How can I have a legal career when I’ve broken and am now evading the law? I realise, with a sense of deep weariness, sadness, that this can no longer be my path. The students are right: things must change, and it’s up to us to make change happen. But what arrogance to think I could continue on as planned, feed my hunger to learn, study how to cast judgement on others, read about contracts while locked in a contract with the Devil. There will be a way I can be my full self, my best self, but first I need to do what I’d mocked Charlie for suggesting: I must, somehow, make amends.

The towering jacaranda tree across the road offers me a floaty nod for finally coming to my senses. I frown at the tree, as if we were in silent conversation. ‘Yes,’ I say quietly. ‘I know. Nothing is the same anymore.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sunday 2 March 1975

Charlie

Abby and I sit in her kitchen enjoying the quiet. The kids are at a birthday party and Abby is reading a Stephen King novel, occasionally scooping cottage cheese out of a half-rockmelon in a bowl. I thought she’d have loads of study to do for her law subjects but I don’t think I’ve seen her crack open a textbook since uni started. I’m shuffling a pack of cards, over and over, refining my technique. ‘Midnight at the Oasis’ plays on the radio, then the news – Whitlam says Darwin will be rebuilt in five years, there’s fighting in Cambodia and Papua, the French have declared a year-long news blackout around Moruroa Atoll so they can test their nukes in the Pacific. ‘A news blackout announced on the news. Weird,’ I say. The biscuits Abby made this morning are still on a cooling rack so the room smells of coconut and golden syrup. It’s all good, but I’m bored. I’m glad for Abby that she has a plan for the year but I’m not sure about my own. Ryan and Sal have been clear: Bali is over. I’ve signed on for the dole, but what next? I put the cards down.

‘Hey, did I tell you I read that the lady who wrote Mum’s etiquette book died?’

Abby looks up in surprise. ‘Amy Vanderbilt?’

‘Committed suicide. Seems like one of the ruder ways to die.’

She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘How sensitive you are. That woman is responsible for the few table manners you have.’

‘I’ve always said hands are nature’s cutlery.’

‘Sure, and knuckles can help you walk.’

Before I can reply, there’s a knock at the door.

‘I’ll get it,’ I say. Something to do.

Through the amber-coloured glass panel next to the door I see the outline of a woman, and a boy too tall to be Petey. Though he wouldn’t be coming home without the others anyway . . . It only takes a moment for me to realise it’s Maria and Beau.