I spin the ute around like I’m in a TV drama, and bounce my way up the rutted edge of the paddock and out the top gate at speed, for no good reason. I’m going to see Elaine because that’s what a good neighbour would do. She’s either doing well at home with her ‘husband’ or she’s in trouble, and some of that trouble is probably my greedy fault. I could call her, but I don’t think a phone call would remove my fears. This is probably not unusual behaviour for normal people, but for me it is out of recent character. I have not reacted to anything or anyone with any energy or speed or purpose for months — except for the trip to the races. Perhaps things are changing. In my rear-view mirror, I see Ted and Special, stopped at the yards, watching me leave. They don’t shake their heads in dismay at me. I’m sure they don’t.

It only takes me a few minutes to get to Elaine’s place. I still don’t know what my rush is, but maybe it’s the force of intuition. Something is not right about the Elaine thing. Not that intuition has played a large role in my life. If I’ve felt it, I’ve usually ignored it. Not now. I spend so much time in my head that intuition seems the only sense offering signposts.

I park at Elaine’s sheds out of sight of her house, pretending I’ve come to ask advice or a favour from the blokes who work for her. I take my time getting out of my vehicle. I reckon I look like the farmer of fables — nothing rushes me, nothing fazes me. ‘Ah, g’day.’ ‘Ah, g’day.’ I shut the door of the ute, then look around. No one is about. I see paddocks, distant cattle, and a sorghum crop due for harvest. Then I turn, and look at the house as if it has just occurred to me that there might be a house around here someplace. I cover the distance to the house quickly, let the garden gate clang behind me, and cover the spongy lawn, observing that it is probably in need of a mow if you were going to be fastidious about these things.

At the glass verandah doors, I knock, call out, and feel a slight shiver at what happened the last time I was here. Let’s not have that again. But this time there is no response. I pull on the door lightly, and it opens. I didn’t think to try to lock it last night, so maybe that means no one has been home. She’s stayed over at her husband’s place. Which is fine. None of my business. It’s not like she’s a friend or anything. In fact, I barely know her.