‘Oh sorry … I thought …’ I’m suffering for having jumped in with an unverified rumour. Serves me right.

‘It was a car crash … out west. Jesus. Africa?’

‘Just what I heard.’

‘I thought you two were mates.’

‘A bit, I guess.’

This looks like it hurts.

‘I’m sorry. I …’

‘No problem. Anyway. He was fascinated with some of the clay soils out west. Thought they had a magic. Made several trips out there. Used to stay at a tiny place called Willi. I teased him that he liked it more out there than at home. Anyway, I pushed him to find interesting clays, come up with better designs, make more pottery, sleep less, work harder. On the way home, he fell asleep and drove into a road train.’

‘I really am sorry.’ A better person would have left it there. But I am too far down the road to deadshit. ‘What did they mean: “You need to give us what we want”?’

‘Tito had a contract with some bad people. To make some vases and things. He never finished the contract, and they seem to think I’ve got the remaining pieces somewhere. I’m sure he told you about it, didn’t he?’

‘No. We didn’t really talk about serious stuff.’

‘He said you were safe.’

I remember him saying something like that, but I don’t understand where she is going with this, so I direct us back to the topic.

‘He never finished the contract?’ I don’t know a single thing about bad guys or the underworld, but those words sound like little bombshells going off in the shiny space between us.

‘No, as far as I can tell. Didn’t deliver the pieces they wanted, or at least the right pieces.’

I hold my tongue. Elaine has sunk into her thoughts.

‘God, I visited the accident site so many times afterwards. I’d sit there just looking at the place where it happened. The first few times, I found pieces of his car in the long grass, but I stopped looking after a while. I hung out in Willi as if someone there would pop up and give me an explanation, but no one ever did. It was just a car accident. One of many. It was only me who couldn’t get it through her head.’

I am thinking I should be saying something consoling and stop with the questions, but I can’t.

‘What’s your boyfriend, ex, got to do with it?’

‘Nothing.’ She is tired of my questions.

‘What have I got to do with it?’

‘I don’t know.’

I think about the guy who robbed Mick.

‘But I’m glad you were here.’

She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch at her second touch. It is a long time since I was touchable.

‘So am I. It’s just that now I’m worried you’re not safe, and neither am I.’