‘But she wasn’t wearing a ring. I’ve seen her list of belongings a hundred times: wallet, birthing bag, silver chain – no ring. You would’ve given her a ring, wouldn’t you? When you proposed?’

Dad frowns at him, suddenly indignant. ‘I want that back. I assumed she – that it was on her hand when she was buried. If one of your men so much as –’

‘There was no ring,’ Roberts says.

‘I want it back.’

‘Dad, let’s go.’ I glare at him. Surely he knows Abby wouldn’t have left Mum’s ring with Skye?

‘What did it look like?’

‘A ruby in a gold band, the word “love” inscribed on it. You won’t find another one like it in Australia. I had it brought in from Paris. You lot have no right –’

‘Dad, stop! What is wrong with you?’

He seems confused, then shocked. ‘Well, I want it back. That ring belonged to your mother.’

‘Where’s the ring?’ Roberts asks me.

The car is ten feet away. ‘Keys, Dad, give me the keys.’

‘Your sister will want that ring. She always has.’

‘Dad, fuck, get in the car!’

While he’s hours away from Abby’s house, it’ll only take Roberts a few minutes to find a telephone and get some Brisbane cops out to her place – where she keeps Mum’s ring, in her goddamn jewellery box. And he knows he’s onto something now. I push Dad towards the car, swearing as he resists. Roberts takes off in the other direction.

As we drive away, I scan the rainy streets for a public phone box, but by the time the main strip runs out I still haven’t seen one. I put my foot to the floor, despite Dad’s shouts to slow down, and fang it back to his house.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Saturday 8 March 1975

Abby

I’ve taken the transistor radio into the front yard with me in case there’s more news about the fire that started near Eumundi a few hours ago. It has to be the commune, but none of the news reports is using any word similar to that. There’s no talk of teepees, kombis, naked kids, guns or dope fields. The flames have engulfed vast areas of bushland near Cooroy Mountain, and firefighters are trying to contain the spread. The newsreader has said some roads are blocked by fallen trees, and warned people to stay out of the area. I wonder whether the people at the commune lit the fire to cover their tracks, or if the police did it. Or someone else. And where did everyone go? What about the drugs? I have so many questions but can’t talk to Mark about this until tomorrow. He knew better than to invite me on a fishing trip, and he and Geoff are perfectly capable of handling the kids for one night, but now I wish he was here.

I place the radio on the step near the front door and turn up the volume. I’ll start my garden redux, by cutting back the boronia that’s spread across the path.