Our gardener waved goodbye to Mr Whitlaw, who was dragging three garbage bags from his car towards the church op shop. Smile and keep walking; you have to get back to Bella. But my ingrained politeness won out. I took a bag from the old man and helped him through the door of the shop. He lived further along our street and Bella would pat his Labrador whenever we saw them out walking. Since her bunny had died, she’d been asking for ‘a dog just like Napoleon’ for her birthday.

‘The wife has sent me down with clothes and toys from our granddaughters,’ Mr Whitlaw puffed. ‘You should have a look, Lexie. There might be some things that Bella would like.’

A woman I’d never seen before came out from behind the counter and kissed him on the cheek. They chatted about the chance of rain as I heaved the bags onto the sorting table. Unlike Tara, they were too well-mannered to comment on my bruised face.

‘I’ve got to run,’ I interrupted them, trying to slow my breathing. Keep counting … ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight. ‘Maybe I’ll come back later with Bella.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Mr Whitlaw rummaged through one of the bags, and brought out a doll almost as tall as Bella. ‘Here you go, have this one. My granddaughter loved it.’

Dora the Explorer. Phoebe had given the DVD to Bella just after she was born, insisting that her niece grow up with a positive female role model—one who solved puzzles and had adventures instead of looking pretty and being rescued by a prince. Unpacking in the new house, Bella had rediscovered the DVD; she watched an episode of Dora almost every morning. I could imagine her playing with the doll on the couch then taking her into the garden for an adventure with her fairies.

‘Wow! Bella loves Dora too. I’ve never seen a Dora doll this big. Great—I’ll take it for her. How much shall I give you?’

The shop assistant picked up the doll, put her down again and wandered over to the till. She pressed a few buttons and hummed and hawed. After not seeing anything useful there, she went to check in the toy section, lifting up a truck to see the price tag. Could she be any slower?

‘Is ten dollars okay?’ I held out the note. ‘I really have to go.’

At last I could leave the op shop, with Dora shoved under my arm. But I still hadn’t bought the biscuits. A bright orange ute with its radio blaring skidded into a car space near me, making me jump backwards. What if something happens to me? Marty can’t look after Bella.