When my phone crooned early in the morning, I had a moment of disorientation as I blinked open my eyes. Where was the sun that usually fell across my face at this time? And why couldn’t I hear the sea birds and the ocean? I sat up in a panic, then shook my head at my stupidity as I looked around the bedroom I’d shared with my husband for over half our married life.

Of course. It was Tuesday morning of my week with the kids and I was home. In Perth.

I picked up the phone, surprised by the name on the screen.

What could Adrian possibly want at this time of the morning? Maybe something had happened to his mum? Or Brad or Hayley? Although I knew all the statistics about planes being safer than cars, I’d always worried about Hayley’s occupation. If something did go wrong with a plane, I didn’t like her chances of survival.

Stop being such a prophet of doom.

Maybe Adrian was calling to ask if I’d made the appointment for couples counselling yet. My optimism evaporated as another possibility struck. He was probably calling to tell me he’d forgotten to take the washing out of the machine. Too late—I’d discovered this when I’d done my grand tour of the house upon arrival yesterday.

While I stared at the phone it went silent again; Hayley would call this karma for all the times Adrian had let my calls go to voicemail in the last month or so. Although I badly wanted to call him back immediately, a little voice in my head told me not to be so fast. He’d call again if it was truly something important.

So, instead I put the phone down and listened for sounds of activity in the house—hoping the kids were already up and getting ready for school—but all was quiet. As comfortable as my bed was—the ancient one in Ragged Point creaked whenever I rolled over—I dragged myself out of it and shoved my feet into my slippers.

Charlie roused and followed me down the hallway to the kids’ bedrooms.

I rapped on Saxon’s door first. ‘Morning, honey. You getting ready?’

‘Yeah, Mum, be out in a minute,’ came his reply.

Payton’s door was open—she was still scared of the dark. I smiled at her curled up in a ball, the doona wrapped around her like a cocoon, in the corner of her bed. As I crossed the room and opened the curtains, she groaned.

‘Good morning, princess. Time to rise and shine.’

‘I’m not a princess,’ she objected from under the covers. ‘And close my curtains or I’m not getting up.’

I laughed, closed them, switched on the light instead and sat beside her. ‘You’ve got that excursion at the zoo today. You don’t want to miss that.’