The car pulls on to the main road that snakes down through the hills. Through the post-dawn grey, pinpricks of hazy yellow appear—lights of the city, the highway, suburbs in between. She nears that scar, that tract of stumps and stubble, she hates driving through. Where a wildfire rushed and twisted last summer, ignited ancient grasstrees steeped in resin, exploded flaming shrapnel across firebreaks, across the road. Mist collects in blackened stands of eucalypt bones.

She shrugs the coat off her shoulders and fans herself with yesterday’s unopened mail. Calm down, she tells herself, breathe.

As Laura leaves the hills behind her, she thinks of her street again, the mess it’s in. Gideon had left a message—Anything you want carted out to the verge?—but the clutter of her spare room will have to wait. No time, no energy. One day, too, she’s going to have to deal with her mother’s stuff. She sighs. A responsibility pushed aside shamefully long. And then there’s Cooper’s old room. How many years has it been? Ten, maybe more, since he left home, but he just laughs when she threatens to toss out his textbooks and posters, the clothes that don’t fit, the cupboards full of Star Wars figurines. Even the dinky little sporting trophies with their tarnished shields. Get rid of them, if you want—’s OK with me. They’re more yours than mine, he tells her.

Told her.

Is that true? she wonders. Who does childhood belong to? One thing’s for sure: even if she had the time, she wouldn’t be tossing out anything of Cooper’s. And he’s probably counting on that.

She swallows down the surge of panic before it swamps her. Calm down, breathe.

Ridiculous thought. Cooper’s in no condition to be counting on anything.

5

Avril

A distracted smile as she passes the desk outside ICU, on her way to gown up again. Joley, with a phone pressed to her ear, raises her hand. Hold on, she mouths.

Avril tucks the cigarettes into her back pocket and waits for Joley to finish her call.

I was just coming to find you. There’s a visitor.

Really? Avril glances at the clock on the wall.

She’s asking for Laura. I’ve put her in the lounge.

Avril frowns. Someone for Laura. How long since there’s been someone for Coop? Why are his mates from the station staying away?

Who is it?

Didn’t get a name. Joley’s voice crisp, I’m-a-nurse-not-a-secretary.

Thanks, Joley, thanks. Can I get you a coffee on my way back?

No, I just had one. But thanks.

~