It was Mr Dyson who swam and got me off that rock, dragged me to the river edge and cleared my airways, but I don’t remember much of that. It was also Mr Dyson who carried me back to camp, while nearly everyone else searched for Aiden, but I don’t remember that either. It was Mr Dyson who drove the coach the twenty kilometres necessary to call emergency services, but I guess there’s no way I would ever have known that in the normal course of events.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Mr Meredith. I tried to speak but my throat was raw and bruised and I couldn’t say anything. But he knew what I wanted to ask.

‘We’re still looking for Aiden, Ash,’ he said. He must have seen the pain in my eyes, because he added, ‘He’s a tough one, your brother. Try not to worry.’ But then he turned his face away as if embarrassed by his own words. I felt a sob rising in my throat but I couldn’t even cry. So I closed my eyes again and saw my brother’s face just before it was snatched away.

The helicopter took me straight to hospital, where Mum and Dad were waiting for me. They held my hands as I was wheeled in and Mum was fighting really hard not to cry. I’d got a little of my voice back by this time, so I asked about Aiden. Mum shook her head.

‘Still searching, Ash,’ she whispered. ‘But don’t give up hope.’ She tried to smile, but it came out all wrong. ‘We mustn’t give up.’

I was given painkillers, which helped, and taken to x-ray where it was discovered I had cracked a couple of ribs but hadn’t broken anything else. The doctor said they were going to keep me in for a few days to make sure I hadn’t done any serious damage, to ‘monitor my condition’, but she told me she thought I was going to be fine. I didn’t feel fine. I felt tired and defeated. I didn’t want to sleep until I had some news about Aiden, but the drugs they’d given me took away what little energy remained. I closed my eyes. My sleep was dreamless.

When I woke, it was with a jolt that brought the pain back all new and refreshed. I groaned. Dad was at my bedside and was holding my hand. He was also smiling.

‘They found him, Ashleigh, and he’s going to be okay, they think. Battered and bruised, but alive.’

I cried then. I sobbed and sobbed and didn’t care that each time I did, the pain in my ribs twisted like a knife. Dad just held my hand and let me get it all out.