‘Ey, she’s a bit of all right, Uncle Daniel,’ he said, which wasn’t helpful at all.

Molly said, ‘Awkward,’ in that sing-song voice the kids used. And it was, a little, because Katelin was still deciding whether to be amused or peeved about this new old girlfriend. She said, ‘Well, I thought I knew of all your exes, but here’s yet another one.’

‘Long, long time ago,’ Dan said. ‘We were only kids.’

‘She was always dead good at English though, Daniel, wasn’t she? Do you remember? She kept all her books at our house, poems and that – she’d practically moved in, hadn’t she?’

This was Claire, always so incredibly reliable at digging an even deeper hole, when everyone else had put their spades down. And Marion, trying valiantly now to haul them all out and back to safety, said, ‘Anyway, I hope you like it, Katelin love. The lady in Smith’s said it’s really smashing.’

There was a short silence, into which Katelin said nothing.

Then, ‘I’m glad Alison’s all right,’ Bill said. ‘I’ve been right worried about that lass.’

15

ADELAIDE,
9 JANUARY 2013

Summer in Adelaide, and day after day the city was slowed and debilitated by bitumen-melting temperatures that soared up past the thirties and into the forties, until the evenings rolled around. Then the water beckoned and people flocked to the beaches of Brighton or Glenelg, where the sinking sun put on a riotous show of colour as it took its leave. Michael McCormack disliked the beach vibe, so most evenings the household simply gathered for an al fresco dinner, where the air smelled of char-grilled prawns, seared steaks, garlic, rosemary, the Mediterranean tang of lemon and, always present, the old-fashioned scent of Margaret McCormack’s English roses, the blooms blousy and bloated with sunshine, too heavy on their stems to ever look up at the sky.