It was dusk — an hour early, the dust prematurely dimming the setting sun, as he trudged back into the house. Dust, faintly splodged, floured leaves and fence posts. Even the cow and calf wore a coat of it.

Mrs Taylor glanced at him from the stove, subtly triumphant. See, she was saying, this is what you get from importing a lady from England, who naturally withered like those rose bushes she tried to grow. But all she said was, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Clancy. I’ll bring dinner in now.’

He should not have been hungry. But he suddenly realised he hadn’t eaten since some time the day before. ‘Thank you, Mrs Taylor.’ He walked into the dining room, where the table still sat with its legs in cans of water. How Flora had hated those cans. No one had removed the cushions Clementine had sat on. He did not touch them now.

Ezekiel was already chewing mutton steak. Clancy felt sudden anger that they should eat mutton now — and the best part of it — when Flora’s last dinner had been pumpkin and kangaroo. ‘Well,’ said the old man. ‘What now?’

‘I must write to her family in England, to Maria. Arrange a service.’

‘And then?’

‘We killed her, you know, Father.’

‘I know.’ Ezekiel took another mouthful of steak, spat out a bit of bone, or maybe it was a tooth. ‘I’m sorry for it.’ For the first time Clancy saw the bruised swellings under Ezekiel’s eyes and knew his father was also suffering.

‘We could have helped her.’

‘Only thing we did wrong was not hire a nursemaid for Clementine. That girl was the treasure of me life.’ Tears trickled into Ezekiel’s beard, but he kept chewing anyway. He reached for the salt. ‘Should never have bought a girl unseen for you. Wouldn’t buy a ram unseen, but that’s how I bought your wife.’

‘But it wasn’t —’ began Clancy, then stopped, for of course it was exactly like that, despite the dozen letters between Flora and himself before both had agreed to the marriage.

‘You’ll marry again.’ Was that hope or comfort in his father’s voice? Clancy was not sure he could bear either.