Her mother had finished her night duty on the ward and was sleepily drinking tea. She’d cooked breakfast for her patients and had left the three Aboriginal women to do the washing-up and the cleaning under the watchful gaze of the two Miss Harpers, who were sticklers for discipline and cleanliness.

Hugh was making a great show of industriously wielding a frying pan over the hotplate as the bacon spat and the eggs sizzled. He liked to dress up for these special occasions and if his patients could see him now they would wonder if he’d gone mad. This morning he was wearing an eyepatch and one of Danny’s old Red Indian headdresses, the remaining feathers sticking to his sweating face. His feet were clad in bright yellow striped socks and his shirt and trousers were covered by a voluminous flowered apron which had ‘Mum’ inexpertly embroidered on the bib. One of his sisters had made it at school many years ago for their mother, and Hugh had found it in the back of a kitchen drawer and deemed it perfect for Danny’s celebratory breakfast.

Danny was wearing fresh shorts and shirt, his face, knees and hands scrubbed clean, his hair still damp from his bath. His eyes were bright with excitement, his freckled face alive with expectation as he sat at the table. ‘Grandpa’s cooking me a special breakfast,’ he said, allowing his mother to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. ‘We’ve got bacon and eggs this morning.’

Becky’s relief was immense, for Danny had clearly made up his mind to enjoy his day, and the mood of the previous evening had been banished. It was amazing how resilient and changeable children could be. ‘A special breakfast for a special boy,’ she replied as she handed him her gift. ‘Happy birthday, darling.’

‘Thanks, Mum. What is it?’

She chuckled. ‘Open it and see.’

He ripped back the paper, saw the picture of the train on the Hornby box and stared at it in awe. ‘Cor,’ he breathed. ‘It’s the engine and freight trucks I wanted to complete my set. Thanks, Mum.’

She caught her father’s eye as he placed the large plate of food on the table, swept the irritating feathers from his face and adjusted his eyepatch as he tipped her a wink. ‘You and Grandpa can have fun with that while I go to work and Grandma Jane catches up on her sleep,’ she said.

Danny ran his fingers lovingly over the die-cast models. ‘Only if Grandpa promises to let me do the signals for once, and lay out the track the way I want,’ he muttered.

Becky giggled as her father pulled a face. ‘I’m sure he will. Now eat your breakfast. That’s the last of the bacon until the supply truck comes in.’