‘You seem like you can handle yourself.’ Every thrust seems to have a parry that deflects me from working out what to do.

She gets up, walks to the fridge, opens it, and peruses. ‘Want something to eat?’

Until the last two days I haven’t been in any scrapes with firearms, but I can’t imagine anyone remaining as calm as she has after a potential armed robbery. My left leg is beginning to shake in its place on the stool rung as a reminder that I am not as calm as I pretend, and I put a hand down to still it. ‘Sure.’

‘How about a stir fry?’

‘Terrific.’ I stand, and wobble my head around trying to ease the knots in my neck. ‘I’m going to have a little look around.’ I don’t know why I didn’t do this before. She nods as she puts out things on the bench. There might never have been a rifle shot in the house. We are neighbours having a late dinner.

Outside, the stars are keen to point out my insignificance. They are the only light not thrown by the house. The harvesters no longer work on the plain. There are no cars passing. I walk around the garden and the lawn, soft under my feet, listening for anything out of place. There is hardly a sound. One circuit of the house takes me back to the door with the bullet hole in it, and the stir fry Elaine is serving. Before I enter, I watch Elaine and imagine she is whistling while she works. I cannot make sense of what I am feeling. Her story is plausible, but her actions feel wrong. Why not call the police? What crockery is worth being shot at for? I turn, and step off the verandah. Too many things are out of kilter, and I reckon I know about ‘out of kilter’. I walk towards the ute, and hear the door behind me opening on the verandah.

‘Dave?’

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Come back.’

‘I will.’ I keep walking.

On the way home, I consider camping, but I know I’ll end up in my own bed with a rifle to hand. But as I make the turn at my mailbox, a car comes towards me, dims its lights, and pulls in alongside. Ian winds down his window and says, ‘You’re back.’

‘Yeah. My plans didn’t work out.’

‘Oh, bad luck. Mandy thought she had seen lights on at your house, and she insisted I come and have a look. I guess it was you?’

‘Yeah. I should have told you. Sorry about that.’

‘Not a problem.’

He looks at me carefully and asks, ‘Are you all right?’ It is not an offhand question.

‘Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for helping out. I’ll see you.’ I put the ute into gear.