Only a couple of metres away stood another hut-like structure. I’d thought Xiang’s place a little rustic, but his shack was practically a palace compared to Bill’s place and I didn’t think the cyclone was entirely to blame. It had been built from more pallets and what looked to be odd pieces of scrap metal and corrugated iron and painted almost the same aqua blue as the ocean.

Dan held the door, which hung from one hinge, open for me and I was surprised at what I saw as I stepped in. Aside from the fact everything had been soaked due to half the roof completely lifting off, it was quite well-appointed. The open plan living space held a large rectangular table and a few plastic chairs, a couple of couches with a card table, bookshelves and cupboards, and a bed and a couple of chests of drawers at the back. None of the furniture matched and looked as if it may have been found on the side of the road, but the place had a cosy vibe.

Bright paint and a few framed photos covered the walls. The rest had been ripped off by the wind, Dan said, and he’d collected what he could of them and placed them on the table.

I took a look. One man, who Dan confirmed to be Bill, featured in most of them, usually with his arm around another person, always with an enormous smile on his face. For someone who lived such a simple existence, he sure looked like a happy guy. He was tall too and incredibly thin, with tanned leathery skin that grew more wrinkled in the more recent photos.

‘Who are all the other people in the photos?’ I asked.

‘Mostly locals from the Point. People would take photos when they came to visit—one person gave him a framed one for a gift and then it kinda became tradition. Bill joked this was his wall of fame.’

I smiled at that.

There was also a kitchen of sorts with a camping stove similar to the one Jedda had used the night of the cyclone, loads of old pots and pans, a couple of gas lanterns and an ancient radio on a shelf. All of it was dirty—the rain had mixed with dust to create a layer of sludge on everything.

No wonder Dan looked so despondent.

He went across to one of the bookshelves and shook his head as he picked a soggy edition of a World Book Encyclopedia—I hadn’t seen a set of those in decades. ‘All ruined.’

Once again, I remembered my article. ‘What do you and the Progress Association plan on doing now?’