‘I don’t suppose they even called it “rape” back then,’ Miss Drury mused. ‘The native women on those huge, isolated farmsteads had no real choice in the matter. I suppose they were just expected to tolerate it. To accept it and even be grateful – honoured. He was her boss. And he was already married. That’s why, after Kalinda was born, they nicknamed her “Lonely”, because none of the natives would speak to her. And none of the whites, either. None of the other farm kids would ever play with her. It made her very … very defiant. Angry. Self-reliant. The virtual opposite of darling Carla.’

DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!

I lowered my head again and rested my cheek on the Woolworth’s bag. My throbbing mind turned to Brother Prosper.

That poor, dear, grumpy old Moose! Carla murmured.

‘I mean people gossip about Carla and Bran,’ Miss Drury tutted. ‘Behind her back. I know they do. They always have. About this so-called “great attraction” between the two of them. And I know she sometimes … she posed for him. As a favour. But the real connection wasn’t with Bran at all. It was with his wife. It was with Kalinda. Because they had so much in common. They were both cultural exiles. And Orla could see that. She brought them together, purposely. To console each other.’

AND NOW IT’S FINALLY ALL OVER! BECAUSE SHE’S DEAD! SHE’S DEAD! SHE’S DEAD! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!

I lifted my head again.

‘Miss Drury, does this Woolworth’s bag belong to your son-in-law?’ I asked.

Of course it doesn’t! Miss Hahn clucked.

‘Sorry?’ Miss Drury quickly glanced back.

DEAD! YES! DEAD!

‘This Woolworth’s bag. Was it here – in the van – when you first …?’

‘Oh. Uh … No. No, I don’t remember seeing it there before …’ she confessed.

I lowered my head again and jinked it sideways to try and push open the bag a little with my chin.

‘Are you all right there, Mr Huff?’ Miss Drury asked, a minute or so later, concerned at the sound of teeth tearing furiously on plastic.

Good question! Carla snorted.

I paused for a moment to draw breath.

SHE’S DEAD!

‘So did Carla grow up always knowing that she was the product of … of … you know?’ I asked, before returning to my former task.

Spit it out! Miss Hahn scoffed.

‘Oh. Uh, I’m not really sure.’ Miss Drury scowled. ‘Yes. Probably. I mean I didn’t know her as a girl. And it isn’t something she ever talks about in any detail. But I do think she always sensed she wasn’t … she didn’t fit comfortably into … well anywhere, really. And of course the family were already slightly ostracized socially because of it being just after the war and Shimmy and Else being German originally. I get the impression that there was a bit of a … a bunker mentality at home. And then Else’s job with the Planning Office … The beach and the marshes were completely covered in illegal holiday shacks back then. But the council was determined to get rid of the squatters. Else became quite a local hate figure as a consequence. Loathed by some, a heroine to others … I suppose your heart has to go out to her with everything she went through. Although I saw her treat Shimmy and poor Carla with such … such incredible contempt sometimes. She could be brutal. And Shimmy himself isn’t immune from … He can be very selfish, Mr Huff, and insensitive. Carla probably internalized it all over the years. Possibly even felt a measure of …’