Back then they’d all been filled with hope, thinking that Will could beat the disease. After all, the doctor had told them that of all the cancers, bowel cancer had one of the highest survival rate if it was found in time.

And now, well, they knew the truth. It wasn’t curable for Will.

The rumble of a truck engine, then the beeping of a reverse warning caught her attention. Glad of the distraction, she waved to the removalists and helped them back into her driveway.

‘Long way from Adelaide, love,’ said the driver, jumping down from the cab and stretching. ‘Not sure why you’d want to be shifting back up here.’

‘Sure is, Pete,’ Zara answered, not wanting to tell him they were her thoughts too. ‘It’s a long way from anywhere.’

‘Right, where are we headed?’

‘Bedroom is first on the right and kitchen down the end of the hallway,’ she told them.

‘No worries, love. We’ll get you set up in no time.’

The men worked quickly to unload the bed and tallboy and, while they were doing that, Zara grabbed the linen off the back seat of her car. It wouldn’t take her long to make up her bed. She kept thinking about Will, who was in the local hospital today. Only three streets away. When she’d seen him this morning, he hadn’t opened his eyes, just gripped her hand and squeezed it before saying in a low, weak voice that he was glad she was there. He’d needed a blood transfusion, to increase his red blood cells. Zara knew from experience that once he’d had the transfusion he’d be less lethargic and hopefully would be able to go home by this afternoon. Blood seemed to have a magic effect on him.

Still, James, the doctor had been on the ward when she’d arrived and he’d said in a low tone that Will having three months was looking less and less likely.

Zara had wanted to cover her ears and sing ‘la la la’ very loudly. The news couldn’t get much worse.

‘Hi, sweetie, how are you getting on?’

Zara looked up at the sound of her mother’s voice and smiled when she saw her framed in the doorway. Will had got his height from their dad, whereas Zara had inherited her mother’s short stature. Standing at only five foot four, Lynda was slight with prematurely grey hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her hands were wrinkled and dry from the hard work on the farm, but Zara loved the way they could still smooth her hair back from her face when she needed comfort.

Lynda looked tired, drained and sad.

Zara stopped making the bed and went over to hug her. ‘How are you holding up? How’re things at the hospital? I saw Will this morning, but you hadn’t come in yet.’

‘I had to talk to the contract seeding bloke before I came in,’ she said. ‘The business doesn’t stop, just because we’re having problems.’ She ran her hands through her ponytail, worried. ‘I don’t know whether to put that crop in or not. It’s so dry and if we get a big wind the whole farm will shift. Just another thing to think about.’ She sighed and glanced around. ‘Looks like you’re getting organised.’