‘Every habitat has its own species,’ he agreed. ‘Okay, see you tonight.’

‘Have fun.’ She smiled, turning away.

Later in the morning, another vehicle’s approach brought her out into the yard again, but it proved to be only Matt, returning from Spadgers Creek where he’d gone to pick up the store order the carrier had delivered there.

‘Had your lunch yet?’ she asked. ‘I was just about to put the kettle on for mine.’

He shook his head. ‘I was gunna eat but I got held up. Couple of tourists coming out from camp blew a tyre back a ways. I stopped to give ’em a hand. Thought I’d come on home to wash before I ate.’ He held out his dirty palms. ‘Dead useless, the bloke, and his girlfriend wasn’t much better.’

‘Ah, the ones with the dog. Connor turned them back. They must be illiterate too – the sign plainly says no pets allowed in camp. Connor says the woman abused him over it.’

‘Yeah?’ Matt followed her up the steps into the kitchen. ‘I didn’t see no dog, and she hardly opened her mouth. Neither of ’em were very chatty. Come from the south, he said. Looked it, too. He’d still be fightin’ the tyre if I hadn’t turned up.’

‘How strange.’ Tilly wrinkled her brow. ‘Maybe it was a small dog and you missed seeing it.’

‘Must’ve been stuffed under the seat then.’ He wet his hands at the sink and sprinkled Ajax liberally over them. ‘The spare was under the load so we had everything out. Marvellous what them southerners carry.’ He spoke the term scornfully and Tilly grinned.

‘I’m one of them too, you know.’

‘Yeah, well,’ he said, suddenly absorbed in his hand washing. ‘You’re different. You fit in, like. I dunno why blokes like him even bother.’

‘Well, they can’t have been the ones Connor spoke to.’ She dismissed the subject. ‘So I must’ve missed seeing a vehicle. Damn! Okay, whenever you’re ready. I’ve made the tea.’

They sat down at the table, Tilly with the salad she’d made herself and Matt with his sandwiches. He was usually such a silent companion that she seldom initiated conversation and was surprised to be dragged from her own train of thought by a unexpectedly personal question.

‘When you was growin’ up, Tilly, were you a happy kid?’

‘Oh,’ she said. She looked across at him, snub nose, brown eyes, ginger hair, a slight flush working its way over his face as if aware he was breaking some sort of protocol he’d set himself. His glance slid away from hers but he was obviously waiting for an answer. ‘I suppose,’ she said slowly. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just wondered, like. Only you never talk about it.’

‘Well, neither do you. You’ve never said if you have siblings, or whether your parents are still alive. Are they?’