‘Happy?’ William asked, because still, somewhere, he doubted she could have come home for him. But this was home and William was as solid as the hills behind the house he was finally building for them on Dribble, overlooking the river, just as Scarlett had imagined so many years ago. Every girl needs her own house, Matilda had said.

‘Happy,’ she replied, and saw her world go on forever, hand in hand with his.

There had been discussions, okay, a small war, about where the reception would be held. Dribble had been quickly ruled out by Blue, Nancy, Leafsong, Mah, William’s mum and everyone else who thought they should have a say as ‘too small’, Overflow — after the equivalent of ten grenades and a rocket strike — as not having a room large enough to hold everyone for the toasts and, yes, it might rain even if Nancy said it wouldn’t.

The Blue Belle Café had remained a contender for a while. But eventually, of course, Drinkwater won, especially as Mrs Ryan — she must get used to calling her Mum or Cathie — still lived in the old manager’s house there. Scarlett and William would stay in the main house till their own home was finished.

The old girl had needed the equivalent of a manicure, a shampoo and set, and new party clothes, festoons of small lights . . . but still there were the old trestles along the veranda, covered with the same hundred-year-old damask tablecloths carefully taken out and bleached and washed and ironed, the same kegs filled with ice and bottles of beer over in the shearers’ quarters, the vast punch bowl with mint and orange and lemon slices floating on the top.

Marquees and structured seating were not Scarlett’s style. Her whole family — which included Mack and her goat’s cheese and beetroot salad — had catered for it: Broccoli Bill brought zucchini quiche. His son stood hand in hand with Fish, that strange girl from years back — she was making a name for herself as an artist now.

Jed had made giant bowls of cold Coronation Chicken in curried mayonnaise with puréed dried apricots; and there was Blue’s boned and stuffed duck with cherries and orange sauce; and Leafsong’s triumphant wedding cake of croquembouche that reached almost to the ceiling, covered in cream and chocolate sauce and toffee; and the coleslaw made to the winning CWA recipe of 1987 and William’s mum’s seven, seven, pavlovas, each vying for greatest height and the most fruit and cream piled on; and stuffed grape leaves and tiny cheese puffs to nibble at, and stuffed garlic mushrooms that miraculously didn’t dribble garlic butter down her dress . . .

Music, the string quartet first, but, after everyone had eaten, somehow guitars appeared, and Mack and her accordion, and Angus on the old piano . . .