I am going to ask if she saw a car, but I think better of it. I don’t want her to keep reliving the moment. Instead, a thought becomes words without my permission: ‘Must have been pretty special crockery.’

‘No. Special to me. Worth a few thousand, maybe ten.’

‘That’s something.’ I consider $10,000 would be worth robbing someone for, but unless you’re a crockery nerd, this particular theft doesn’t sound like the simplest transaction. I don’t believe she is lying to me. I believe she came to my place looking for crockery. I have a dread rising in my gut that the burglar wasn’t looking for crockery, and that I may have some responsibility for Elaine getting hurt.

On the road, out the front, there are flashing coloured lights, and I head through the door into the garden. I don’t want them to miss us. The ambulance stops at the fence when they see me, and they get out carrying bags and a fold-out stretcher. I direct them, and have the warm rush of knowing competence has arrived. And then more flashing coloured lights break up the night as a police car motors in. A uniformed policewoman and policeman get out. I think she might be the one I saw at my mailbox, but I can’t be certain. They start asking me questions, confirming they’re in the right place, and who I am, and whether I’m the owner, and what is my version of events. The ambos bring Elaine out on a stretcher.

‘Just being safe. No need to worry,’ one of the ambos says as she goes past, picking up on my concern. I nod my thanks.

After a while, the police let me go, asking me to make myself available for further questioning. At least they haven’t checked my ute.

I drive home feeling I am a magnet for personal pain. As I brood, an older white car I don’t recognise goes past in the opposite direction, at pace.

Minutes later, I steer into my garage, and get out. Mick comes out of the house dragging his bag, cursing me, cursing everything.

‘Problem?’

‘I’ve just been fucken robbed.’

‘Robbed?’ I’m not worrying about Mick. I’m worrying about me.

‘Yeah, fucken robbed. I’m watching the TV, having a quiet beer, and a car pulls up outside, and someone comes in the door. I figure it’s you. So I don’t pay any attention. Then this tall dude, badly wired, like he’s on something nasty, walks straight into the living room, grabs me, and demands to know where the money is.’

I’m watching Mick to check that he’s telling the truth, and thinking that the robber, if he’s real, must have come straight from Elaine’s to here.