Shaking out the cardigan, she ran her fingers through her gritty hair and opened the inner screen door, which led into the heart of the house. She would have a quick bath and then eat before snatching a few hours sleep and going back on the ward. But as she stepped into the living room she came to an abrupt halt and all her plans for the evening fled.

Sandra was alone in the untidy kitchen. Surrounded by unwashed pots and dishes, she sat at the table in her dressing gown, a bottle of whisky and a glass before her.

Becky dropped the cardigan on the nearby couch and slowly approached the table, noting with relief that the bottle had yet to be opened. She sat down opposite her sister-in-law and folded her hands in her lap. ‘It’s been a long, trying day, hasn’t it?’ she began.

Sandra nodded, but her concentration was fixed on the bottle before her.

‘You and Terry undoubtedly saved Mary’s life, and that of her baby. That alone must make you realise just how good a nurse you are – and just how much we need you here.’

Sandra’s gaze drifted up to meet Becky’s. ‘Not good enough to save my own baby,’ she said flatly. ‘Go away, Becky.’

‘I’m not going anywhere until you decide what you’re going to do about that whisky,’ she replied firmly.

Sandra shrugged and her gaze returned to the bottle as her hands fidgeted on the table. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she muttered. ‘If I want a drink, then I’ll have one.’

‘Go on then. Open the bottle. Fill the glass and gulp it down. But before you do,’ she added quietly, her hand reaching for those nervy fingers, ‘think how well you’ve managed without it since you left Sydney. You don’t need it, Sandra. You’ve already proved that today.’

‘What do you know?’ she retorted, her expression one of mixed emotions. ‘It helps me to forget. Stops the pain.’

‘But only for such a short while,’ said Becky, her soft heart going out to this poor tortured young woman who seemed so lost and alone.

‘It’s better than nothing,’ she retorted.

‘Is it? Then what are you waiting for?’ She squeezed the twitching fingers. ‘I think you’re already having doubts, aren’t you? You know that if you open that bottle you’ll be giving in – and you’re stronger than that, Sandra.’

Becky’s gaze never left Sandra, who was clearly battling with the temptation of the whisky and the knowledge that one sip of that drink would send her back on the slippery path she’d begun to slowly and painfully conquer.