Presently the child ceased her rhythmic movement and saw Luciana. She stopped and stared at her, like a wild animal scenting the air for hostility; weighing up potential danger. Then, slowly, she came over to her.

‘I shouldn’t go talk to my mom today if I was you,’ she said conversationally. It was the first time they had addressed each other.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Luciana.

‘She’s in a grump today,’ said the child. ‘Oh, brother! Is she in a grump!’ And she rolled her eyes, as one well used to the unaccountable grumpiness of grown-ups, but none the less affected by it. They fell into step together.

‘You don’t like my mom, do you?’ asked the child.

‘I hardly know her,’ said Luciana indifferently, ‘so I have no reason to dislike her.’

‘But all the same I figure you don’t like her,’ said the child. ‘I can tell by the way you screw your eyes up when you see her coming. Like this,’ and she lowered her own lids, leaving a slit open so that she could continue walking without tripping up. ‘You don’t like her, do you?’ she persisted.

‘Not much,’ said Luciana, not given to sparing the feelings of others, but amused and intrigued in spite of herself.

‘Nor I don’t like her either. Sometimes I think I hate her. I used to love her but I don’t love her any more. Do you hate a lot of people?’

Luciana considered. ‘Not many,’ she said, discovering something surprising. ‘I used to be a great hater, but I can’t be bothered now. It’s too tiring.’

Marnie threw her a pitying look. ‘I like hating. It makes me feel hot inside, like eating chillies. It’s feeling kinda hollow that scares me. When I feel hollow I’m feared I might disappear and no one would know. Kenneth knows a lot about hating. You should ask him if you’ve lost the knack.’

They walked through the orchard, leaving the rubbish tip to the sanctimonious egrets. Tiny quail doves skittered along in front of them. The skinny child with her pale face and straight hair bore no resemblance to her blonde curvaceous mother and Luciana was irritated to feel a certain comradeship with her. I must not get involved, she thought. She only wished to nurse her own grievance and pick around its scab, so that it had no chance to heal. She certainly didn’t want to bother with anyone else’s emotions, let alone this rather waifish child’s.

Nevertheless, as they came back into the garden and met Mattie and Hazel who’d been putting fresh towels in the bungalows, she felt an unwelcome sympathy for Marnie when Mattie said: ‘Oh, Mar-nie-Jane! Your ma been yellin’ for you. She sure is mad at you! You better come ’long now else she give you big trouble!’