‘I know,’ she murmured, stroking the animal’s silky ears. ‘We’re both going to miss him, aren’t we? He was such an important part of our lives – the only person who really mattered to either of us. How are we ever going to carry on without him?’

She reached for the lifeless hand and kissed the fingers that had wielded a paintbrush and palette knife with such skill – fingers that were roughened from chopping wood and building a cabin – fingers that would no longer caress her cheek and calm her fears.

Sal sat holding his hands as the clock solemnly ticked away the minutes. At the sound of Terry’s voice calling to Gwyneth to wait a moment so he could help her across the street, she rose from the chair.

Folding his hands together on his chest she lovingly smoothed back the tangle of hair from his forehead, her soft kiss feeling the chill of death that now possessed him. ‘Goodbye, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll look after Brandy and the horses – and one day we’ll be together again.’

She turned from the bed and surveyed the room. Fading photographs in tarnished silver frames jostled for space on top of the dressing table and chests of drawers, alongside empty bird-seed packets, foggy glass jars of dubious-looking creams, squashed tubes of toothpaste – and incongruously, a man’s shaving brush and cut-throat razor.

It was a far cry from the clean lines and uncluttered space of the cabin in the woods, but she had a feeling that Max belonged here – that it was right that he’d come home in the end.

She hitched his satchel over her shoulder. ‘Come, Brandy,’ she murmured as she slipped her belt through his collar. ‘I know you hate walking on a lead, but I’m going to need you to help me face Bert, cos I bet he’s not out there fighting the fire, but lying stinking drunk in the bar.’

She took one last, longing look at Max and left the house. It was now almost five in the morning, and although the sun was up, it was hidden by thick black scudding clouds. The wind was cooler, as if it was coming from the sea in the east, and she felt a small spark of hope. Perhaps the wind and those dark clouds would bring the rain and put out the fire.

She hurried down the street, relieved it was still too early for most people to be about. The last thing she wanted was to have to talk to anyone. But as she reached the pub she saw the notice that had been nailed across the front door.

‘CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.’ It had been signed by Jake on behalf of the Queensland Police Authority, so it was official.

‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered. ‘What on earth’s been going on here?’