Terence finished stacking the clean dishes on the drainer, poured them both a cup of tea and joined her at the table. ‘He’s at a funny age,’ he said. ‘Give him another ten or fifteen years and he won’t mind a bit.’ He stirred his tea. ‘Sorry about the mess. I was rather hoping Sandra would sort it out, but it looks as if she’s gone to bed.’

Becky remembered and reached for his hand. ‘She’s certainly in the bedroom,’ she said softly, ‘but I doubt she’s asleep.’ She noted the startled look in his eyes and hurried on. ‘I’m sorry, Terry, I should have told you earlier – she’s found a bottle of whisky.’

‘Oh, God,’ he groaned. ‘How the hell did she do that?’

Becky shrugged. ‘All I know is she was sitting here staring at the bottle – but she hadn’t opened it, Terry. She hadn’t had a drink.’ She squeezed his fingers in empathy. ‘I tried talking to her, but she didn’t want to listen, and I just hope I haven’t made things worse.’

‘I must go to her,’ he said, scraping back his chair.

‘Be careful, Terry. She’s tired and emotional and not in the mood for any kind of confrontation.’

Terence nodded and traipsed out of the room and along the narrow corridor. Becky heard the click as he closed the door and hoped with all her might that Sandra had resisted opening that bottle.

*

He awoke to a strange stillness that was broken only by the first few croons of sleepy birds. As he opened his eyes and looked up at the canopy of dust-laden trees, he realised it was almost dawn, and that the storm had once again come to nothing.

Having slept well, he felt stronger, and if it hadn’t been for the deep-rooted pain that twisted in his belly, it could have been like old times. There had been many a night spent out in the bush, sleeping in a bedroll, his saddle for a pillow, the night sounds his only companions. But there was no stock horse to carry him on the final stage of his journey, just his will to reach his goal while he still had the strength.

He washed down the doctor’s pills with billy tea, chewed on a biscuit and finally clambered out of the deep ditch that had been his shelter. The forest floor was littered with freshly broken branches and twigs that had been ripped from the trees during the storm, but the creatures were already busy searching for food, Vast ants marched like soldiers from their conical hills, beetles crawled over fallen leaves and spiders were weaving intricate webs that trembled at his passing. If there had been a dew they would have sparkled like jewels, but there was no moisture in the air this morning, just dust-laden, gritty heat.