‘We’re shearing on Friday and Saturday. I’ve got to get rid of stock. But don’t let that stop you. And we …’ Zara heard her mother suck in a deep breath as if trying to regain control of her emotions. ‘We have to scatter Will’s ashes.’ Her stomach lurched. When she’d left, the urn containing Will’s ashes had been sitting on the kitchen window. She hadn’t given much thought to scattering them; somehow she’d thought they’d just stay where they were. It would be like a funeral all over again.

‘We don’t have to do that until you’re ready. It’s not been that long, Mum, only six weeks.’

‘I know, but I feel like I want to.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘I thought maybe in the creek. I know that sounds funny, because if there’s a flood he’ll be washed away, but he always loved the creek. Sometimes, after he got sick, I’d see him sitting down there on one of the fallen logs. I never knew what was going through his mind when he was down there—he never told me—but he and the dogs would stay there for hours. What do you think?’

‘I think that sounds just like him, Mum. And it’s a peaceful place. Among the wind and sunshine. Will would love the rain too, so I don’t think you need to worry about him being washed away. He’d still be there in spirit.’

‘Perhaps we could do that this weekend, when you’re back?’

‘I’m coming for a couple of weeks, so we can do it when we’re ready. There’s no hurry.’

‘I started to clean out his room.’

‘Ah.’

‘There’s so much gear in there. Stuff I didn’t know about. Not that I needed to, I guess. I’m only his mum. But what are you supposed to do with five pairs of Rossi boots in various stages of wear?’

‘Why don’t you see if they’ll fit Ray?’

Zara was sure her mum didn’t hear her, because she kept right on talking. ‘And all those brand-new R.M. Williams clothes he had—hardly ever worn. I can give them to the Red Cross, but then there’s his phone and computer and watch.’

‘You can’t give everything away, Mum. You need to keep some things.’

Silence.

‘I found something interesting in there, Zara. I don’t really know what to do with it.’

Zara stayed quiet, but her heart kicked up a notch. Had her brother had a secret life?

‘His diary. He wrote in it every day. You know, all the work we did on the farm. If we’d shifted a mob of ewes, he recorded it. If we drenched, he recorded it. You have to do that these days so we have records if we ever get audited by the Department of Ag.’