And yet there was beauty too. For the first time Jed could see the bones of the land that Matilda had talked about, the shape that had been hidden by greenery. She had a strange feeling the earth was resting, much like northern Europe when it was covered by snow. This was a land carved by its droughts as much as by its times of rainfall.

She had a sudden memory of Matilda telling her that Auntie Love knew how to make it rain, but would never show her, because she could not be trusted to give the land the rest it needed. Jed had dismissed that as superstition. As if anyone could make it rain! But then neither could she see the atoms that made up reality. Could she be trusted with rain-making lore?

Almost certainly not. But maybe in many decades’ time . . .

She pulled up in the carport and the Doberperson met her as she got out of the ute with one sedate leap, rather than the wild dance of a few years back, and a single bark. Jed gave her fresh water with an ice-block to crunch, then dry dog food mixed with some of the spag bol sauce — canned dog food stank, and when your dog insisted on fetching you as soon as your baby woke, the last thing you wanted was six am dog-food breath.

Batbat hadn’t woken yet; nor had Blue and Joseph arrived with Mattie. As always, she felt a niggle of worry when her daughter was out of cooee. Once sudden tragedy struck, you knew it might happen again . . .

She gave Maxi a quick hug, for the warmth and doggy reassurance it gave her, then opened the curtains and the windows to let in the cooler night air, put the sauce back on to simmer, checked she had enough ice cream for the fruit salad she’d made that morning too, then took in the washing — the daily nappies and small dresses — folded the nappies, then put on another load of soaking ones.

Suddenly, on impulse, she opened her wardrobe and took out another old dress of Matilda’s, a low-necked evening number from the 1950s, metallic blue and with a wide stiffened skirt and a broad belt she had to breathe in to do up. It was beautiful. She suddenly felt the need to feel beautiful, even if the dress would get splodged with small, sauce-covered handprints. She was pinning her hair back into an almost 1950s style when the phone rang.

The seconds of panic froze her, as they always did since that phone call telling her to come to the factory and to come fast . . .

Had the McAlpines and Mattie been in a car crash? Had Scarlett had a relapse? Or Sam . . . had Sam . . .?

She managed to move. Managed to take the phone. Managed, as she had for months, to keep her voice steady as she said, ‘Hello?’