Jane turned to a distressed Amy. ‘What did Django say exactly?’

‘He said Danny was safe with Miller, and that he reckoned they should be given time so that Danny can talk to him and perhaps finally come to terms with his father’s death.’ The tears sparked in Amy’s eyes as she turned back to Rebecca and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Becks, but I think he’s got a point.’

Rebecca gnawed at a fingernail, her doubts and fears making her unable to think clearly. Then a sudden thought struck her and she looked back at Amy and her mother. ‘Did Django say where they were?’ she asked sharply.

‘It doesn’t matter where they are,’ said Jane before Amy could reply. ‘We know he’s out of danger and that Django will keep an eye on him.’

She firmly drew Becky off the veranda and into the hospital. Standing in the dimly lit corridor, Jane cupped her face in her hands. ‘Danny’s clearly gone to a great deal of trouble to find this Miller, so give him the chance to speak to him,’ she said softly. ‘He’ll come home soon, darling – and then you can find out all about it.’

Becky could see that her mother was right – but it still didn’t make it any easier.

*

‘You didn’t have to carry me,’ said Danny gruffly. ‘I’m not a little kid.’

‘I couldn’t just leave you lying there, now, could I?’ he replied as they sat wrapped in blankets on the cave floor above Morgan’s Reach, and waited for the billy to boil. ‘You passed out cold, mate.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Danny breathed.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Does your ma let you cuss like that, Danny?’

Danny reddened, shook his head and dipped his chin into the folds of the blanket. ‘She’d give me a clip round the ear,’ he admitted. ‘But I didn’t think it mattered as there ain’t no silly girls about.’ He looked up at him slyly. ‘I bet you swear when you’re with your mates. My dad did.’

‘Reckon you’re right,’ he replied as he stirred the tea leaves in the billy and breathed in the fragrance. ‘Tell me about your dad, Danny. What can you remember about him?’

Danny looked down from the cave to the trickle of water that splashed over the rocks into the stream that disappeared among the trees. ‘His name was Adam Jackson, and he was big and strong, with brown hair and eyes just like mine. He had a really loud laugh and used to sing when he was shaving in the morning.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Mum said he had a voice that could break glass, but I liked it – it made me feel good inside.’