‘I know. I know.’ His fingers tapped on the steering wheel. ‘One of my men rang in sick and we have a function this afternoon. An important function. I’ve got to go in his place.’

‘But …’

‘Charlotte, we cannot afford …’ His voice was firm and he glanced at us in the rear-view mirror. When he spoke again his tone was calmer. ‘We’ll talk about this later. Okay? I meant what I said. The contacts there could be very useful. And I promise we will go at some time. Just not tonight.’ His eyes skidded over mine for a moment. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ashleigh.’

‘Not a problem,’ I replied. ‘I’m just happy to hang out with Charlotte.’ It was true, but I’m not sure he believed me because he promised I’d be invited to the reorganised trip. Charlotte squeezed my hand as if sympathising with my disappointment. I didn’t tell her it was non-existent.

The journey to Charlotte’s house took a little over twenty minutes, through an area of Sydney I hadn’t seen before. Some of it was fire-ravaged, swathes of houses and parklands charred and bleak in the afternoon sun. It was depressing and I was glad when the housing estate appeared, as if offering refuge, in the distance. Charlotte’s father pressed a button on the dashboard of the car and a gate in the estate’s wall opened up as we approached, then closed behind us.

The estate itself was neat, ordered and obviously well-maintained. Front gardens were nicely manicured and a few people walked the streets. They waved at the car as we passed. Charlotte’s house was somewhere near the middle of the estate and it was much bigger than other houses we’d passed. It was also different in that it was fenced in its own grounds. Once again, Charlotte’s father pressed a button and part of the fencing slid back to let the car in.

‘Welcome to my home,’ said Charlotte.

‘It’s great,’ I said. It was detached and had clearly been extended. I thought I could see a glass conservatory to one side of the building, but it became lost to view as we drove up to the front door. The car doors swung open and Charlotte and I got out.

‘I’ll be back for dinner,’ said Charlotte’s father through the driver’s window. ‘Eight o’clock sharp, Charlotte.’

‘Okay.’

‘And remember what I said about making up for lost time. You hear me?’

‘Sure, Dad,’ Charlotte called back.

And the car drove back the way we’d come.

‘Your father works a lot?’ I asked.

Charlotte’s mouth twisted. ‘A lot? No. He works all the time. All the time. Even when he’s home he’s working. He works in his sleep.’

I laughed, but Charlotte didn’t even smile.