Billy scampered off and just managed to duck Sarah’s clip round the ear, but Danny wasn’t as fortunate. Rebecca hauled him out of the ute, slapped the back of his legs and ordered him indoors.

‘Thanks, Ben,’ she said with a distracted smile. ‘I’m sorry they put you to so much trouble. Do you want to come in for a cuppa?’

‘Better not,’ he replied regretfully. ‘I need to get back and keep an eye on that storm.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.’ She kissed his cheek and thanked him again before hurrying indoors to deal with Danny, and Ben drove back to his eerie on the tableland warmed by her smile and the soft touch of her lips.

*

Hugh Morgan was used to being watched by the native children who seemed fascinated by the hospital and the things he and his family did there, and although they chattered away like galahs and often got in the way, he didn’t mind one bit.

Mary’s brood was no exception, and the six youngest ones clustered around her as he finished taking the glass out of her foot and began to dress it. Short and stout, with skinny legs and arms and skin so dark it didn’t reflect the light, Mary was Billy Blue’s aunt. Her eyes and tangled hair were tawny, her broad features etched with tribal markings and the deep lines of hardship. He had no idea how old she was, and neither did she, but she was clearly still able to bear children, for there was yet another on the way, which he reckoned would make about twelve in all.

He eyed her sternly. ‘You’ve got a nasty cut there, so you’re to keep the bandage clean and come back tomorrow so I can check up on it.’

Mary grinned and waved her bandaged foot about so the children could admire it, and then looked back at him. ‘Me alonga walk stick?’ she asked.

He eyed her bare feet and nodded before reaching into a nearby cupboard. She would have been better off with a pair of crutches, but they’d all gone missing and the new ones hadn’t arrived yet. He selected two sturdy walking sticks and handed them over. ‘I want them back, Mary. Don’t go giving them to the kids to play with.’

‘Me alonga keep sticks,’ she replied, regarding him with mischief in her eyes. ‘Good to beat kids, keep old man in place when he want gig-gig.’ She shrieked with laughter and the kids, who were used to her raucous humour, giggled along with her.

Hugh helped her up, and the children swarmed around as she carefully balanced on one leg and tested the sturdiness of the sticks. He watched as she swung onto the veranda and then made her way down the steps and into the late-afternoon glare.