‘No, I’m curious.’ As I spoke I opened the benzoin and inhaled, careful not to breathe in too deeply in case it was very strong. A shot of recognition went through me and I gasped.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Thora. ‘Did you get some up your nose?’

I shook my head, and sniffed again. There it was, summoned from the back of my memory, the smell of my father’s doctor’s bag. The smell I’d thought was amber was now presented to me in its entirety. ‘It’s the smell of my father,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know it was benzoin, but this is it.’

I passed the bottle to Thora, who held it up to her nose. As she sniffed she squinted, closing one eye. ‘It’s quite similar to iodine. I’m not sure I could tell the difference. Why does it remind you of him?’

I explained. ‘His bag has a warm, sweet, resin-like scent that reminds me of amber, but now I realise it’s benzoin. This is a little bit softer, and it has leather undertones, like handbag leather, and it’s a little bit spicy too, as if there’s a hint of nutmeg or cinnamon.’ I dabbed a little of the tincture on the back of my right hand and sniffed again. ‘It will sound silly but I feel like I’ve solved a puzzle.’ I smelt my skin again, noticing that, already, the tincture had mellowed, becoming even more like the smell of the drawer within his bag containing the neatly rolled bandages and cloth tape.

I capped the bottle and held it gently in my palm, warming the glass with my skin. ‘It’s perfect,’ I said. ‘It seems to fit.’

‘I don’t follow,’ said Thora.

‘I mean it feels like a part of me. Sometimes you get that with perfume, a sense of belonging. It’s such a warm, skin scent. Thank you.’

Thora began to say something, then stopped and waited a moment. ‘I think that’s how your perfume made me feel. You mightn’t remember the smell, but whenever I wore it I had the impression that it felt right. It was intuitive. I would have found it difficult to express that same feeling in words. I wore it every day until I almost drained the bottle. And then I kept a little bit back, so I could smell it once in a while. When I sniff it now, I’m reminded of Wellington.’

‘I put a lot of boronia in that perfume. And frankincense.’

‘Yes, I remember. There’s a boronia across the road from the sensory garden behind the Domain. I sometimes pass it on my way home and I can remember the first time I caught the smell of it. It’s so distinctive, like cranberries and raspberry jam.’

‘It was new to me,’ I said. ‘Unlike anything I knew.’

‘I looked it up a couple of years ago and found out it was named after an Italian botanist and plant collector who died when he leant too far out of a window while reaching for a plant. Did you know that?’