‘I mean, I’m coming with you to Holsworthy Barracks. It’s a long drive and a long day for you. I think you need the company.’ She put a package of toasted potato curry sandwiches in her handbag and smiled benevolently at her irritated husband.

The drive south-west was forty-five minutes long and she used the captive opportunity to talk to him about all the topics he had avoided during that week. Later, when she became a regular at Holsworthy, she used the time to talk about all the topics he had avoided during their life.

The route was beautiful, taking them through a national park. Although the terrain was no longer new to her, she still found the smoky blue haze of eucalyptus forests breathtaking. There were certain bridge crossings and small gorges for which even she stopped talking. Tourists must look at the gentler green hills and palm-fringed beaches of Ceylon with the same awe. She was suddenly sorry she had never noticed the detail and design of her home enough.

The barracks themselves were enormous but well-organised, like a small monochrome world unto itself. In Colombo she was afraid whenever she saw soldiers, but not here. Men and women at Holsworthy walked around with uniforms and guns, and greeted them respectfully. General Andrews shook her hand warmly, as though they were old friends.

‘Good morning, Mrs Rajan, your husband has told me a great deal about you.’

She was so distracted by the compliment that she didn’t know how to respond. She laughed prettily in return. Rajan excused himself to begin his clinic.

‘You’ll have to stay in the waiting room after the tour. There’s nothing for you to do, you know. I suppose you could watch television, or there are magazines in the waiting room.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said to him sweetly. He scowled in return. She turned to General Andrews and gave him her best smile. ‘Shall we begin the tour, General?’

After that first visit, Nala joined Rajan on his weekly clinics and quickly made friends with the many wives and fewer husbands who volunteered. She started with small jobs in the administrative office but grew bored quickly. After a few months she decided she would visit the Recovery and Rehabilitation Unit.

She stood at the door and inhaled the sanctity of clinical cleanliness. She pulled her sari tightly over her shoulder and stepped into the ward. Australia’s army had not fought a war for years. It played its part keeping peace in a world order that she didn’t understand. But the pain of war, the terror of memory, and the process of healing—that she understood.