‘Then I guess you’d know her if you ran into her in the caravan park or the street, wouldn’t you? And you’d probably be able to find out that she’s an active member of Voices for Animals.’

Zara laughed. ‘I guess I would. Thanks, Jack.’

The next twenty-four hours passed in a haze of grief, tiredness and doctors. Zara’s phone call with Jack had been forgotten by the next day, with the care of Will overtaking everything. It was nearly dark when Zara heated up some of Kim’s chicken soup and took it in to her mum. ‘Here, I know you don’t feel like it, but it’s yummy.’

Lynda took the bowl and inhaled the steam rising up from the soup. ‘Smells delicious.’

‘Are you okay here for a little longer? I need to make a phone call.’

‘Sure. I’m not going anywhere.’ She looked over at Will, whose breathing had begun to be more erratic as time had gone on. The increased doses of morphine were making his eyes roll back in his head, and at one stage all Zara had been able to see were the whites of his eyes. It had unnerved her so much that she’d burst into tears. Her mum had followed and they’d spent a few moments holding each other and weeping, before they composed themselves and continued as they had been.

With another glance at Will, Zara crept out of the room and down into the kitchen. There were footsteps on the verandah and James came in.

‘Do you want some soup?’ she asked by way of greeting.

‘I had tea before I came out, thanks anyway. Lynda down with Will?’

‘She’s nowhere else now,’ Zara answered.

‘I’ll pop down.’

Nodding, she picked up her phone and saw Lachy had texted. Thinking of you, was all it said.

That reminded her of the screen shot she’d taken of Sophie’s phone number and email address. Should she call? Did she even feel like it? Before she could contemplate it too much, she dialled the number and listened to it ring.

‘Sophie speaking.’

‘Hi, Sophie. It’s Zara Ellison calling. I’m not sure if you remember me.’ Somehow her professional self kicked in.

‘You’re the reporter I spoke to in the courtroom.’ Her voice was flat. ‘I remember.’

‘That’s right. How are you?’

‘Fine. I’m not commenting on Dad’s death. I told you that then, and I’m telling you again now. It’s not something I want to talk about.’