The four kids help unload the car then whine their way through a few tasks until Mark frees them to go exploring with Woof. Beau offers to stay with us, and proves unnervingly competent with tent ropes and pegs. When he sees the fire pit, though, he stops in his tracks. Noticing this, Mark says, ‘We’re good, mate. Why don’t you go find the others?’

Mark and I work companionably to set up an area where we can store the food and fold-out table. I feel certain that getting away from the house will be a balm for all of us. And this place is perfect. No TV, no phone, no work or school, and no chance Finn will show up unannounced. It’s a place where we can start to replace Beau’s bad memories with good ones, as much as that’s possible.

‘Charlie decide if he’s joining us?’ Mark asks as we lay the kids’ tent flat on the ground. I kneel close to him. The sandy soil is hot on the surface, cool just an inch below.

‘I’m not sure. Hope so. But if he does it’ll only be for a few nights. He and Ryan are keen to push ahead with their shop plans.’ I pass lengths of metal rod to Mark one at a time and he assembles the supports that will hold up the tent’s thick canvas sides. ‘They want to open in June.’

‘It’s not a terrible idea,’ he says, and flicks a fly away from his mouth. ‘People are obsessed with Bali, and since they know someone who can arrange the exporting –’

‘Ketut.’

‘Ketut. I reckon they can make a go of it.’

‘Ryan’s dad’s still furious. Charlie said he yelled that Ryan had become a merchant.’

Mark laughs. ‘My God, not a merchant!’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘The shame of it.’

We stand and pull the tent up one section at a time. I push each roped peg into the dirt with the heel of my thong then Mark hammers them down further with the mallet.

‘Well, I guess you can reassure Ryan that working in a law firm isn’t everyone’s path in life.’

‘At least he has a path,’ I say.

‘You’ll find yours.’ He smiles at me, points to a stray peg near my feet, which I hand to him. ‘And once you do we’ll be your cheer squad.’

A salty breeze wafts over us. It’ll be cold tonight. I’ve brought sweatshirts for the kids, and had thought we’d sit around the fire roasting marshmallows. I’m not sure about that now. I never know what will trigger a memory for Beau, but I’m kicking myself for not thinking that the commune would’ve had an open fire. Of course they would. Maybe Beau helped Finn make the campfires. Or sat on logs squashed between his friends, laughing and nudging, singing songs. I decide to assume his memories of fires are happy ones.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve looked for opportunities to ask Beau about his life, tentatively, pulling back and changing the topic if he showed any discomfort. I’ve asked if he’d ever had anyone check his teeth, then explained what a dentist is, asked if the kids ever had red spots that weren’t from mosquitoes, if he was used to sleeping in the same bed every night. I’m drawing a deer into a clearing, murmuring encouragement, offering treats.