‘Yeah, I reckon God gave up on Queensland a long time ago.’ I stand up. ‘We’re on our own.’

We’re only past hugs and ‘how was the flight?’ before Abby announces we’re driving straight to Dad’s.

‘It’s five hours, give or take, and by the time your luggage is unloaded . . .’ She looks at her watch.

‘You’ve got to be kidding. I need a shower and a bed.’

She frowns. ‘We won’t make it if we go home. The car’s packed.’

‘Oh, c’mon.’ I feel sure Dad could wait one more day to see me. ‘We can go tomorrow. What’s the rush?’

‘We’re going today and coming back Sunday. Wash up. I’ll meet you at the baggage carousel.’

I splash water on my face in the airport bathroom then go find Abby.

‘Every one of these hippy backpacks is the same,’ she says.

I see my pack (not the same, no Thailand or India scarves or ties decorating it), haul it off and put it on the floor next to me. ‘Let’s stop for beer before we leave the city. Need to flush the Bintang out of my system.’

‘We don’t have time.’

‘At a drive-through.’ I nudge her. ‘C’mon, you know you want to. Kids are at home, free woman on the road.’

She smiles. ‘Yes, okay. But we’re not going inside.’

We leave the airport through sliding glass doors. The air outside is humid and dense.

‘Hey, give me the keys. Haven’t driven a decent car in a year.’

CHAPTER FOUR

Wednesday 4 December 1974

Abby

Lou and I sit next to one another on the wet tiled edge of the pool and dangle our legs in water so warm it’s as though nothing is touching our skin at all. Water circles my calves, like a cuff where the surface, rising and falling, meets the air. The sun sparkles on the small waves.

Lou is wearing white-framed sunglasses, her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail and a crescent of deodorant marks the armpit of her lime-green bikini top. She has freckles on her chest and shoulders – three half-circles of darker skin, like a theatre curtain ready to rise. She lifts one leg out of the water and admires it, droplets sliding off her oiled skin.

‘Gorgeous day,’ she says, then adds, ‘You seem edgy. Everything okay?’

My life is about to change and I should be preparing for that rather than hanging about at the pool, toggling between annoyance and boredom. ‘Sorry. Weird mood.’

‘Tell me,’ she says, peering over the top of her sunglasses.

‘Just feeling anxious.’

She nods. ‘Bound to, but you’ll be great. Anyway, it’s months away. Don’t let worry wreck your whole summer. Go swim. I’ll watch the kids.’

I squint at the sky. Maybe I should swim. I like to start slowly, tighten my goggles after a lap or two, then get my pace up. By the third lap I’m timing myself. My heart beats fast, my breath is rapid, all pistons firing. For a few minutes, I’m at the Olympics and hear the roar of the crowd. Stopping is the problem. Once I stand in the shallow end, goggles off, I’m back in Jindalee: a little boy yells at his brother, a hairy man in red Speedos waddles by. And there’s a bandaid floating on the water in front of me.