The Flood

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Daniela didn’t want to think about that. ‘No. No, it was just a dumb argument. He’s all mouth, you know that.’ She shoved the knife back into its pocket and folded her jacket onto the kitchen table.

‘Are you sure?’ Auryn didn’t look convinced at all. ‘There’s always been rumours about him. And what happened with Mum …’

‘Mum left,’ Daniela said shortly. ‘No mystery about it. Anyway, you can’t listen to rumours. Literally you can’t, if you’re planning on being a lawyer. Isn’t there a whole bit about not prejudging your clients?’

‘Don’t take the piss,’ Auryn said, without malice. She spooned instant coffee into a cup. ‘You know what I mean. There’s always been something … off about him. You wouldn’t mess with him.’

‘Me? God, no. But this is Franklyn. She can look after herself, can’t she?’

‘I don’t know.’ Auryn watched the kettle come to the boil. ‘She’s changed since she went away. In a good way, maybe.’

That was true. There’d always been a hardness, a tension about Franklyn, all through childhood, as if at any moment she might fly off the handle. But since she’d left home, the edge had gone from her temper. In every other way she was the same – the quick smile, the easy-going speech – but there was no longer something darker concealed beneath. She seemed … at peace. No, that was the wrong word. She’d found an internal balance. The fight with Henry seemed suddenly out of character, a relapse to worse times.

It troubled Daniela that things were changing, even though change was what she craved. She felt like someone had nudged a boulder at the top of a steep slope, just enough to start it rolling, but no one was sure how far it might fall or who it would crush.