The mare clopped over to the carnage. Sniffed at the greengold fragments scattered across the gravel. Shook her head at the richness of the scent, richer than Ned had ever smelled before. The rending of the timber had released a huge, dense cloud of Huon pine fragrance into the air. It filled the world with heady spice, and Ned could not escape it, could not blow it from his nostrils, could breathe and taste nothing else but the perfume of his boat’s death.

21

21

MANY YEARS LATER, Callie suggested Ned go talk to a doctor. It made no sense to him. She was the one who needed a doctor. Her current ones, including all the specialists, were saying the same thing: that her latest illness would be her final one. They didn’t all agree that her cancers had been caused by the orchard sprays—it was impossible to know, they said, which only made Ned surer that it was true—but they agreed that there was nothing else they could do. Months. Maybe weeks. Yet there Callie was, sitting calmly in her chair, telling Ned he needed medical help.

They’d left their little orchard a few years earlier. Had sold up, moved closer to Launceston, to a brick house on a hill overlooking the part of kanamaluka where the water turned from fresh to salt. It was a pleasant spot. Ned had a few apple trees, a few plums and apricots. He had an unbroken view of the water that had flowed alongside him his whole life. But Callie was not getting better.

Their daughters had all come and were helping: cooking, cleaning, fretting. Ned and Callie’s grandchildren—four of them now, all under five—were at their own homes, with their fathers. There was nothing for Ned to do other than to make tea, go to the pharmacy, see to his meagre trees. He ignored Callie’s suggestion at first, thought she was being ridiculous. But she must have mentioned it to Sally or Grace, definitely Harriet, because then all three were urging him to book an appointment. You need to, they said. We can tell how stressed you are. It’ll help. You need to talk to someone. It’ll help.

He only did it so they’d stop hassling him. So they’d return their attention to their mother. The doctor was an older man, about his own age. He asked Ned to sit down and explain what the matter was. Ned tried to tell him there was no problem, other than the fact his wife was dying, that was the problem; he personally had no problems, was hale and hearty, and was only here because his family had forced him.