‘You look marvellous,’ he said, kissing her hot brow. ‘And I’m very proud of the way you mucked in like that. You did really well.’

She pulled a face. ‘Don’t expect too much of me, Terry. Today was an exception, and I’m really not in the right frame of mind to cope with this day in and day out.’

Terence took her hand and squeezed her fingers. ‘Why don’t we go and have a quick look at the road train?’ he suggested. ‘I’m sure I can be spared for a few minutes now things have quietened down.’

‘Strewth, Terry,’ she breathed as she rolled her eyes, ‘is the arrival of a road train what passes for entertainment out here?’

‘Not entertainment exactly. But certainly an event. They only come in about once a month, and we rely on them for almost everything. Besides, Frank Hawkins always has a great yarn to tell, and it’s as close to theatre as you can get out here.’

She looked up at him quizzically. ‘You really love this place, don’t you?’

He nodded. ‘I haven’t always appreciated it, but now I’m here … Well, this is home, and these people are my family. That’s what makes it so special.’ He drew her close and kissed the top of her head. ‘I know you’re finding it all very strange and primitive after Sydney. But give it a fair go, Sandra, and you might be surprised at how good it can be.’

She drew back from him with a wry smile. ‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘I’m a city girl, Terry, used to noise and bustle and proper shops and bathrooms. But without your car it seems I’m stuck here whether I like it or not.’

Terence didn’t want to think about his lovely car which, no doubt, had been smashed to bits by those two young hooligans. ‘So, you’ll come and listen to Frank’s yarns with me?’

‘I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go to the pub and have a drink. We’ve both earned it.’

‘By the sound of that ruckus earlier on, Jake’s shut the place until further notice,’ he said, doing his best to keep the relief out of his voice. ‘But I’ll treat you to a glass of Annie O’Halloran’s home-made lemonade.’

Sandra’s eyes narrowed and her lips formed a thin line. ‘I’m a grown-up, Terence. I don’t drink sticky cordials.’

‘Come on,’ he coaxed. ‘It’ll be worth it, I promise.’

‘But I need to bath and wash my hair before I go anywhere,’ she replied. ‘I must look a fright.’

‘Nobody will notice, not out here – and with the weather being like it is, you’ll only be wasting the water.’ He smiled hopefully at her. ‘Come on, Sandra. You’ll enjoy it, really you will.’