‘What’s so important?’ She rubs her wrist.

The radio newsreader is grave: ‘. . . city of Darwin destroyed by Tropical Cyclone Tracy. Reports of the devastation are only now making their way to the rest of the country. Eyewitnesses say the city has been levelled, with the remains of thousands of homes scattered across the town. Winds of 135 miles per hour were recorded by the gauge at Darwin Airport before it was blown away. Never has Australia seen a disaster of this magnitude.’

Lou joins the back of the crowd. ‘What’s going on?’ Low murmurs of explanation ripple across the room.

Jim is standing beside me. A lit cigarette dangles from his parted lips, ash dropping onto the floor. ‘Holy Christ.’

‘Prime Minister Whitlam has ordered a mass airlift of citizens from what remains of the city, and has sent Navy boats, armed services and police from southern states to assist with the disaster.’

I hate to admit it, but my first thought is that a disaster of this scale is good for Abby and me, that it will draw focus away from us, make Mark forget about the commune and Beau, make Roberts think about bigger things than a country-road car crash. Maybe some of his sprawling family or workmates come from Darwin.

‘. . . number of fatalities is not yet known, and with people already evacuating the town by car, authorities are struggling to determine the full scope of this disaster . . . We’ll bring further information to air as it comes to hand.’

When the news story finishes, the kitchen comes back to life with a rustle of talk like leaves caught in a wind. I don’t want to process this with a bunch of strangers so I go to my bedroom. As I walk past Sarah’s room I see Joanne sitting cross-legged and alone on the bed, stroking Sarah’s toy unicorn like it’s a beloved pet.

Dad joins me in our room. ‘Skye’s there, in Darwin,’ he says.

‘Right, I forgot that. Her family too, yeah?’

‘Her brother. Parents are dead. I don’t know if she had cousins, or if her grandparents are alive. I should know that.’ He takes a jerky breath. ‘I hope they put her deep in the ground, Charlie. I hope she was safe.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Thursday 26 December 1974

Abby

Geoff’s wife, Margot, calls while I’m making lunch. I wipe tomato juice off my fingers with a paper towel, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear.

‘They’ll be on the news tonight,’ she says. ‘Geoff got an emergency line out of Darwin and called the station. They’re both okay and Mark says to tell you he’ll be in touch as soon as he can.’

I phone Lou. ‘I’ll be on your couch at five-thirty,’ she says.

Radio reports have drip-fed us information about the cyclone. It turns out the rest of Australia hadn’t known about the cyclone until Christmas afternoon because there’d been no way of getting word out. In the end, a ship not too far off the coast, taking its own beating in the storm, got news to Perth. It’d taken them four hours to make radio contact. The ship’s captain said that when the cyclone changed course and headed for Darwin he’d feared the worst: ‘It wasn’t like any wind I’d seen before. It was colossal.’ He’d told his men to keep calling until they made contact. And, he said, he prayed.