Baking always relaxes me. Measuring everything precisely, mixing it properly and the results are perfect and predictable. The worse part of the summers here is how little I can bake. Having the oven on in 40 degree heat makes the house feel like a suffocating, wet blanket you can’t shrug off. If I try it, Laney or Mum will storm in and go ballistic till I give up.

I pull out the normal ingredients, cookbook and all. I probably know the recipes by heart but I never trust my memory. Reading a recipe also helps block out stray thoughts. I had no peace up at the reservoir, anything but, so this is my last resort.

Potters’ place might offer some peace. Or at least some answers.

I shake my head hard – no way am I heading somewhere dangerous on a warngee woman’s whim. Especially a warngee Miller. I curl my lip, remembering my family’s mistrust and intense dislike.

Besides, everyone knows that place, has been told never to set foot on the south side of that land and it isn’t cos the owners are racists with a weapons collection. I’m not too sure why we can’t, there’s more to it than just warning kids away from racists. We deal with those every day of our lives. It’s another one of those rules that the old people fling out there but when questioned get all tight-lipped and glary. All I know for sure is it has something to do with the mountain that sits on the most southern part of the Potters’ place. The main house is set up on the north end, an easy drive to the highway. Racists one end, cultural taboo on the other. Did we need much more reason to avoid the entire place? They won’t say why the mountain is off limits. I never used to notice how much of our lives included little bits of information, partially offered and never fully explained. But I am getting sick to death of it. If they want to be so bloody mysterious then fine. I should go out there anyway just to see it for myself.

You are NEVER to set foot on that place, Stacey Claire Thomson, you hear me?

Nan rarely forbade anything, but when she did there was no mincing words. If I said what I was thinking to any of the mob I could feel the smack upside my head that would follow. Sure, I’m not clear on where science meets culture and how I’m supposed to navigate it and I don’t believe in a lot of it anymore … but to go against them? To openly defy the elders on something that isn’t just a vague warning, but an open ‘don’t do that!’? Mum will be the first in line to punish me, and she’ll let all the aunts and uncles have their say too.