‘We will. I promise I will get you home. But first, you need some clothes, right? All my stuff is at camp, so you can have a hot shower there, and I’ll give you something warm and comfortable to change into. And anyway, it’s an amazing place—I want to show it to you. Maybe we can save this birthday, just a little bit.’

A hot shower does sound nice. Although I hope Melody doesn’t let me down and disappear again.

After bowls of oats and almond milk, sprinkled with coconut and chia seeds, we pack away the bed.

I sit up front in the seat next to Melody by the window. She asks questions but I promise to tell her everything that happened later, I don’t feel like it yet. She squeezes my hand and I squeeze it back, telepathising with her—please don’t leave me. Autumn connects my phone to the car charger and I rest my head on the window.

More forest and snow. It’s lost its excitement, and as the scenery swishes past, instead of rose-coloured glasses, I see it through a lens of sadness.

Tears start falling again. My fantasy is destroyed. My father is not who I thought he was. The trip, the dream, a failure.

Finally, we pull into a small snowy path, and the van bumps up and down, making dishes clank in the cupboards. Bursts of colour appear behind snow-covered tents, flags and clothes hanging outside. From behind the trees, I hear the buzz of generators and see parked vans and people tramping trails through the forest in furry boots, knitted beanies pulled over their ears, and layers of colourful clothes.

Music floats from different directions, and I hear a beat of drums, deep and primitive.

Autumn tells me the camp is an annual women-only event established by the landowner who bought the homestead and 120 acres of private land ten years ago, and moved here from Portland, Oregon. She wanted to create an alternative, empowering, female community. The freezing weather and deep snow bring an intimacy between the women brave enough to make the trip, and keep away the tourists. Women come from across the state and even from other parts of the country, some suffering from deep loss and needing to heal, others bringing inspiring stories to share. Melody, the landowner thinks, is the first Aussie they’ve had in the five years the camp’s been going. There are talks on women’s issues, healing rituals, storytelling, poetry, music and art. Doesn’t sound too bad.

We park behind a huge triangular teepee and Autumn cuts the engine. She hands me my phone, kisses Melody on the cheek, and arranges to meet us later.

I follow Melody towards the women’s tent and she holds its flaps open for me while I go inside.