The house was otherwise little changed. It was in a working-class neighbourhood, a place of straight, unshaded streets to fly along on a bike. It was still the house of Nina’s childhood, a postwar brick box with an upstairs addition. Taking their bags upstairs, she found that her old room had been taken over by the young couple who lived in the house rent-free, an arrangement that ensured Helen was not alone at night. They had timed their own holiday to coincide with Nina’s brother’s, but the space was full to bursting with their big upholstered bed, matching bedside tables, and throw pillows embroidered with motivational sayings. She closed the door on the room, which was hers no longer. She dumped the bags in Jared’s old room, unfolded the sofa bed in the upstairs sitting room for Ronnie, and located a box of her brother’s old toys: Transformers, Lego, Duplo, a train set.

Before long, Jared left them, taking the train back to Sydney and leaving his Subaru for them to use. There was a booster seat in the back (borrowed from a cousin, as Jared did not have children). He was taking two weeks’ leave from his busy job in TV production to go on holiday with his partner. They would decamp that night to Queensland, somewhere with snorkelling and rainforests.

Once her brother had left, Nina made crumpets, pushing them down in the ancient toaster. A typical day, she thought. She spread honey and made more tea, let the mug cool for a good five minutes, put it on the table in front of her mother.

‘Love a cup of tea,’ said Helen.

‘Nothing better,’ Nina said, though she herself drank coffee.

That first day and night, Nina saw just how much vigilance was needed. Her mother was now unable to notice when she was too hot or too cold, so Nina had to keep watch for the signs, put her cardigan on or take it off. She couldn’t shower by herself, but she didn’t like Nina to help her do it either. She preferred to wait until mid-morning when the carer came, whoever it was that day according to the roster. The one thing she could do without help was clean her teeth, but then she would forget and worry that she hadn’t done it.

‘Ronnie, let’s clean your teeth,’ said Nina.

‘Did I clean my teeth?’ asked Helen.

‘Yes, Mum. You did.’

‘Oh good.’ To mask her embarrassment, she turned the exchange into a lesson. ‘Very important to clean your teeth, isn’t it, Ronnie?’

Waking at odd hours during the night, a jet-lagged Nina read emails on her phone. Remembering the foxes in her garden, she summoned justifications for clearing them out. It wasn’t as if they were endangered. They were colonisers, really. Furry little conquistadors, making themselves at home, profiting from easy pickings wherever humans built towns and cities.