She places a tray in front of us – white-bread sandwiches (sliced cheese, tinned beetroot, tomato), chopped apple, tumblers of Coke – and sits, the cushion issuing a loud puff as she relaxes into the chair.

‘I want to be mindful of your loss, of what we’ve all lost.’ Donna takes a sip of her drink then speaks directly to me. ‘It’s only a thing I say, a bit of fun. About the black men.’

‘Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind, Donna? I can almost hear your brain ticking.’

It turns out other people have a stake in Skye’s death. Her mates from the chemist, where she worked with Donna, as well as the women she’d acted as midwife for, and their husbands, and all the rest of the people she knew around here want some commemoration of her passing from their lives, regardless of where her body is ending up.

Donna places her drink on a coaster. ‘A ceremonial rose-planting is what I had in mind. Before you head to Brisbane with Charlie and Abby. If you give the nod I’ll ring around for a gathering tomorrow afternoon. Kathy and I can get together a slice, some melon, scones. The boys will plant the bush. We’ll need a table.’ She peers out the window. ‘That one will do. We could play some songs she liked.’ She turns to me. ‘Linda Ronstadt. Quite fond of her.’

I smile.

‘Funny name isn’t it? Ronstadt,’ she says.

Dad takes a slow breath. ‘Do we have to do this, Donna?’

‘We do, John.’

Donna opens her mouth a few times to speak and then stops. There’s something else she wants to say but she’s second-guessing herself, or having trouble finding the words. She gulps like a goldfish a few more times then says, ‘Was she unhappy that night, John? She did get down in the dumps sometimes, go silent on us. Was she out of sorts when she got in the car?’

‘Not especially,’ Dad says.

‘And there’s some confusion about where she was going, I gather?’

‘How, Donna? How do you know these things?’

She tilts her head. ‘Well I don’t know why she crashed into a tree, I’ll tell you that for free. We’ve been on that road a hundred times together. John –’ She opens and closes her mouth again, then speaks in a rush. ‘Is there any chance she did this on purpose?’

It’s obvious Dad feels some affection towards Donna, but he looks daggers at her. ‘No,’ he says.

‘With the hormones, and Christmas coming – Christmas is a difficult time for some people. And I thought if the phone call upset her or you’d had a blue – I’m not saying that doesn’t happen to every couple. Rod and I have our moments. It’s just hard to understand how she ended up in that ditch unless she wanted to be there.’

Dad stands up, and Donna, mercifully, recognises this as a signal it’s time to leave. I wish I could tell her Skye didn’t commit suicide, that she can put that worry to rest, and that I’m sorry.