(c) Alan Baxter 2023
This is the opening chapter of the novella, The Leaves Forget, available now from Absinthe Books.
1
All I want is a hot bath followed by a room temperature scotch and the comfort of my favourite armchair. It’s been a long day and I’m over it. Hobart winters can be ridiculously cold, and today is doing its best to set a record. Everyone thinks because Tasmania is part of Australia, it’s hot and dusty and orange and all that stuff the mainland is famous for. But it’s an island, almost a different country, culture notwithstanding, and it does winter more like some European places. Honestly, I like that about it, except on days like this when I’ve been out on site working for hours and the cold has sunk into my bones, biting at my marrow, threatening to set up in there and never leave. Ah, that hot bath is calling, I can almost feel myself slipping into it as I slip my key into the apartment door.
“Hey, Craig.”
Oh, come on, I was so close. I turn around and reluctantly admit it’s good to see Victor Tan, my downstairs neighbour. It’s been months. “Hey, Vic! You’re back.” Obviously, Stupid thing to say, really, but small talk is exactly that. Small.
“Yeah, just this morning.”
“How was England?”
“Warm! Can you believe it? Summer there now and we came back to this. Bad planning.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I can hear my bath screeching out for me. “But you had fun?”
“For sure. Maisie and I saw all the sights. We went to eleven different countries around Europe in seven months.”
“Eleven?”
“Right? Some are smaller than Australian states. One day we drove in three countries in a single day, where the borders all met up.”
“Wild.” Man, my hands are cold.
“Anyway, you’ve been at work. You don’t need me jabbering at you right now. But I wanted to give you these.”
He holds up a wad of envelopes, there must be a dozen or more, all the same looking stationery. Brows furrowing, I reach out to take them.
“Someone got the apartment number wrong,” Vic says. “These were all in our mailbox when we got back.”
If I was cold before, I’m arctic now. A shudder runs through me and my hand starts to shake when I see Olivia’s neat cursive. The writing I haven’t seen for months. The sister I haven’t seen since last spring. I quickly flip through the envelopes and every one is from her. My apartment address is 6/63 and she’s written 3/63. An easy enough mistake to make, I guess.
We’ve been trying for months to track her down and nothing. We’ve been so scared of what might have happened to her. She just disappeared one day. We’ve even had those tentative conversations, my parents and I—what if she’s gone for good? What if we never find her? What if someone turns up her body? And all this time she’s been writing to me and putting the wrong apartment number on the address? That’s such an Olivia thing to do it hurts.
“Vic, thanks for this.” My voice is artificially light, the aural equivalent of plastic. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“No worries. Catch up for drinks soon, yeah? Maisie will be keen to show you some photos and stuff.”
Like they hadn’t been posting fifty shots a day on Facebook the whole time they were away. We all know everything we might want to know about their trip already. But that’s not in the spirit of friendship, is it? “Sure thing, of course.”
“Good, good. Now get inside, you look so cold.”
Vic, you have no idea, mate. “Thanks. See you soon.”
I stumble inside and head straight for the bathroom. I want nothing more than to read these letters, but I have to get warm. I start the bath running and look back at the pile on the coffee table in front of my couch.
Jesus, Olivia, what am I about to read?
(c) Alan Baxter 2023
This is the opening chapter of the novella, The Leaves Forget, available now from Absinthe Books.
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