The Queenslander, on stilts roughly six feet above ground and painted white with green-trimmed windows, was pleasantly designed. Two white wooden staircases, running parallel to the building itself, led up from either side to converge at a covered front porch supported by slender pillars, giving the house a well-organised and slightly ‘regal’ look. It had been built by Amelia’s parents, Dr Robert Hayden GP and his wife, Anthea, in the early 1920s and they’d considered it just that little bit different from the average Queenslander being built at the time, most of which had a central set of stairs and sprawling front verandahs.

Amelia followed the boy up the steps to where he was waiting on the front porch. ‘Come in, Tom,’ she said, leading the way. ‘I’ll get us a cup of tea and some more Anzac biscuits, what do you say?’

‘Great,’ he replied, ‘but no tea for me, thanks, just the biccies’ll do.’

They walked down the passage that led from the front door, and along the way Tom had a bit of a ‘stickybeak’, as his mother was wont to say. Doors led off from either side of the passage, two of them open and both revealing sitting rooms, one on each side. If the other closed doors were bedrooms, he thought, then the house appeared to be split into two. Great for an officer’s billet!

They arrived at the large, roomy kitchen, where he dumped the string bag of groceries on the wooden table in the centre.

‘This is a really beaut house, Mrs Sanderson.’

‘Thanks, Tom,’ she said as she filled the kettle. ‘I’ve lived here for as long as I can remember. My mum and dad built it when I was about six years old.’

‘Looks like it’s been split in half,’ he commented, unashamed for having so blatantly ‘stickybeaked’.

‘Yes, you’re quite right, it has been,’ Amelia admitted, taking no umbrage; he was just a curious boy. ‘When Martin and I married we moved in here with my parents, who were very keen for us to do so. They had the rooms redesigned so that we could share the house amicably, all four of us. It worked very well, too.’

‘That’s what’d make it a great officer’s billet,’ Tom said eagerly. ‘I reckon my mum’s idea’s a real beauty, Mrs Sanderson! You should give it a go.’

‘I’ll think about it, Tom.’ Amelia smiled. She didn’t feel cornered this time, or pressured in any way. The boy meant only to be helpful, just as his mother had. She really must stop letting her nerves get the better of her.

She lifted out the biscuit tin, opened the lid and set it down in front of him. She wouldn’t bother with a plate. ‘Help yourself,’ she said, smiling once again as his hand immediately dived in.

‘Wow, thanks!’