As she listened to all this, Penelope kept a commiserating smile on her face, just nodding and holding her friend’s hand.

Soon, though, Margie was asleep. The hospital was a peaceful yet disturbing place, with its echoey beeps and disinfectant smell, and reminded Penelope of when she had given birth to Caleb. And when she had lost Mark. Vernon had not been there either time. With Mark because he’d been injured, with Caleb because it had not been the custom. And as though her thoughts manifested his presence, she felt a steady hand atop her shoulder.

She turned and saw her husband looking down at her, then up at her friend. ‘She alright?’

Penelope smiled. ‘Are you?’ She reached up a hand to hold his. ‘What happened to your face? Vernie . . . where’d that cut come from?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

He dragged another chair from the side of the room, making an awful noise, and sat beside her. He smiled at her as though seeing her for the first time.

‘What happened to her?’ he asked.

‘You don’t know? And why are you moving so slow?’

‘I’ll tell you about that later, too. What happened to the old cow?’ he said, indicating Margie with his chin.

‘Vernie!’ she said.

‘What? She’s asleep.’

‘They reckon people can hear you when they’re asleep.’

He scoffed. ‘What a lot of rot.’

‘They do.’

‘That’s coma patients.’

‘No, they say it’s when people are asleep too. They can hear you, their subconscious.’

‘Come off it. Who says that?’

‘People. Experts.’

He scoffed again, then leaned towards Margie’s round, sleeping face. ‘Oi. Dingbat. Wake up now or I’m pulling the cord.’ He sat back, folded his hands in his lap. ‘See? Nothing.’

Penelope smacked his arm. ‘You’re horrid.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘How did you find me?’

‘They called me at home when you came in. Now would you answer the bloody question?’

She sighed. ‘She was attacked.’

‘By who?’

‘We went to visit Caleb and that thug Brendan came in with a cricket bat.’

She watched her husband carefully for his reaction. She knew by the way he was holding himself that he was hurt. Knew, too, that he had been through something the last day or so that had changed him. He pursed his lips in that way he had—the same look he’d given her after burying the pelican—and she knew he had made a decision. There was a look in his eyes that told her she could not change it. She could normally persuade him of anything, but once this face settled on him, there was nothing could turn him.

She added, ‘I thought you said you’d handled it.’

He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I know what I said.’

TWENTY-THREE

VERNON MOORE

Driving home from the hospital, well into the night, Vernon kept glancing at his wife. It was strange she wouldn’t tell him what she thought about what had happened to Caleb, or how Brendan had struck her. She hadn’t again questioned the cuts on his face, the bruises lining his eyes. It hurt him that she didn’t.