‘Granddad had that, all right. The poet got that bit right anyway. Yes, Gran and Granddad were happy. Overflow was prosperous. And Granddad loved it, loved us. But there was more to his life than that. Much more. He also lived through the worst drought Australia has known — worse than this one.’

‘How long is this one going to last?’

‘A good while yet. None of the gums have put out seeds, which means no rain for two more years at least. Probably more.’

Jed thought of the metal bucket on the property’s largest tractor digging out tonnes of sand at Drinkwater so the water could slowly seep in to make pools for the stock and wildlife in the dry river bed. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time to sit with me like this?’

‘What else is there to do in a drought?’ Nancy and Michael had sold most of Overflow’s and Drinkwater’s stock before the drought hit — and received excellent prices for them too, the money invested by Michael’s brother, Jim. Much of the work on the two properties was done by contractors these days, not stockmen. Drinkwater homestead was shut up, except for Jim’s brief visits there, and a fortnightly clean and renewing of mousetraps. Nancy stood. ‘But I’d better pick up the boys before they think I’ve forgotten them and get on the school bus.’

‘Strange to think that you can drive into town in forty minutes, when it took poor Flora two days in a cart.’

‘It used to take us most of a day on horseback when I was young. That’s why we camped at the Sampsons’ each year for the Christmas and New Year parties. Thank goodness for bridges and bitumen. I promised the boys ice cream at the Blue Belle. Want to join us?’

Jed shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here awhile. I need to write notes while I can still decipher my scribbles.’

‘But not too long. What have you got for dinner?’

‘Stop fussing. I’m not going to neglect myself again. I actually cooked this morning. I made spag bol, or the sauce anyhow. Blue and Joseph are stopping for dinner when they drop off Mattie. Mattie loves spag bol. She calls spaghetti “worms”.’

‘I used to too. Worm sandwiches for lunch, my favourite.’ She dropped a kiss on Sam’s cold forehead, then one on Jed’s warm cheek.

Jed hugged her briefly. ‘I really am all right now. Moving forwards, eating properly, writing again, all that stuff.’

Nancy glanced at Sam’s still figure, then at Jed, as if to say, ‘You are still spending large amounts of your life in the past.’

But Sam was not the past. He was here, now, even if he could neither hear nor see her. And if it had been her in that bed, Sam McAlpine would have been there every day too. ‘I’m fine,’ repeated Jed.

‘And Scarlett?’

‘She said her temperature’s down and her throat isn’t sore but she still can’t stand.’