Connor shook his head. ‘There’ll be spots where it’s deeper. Channels to navigate. In any case, not everything that comes has to be physically brought. See that tree?’ He turned and waved inland at the broad dark shade of a substantial-looking tree with a girth far larger than Tilly’s arms could encompass. ‘Its seed probably got here the same way that mangroves and coconuts do – brought by the sea itself.’

‘Really?’ Tilly wandered back for a closer view. ‘It must be old to be so big. What is it?’

‘A tamarind. From somewhere in Asia.’ He assessed its size. ‘Could be over a century since it grew its dicots.’

‘Its what?’

‘First pair of leaves. They’re called cotyledons, but if there are two, and there are in this instance, they’re called dicots.’

‘Oh,’ Tilly said. ‘Okay, Mr Botanist. A century – really? I didn’t think anything lived that long in the north. A case of quick growth and early death, like poincianas and wattle and – other stuff,’ she ended lamely, temporarily unable to name more. ‘I don’t know much about plants,’ she confessed.

‘Still, you grow a mean garden. Anyway, I’m starving. What about lunch? I’m thinking that shade looks pretty good.’

‘Yes, I’m hungry too. I’ll fetch it,’ she said as he moved towards the track. ‘You go look for your unwanted immigrants.’ His eyes flickered, not catching the reference, and she laughed gently at his mystification. ‘Your foreign weeds, Connor. We can’t have them taking over, can we?’

‘Not on my watch,’ he agreed.

It was pleasant in the shade. The ground beneath the tamarind was bare and one exposed root made a comfortable place to sit. A myriad of small green pods covered the tree and Connor pulled one off, breaking it open to show Tilly the half-formed seeds.

‘You can make a paste from it. They use it a lot in Asian cooking,’ he said. ‘This one’s immature, but when the pods are ripe the insides are quite pleasant to chew. A bit astringent.’

‘Oh yes, I remember trying it,’ she said. ‘There are lots of Asian restaurants in Darwin and Cairns, and Gerry loved eating out.’

‘Darwin, eh? My favourite town. Did you spend much time there?’

‘Just quick visits. Gerry would mostly sail the boat across through the Straits, then I’d fly to Darwin and he’d pick me up. Sometimes, if there was gear to bring in, we’d drive. And then do the reverse when the season ended. He wouldn’t leave the boat up here through the monsoon.’

‘Too risky,’ Connor agreed. ‘These are great sandwiches. You weren’t a chef, were you, in one of those fancy Cairns eateries?’

Tilly smiled. ‘’Fraid not. I didn’t train for anything. I guess you learn what you have to, to get by. And I enjoy it – like you enjoy plants.’