15. Casey, Berlin

I've spent the workday dealing with artists, catering, deliveries, mix-ups and finalising everything for the exhibition opening on Tuesday night. My mind has had no space to dwell on the phone call I need to make to Eva later, but my body carries the stress of it. My shoulders pinch, there's a relentless dull throb in my temple, and I have no appetite. Now, it's just gone 5.40pm, and as much as I'd like to keep working so I can avoid that call, we've done all we can for today and Felix wants to leave.

‘Call on the weekend if you need me,' I say to Felix as I slip my laptop into its bag. ‘I'll be working on the London exhibition anyway.'

‘Sure. I'll be here Sunday for the installers. That leaves us two days for any last-minute issues, so I think we're good.'

‘I'll come in on Sunday and give you a hand, if you like,' I say.

‘Great, thank you. Any plans tonight?'

‘Erm…' I massage my temple. ‘Have to call Eva. Things to talk about.'

He grimaces. ‘Like that, is it?'

I frown. ‘Mmm.'

‘Sorry to hear that. If you need a friend afterwards, you have my number.'

I hoist my laptop bag onto my shoulder. ‘Cheers, Felix. I might take you up on that.'

‘Oh.' He jumps up. ‘Can you wait a minute? The caterers contacted me with some last-minute changes and I'd like your opinion before I get back to them.'

‘Okay,' I say, welcoming the delay.

He heads down the corridor to another office and I lean against the doorframe and check my phone, automatically navigating to Holly's Insta profile, hoping for a new post since her night out on Saturday. Her grid has new photos, but they're outside shots – a park, an old building. I click on the first image and read the caption. Rain in the Tiergarten. I push myself off the doorframe, my heart leaping. Does Melbourne have a Tiergarten? I look at the next image and my legs almost buckle. It's the Alte Nationalgalerie, posted twenty-one minutes ago. Oh, God. I check the time – 5.49pm.

‘Felix,' I shout. ‘I have to go.'

He appears holding a piece of paper. ‘Oh, I just need?—'

‘Get whatever you think. Sorry,' I call over my shoulder as I shoot across the gallery floor and out the doors.

I run to the end of the street, peering at my watch as I turn onto Tucholskystrasse – 5.52. I switch to a fast walk, darting around people who get in my way. Why is this road so long? I reach Oranienburgerstrasse at 5.55. The pedestrian crossing lights are red. ‘Hurry up, lights,' I mutter. They change to green and I bolt across the road, then run the rest of the way to the entrance of Monbijoupark. I don't bother with paths this time, just cut across the grass, and then I freeze.

A woman is standing exactly where I was yesterday, her back to me. I squint as I assess her. She has long, wavy, honey-coloured hair. She also has a familiar soft sway of her hip as she takes a few steps forward, and a body shape that looks a lot like the one I mapped with my hands and mouth every moment I could. My gaze lands on a camera cradled in her hand – her camera. She points it towards the Berliner Fernsehturm and clicks the shutter.

Move, Casey. One foot in front of the other. But my body won't comply with my brain. Instead, my trembling hands fumble with my phone and I call Jaz.

‘Oh, heeyyy,' she answers.

‘I think she's here, Jazzy.' My voice is just above a whisper. ‘I fucking found her.'

A scream bursts into my eardrum and I hear Chandice in the background say, ‘What you screaming at? Is that Casey?'

‘Yeah,' Jaz says. ‘She's found Holly.'

‘No fucking way!' Chandice shrieks.

‘Well, I can't be certain, but whoever she is really, really looks like her, and moves like her.'

‘Hang on, you said, "she's here". Here where? Are you in the park?' Jaz says.

‘Yeah. She posted a photo of the gallery where we first met like, half an hour ago, so I raced over here.'

‘Ow, Chandice,' Jaz yells. ‘Get the fuck off me.'

‘I'm trying to listen!' Chandice retorts.

‘Are you sure it was a real-time photo?' Jaz says. ‘Not like a photo from years ago she's just posted today?'

‘Oh.' My heart sinks. ‘I hadn't thought of that.' I try to recall the caption – nothing more than the name of the gallery. ‘I guess it could be an old photo. I'm on my phone, so I can't check.' I groan. ‘Now I feel like a right twat. But I'm staring at someone who looks just like her.'

‘How much does it actually look like her?' Chandice interjects. ‘You've been staring at her photos on Instagram enough, you should be able to tell.'

‘A lot, I s'pose. I can't see her face that clearly from here. But she has a camera, and I remember the way she carried herself – that's the same.' I remember her other Berlin photo. ‘She posted a photo of the Tiergarten, too. And that caption said, "Rain in the Tiergarten". It rained here this morning.'

‘Well, then,' Jaz says. ‘Just walk up and ask, "are you Holly?" And if it's not, walk away, no harm done.'

I rub my stomach. ‘I actually feel like I'm going to chuck, though.'

‘Just go and fucking talk to her,' Chandice calls out. ‘You've spent your entire twenties wanting this moment. Don't ruin it now.'

‘How can she not see you?' Jaz asks.

‘I'm half hiding behind a tree.'

‘Oh my God. What are you like,' Chandice says with a laugh.

The woman tucks her camera away and glances around. She looks my way and does a quick double take, then shakes her head and starts towards the river.

‘Oh, fuck. She's leaving,' I say.

‘Go! Fucking go!' Jaz says. ‘I'm hanging up.'

‘Call us back!' Chandice yells.

I slip my phone into my pocket, unglue my feet from the ground and move. She's walking at a fast pace and I'm almost at a jog to catch her. My heart thumps, and the adrenaline coursing through my body makes me jelly-like. When I'm almost caught up, I call, ‘Holly?'

She spins, and I gasp. ‘It is you.'