stood on