We fitted on our smoke masks, lubricated our eyes and wrangled Ivy into the car. Chanel was driving, so I had the relative safety of the back seat. I pretended to be asleep in case Ivy was tempted to talk to me. A few minutes later, I thought of something and opened my eyes – too late, I’d missed my chance to direct Chanel along the twisty rat-run of Brandivino Drive, away from the crematorium. The trees at the entrance were already in view, and Ivy turned her head to the window. She must have passed that spot hundreds of times on the bus – had she looked steadily at it or away? The air-con had kicked in, and Ivy put up a hand and lifted the collar of her shirt. That made Lorna appear, heaving up her lapels. Lorna’s eyes were blue, but when she walked out of the Department that day her eyes had turned black. I wanted to shout at Ivy, It was your decision to take the Amendment! Why didn’t you refuse? We left the crematorium behind, and Ivy looked away from the window. I started screaming inside my heart.

After a while, I closed my eyes again. Quite soon I could see that if my stepfather’s will hadn’t prevented Ivy from getting rid of her house, she’d have sold up before coming to Australia, and things would be different today. At my stepfather’s funeral, my brother-in-law, the one no one liked, drank a bottle of whisky and told me, ‘I suppose the old man didn’t want your mother to sell the place and hand the money over to you.’ I ignored him at the time, the drunken dickhead, but now I spotted the sparkle of truth in his words. Knowing Ivy, my stepfather must have feared that she’d give the house to the first thief who asked. Reasoning it all through like that, I was able to move on emotionally. Everything was my stepfather’s fault.

By that time Chanel was pulling into a designated parking space facing the water. There was only one other car in the car park, and no one at all on the beach and the pier. The sky still looked like a dirty pillow, but the light didn’t seem as woolly. The display on the dash showed that the temperature had fallen nine degrees. Chanel opened her window far enough to stick out her hand. ‘The wind’s changed,’ she said. We sat there in our masks with the engine and the air-con running, and it was really quite peaceful and lovely.

Chanel’s phone hummed. ‘Aww,’ she said, reading a message. ‘Dene’s given Mel a present that affirms and celebrates her agency.’ There was another hum. Chanel said, ‘Wait.’ She passed the phone to me. I studied the photo – Dene had chosen thoughtfully, picking a gun that was long and black to match Mel’s hair.