‘Probably both, but mostly Will, I think. I don’t like the way I’m feeling. I’m pissed off with him.’

‘What the hell for? Poor bastard can’t help what’s happening to him.’

‘He’s given up.’

Pause. ‘How has he done that, Zara?’

‘By not fighting.’ Her voice rose in resentment. ‘He’s not having any more treatment. Maybe there would be a chance if he did! Why wouldn’t he take every opportunity there was to get better, Lachy?’ Tears started and she sniffed as her nose began running too.

Lachy’s voice was gentle when he answered, ‘Doesn’t matter why, Zara. It’s Will’s choice and that’s all that counts. At this point in his life, it’s got to be about what he wants and how he gets it. Nothing else.

‘Tell me, if this was you, would you want to spend your days in and out of hospital, feeling like shit, or at home, on the farm you love and with the people you cherish? I’ll bet he hasn’t made this decision lightly, and I’ll also bet that he’s thought about both you and your mum and the effect it will have on you.’

‘But …’

‘You know how I know that?’

‘How?’

‘Because Will’s kind and considerate—like you. He would’ve thought about how you and your mum were going to cope. Tried to work out what was best for you too.’ He paused. ‘I think you’ll find people in his situation do that all the time.’

Zara wanted to ask how he knew that, then she remembered that Lachy’s sister had passed away two years ago from breast cancer. He’d taken unpaid leave for a couple of months before she died, to be with her.

‘Zara,’ Lachy said quietly, ‘he needs to do this his way.’

Chapter 7

Zara pushed open the door to the police station. She wasn’t sure how she would be welcomed after the shutdown she’d seen on Dave’s face last night.

It had been Lachy’s idea that she call in and introduce herself. As he’d reminded her, ‘They might want your help at some stage.’

There was an older lady who looked vaguely familiar sitting behind thick glass, typing at a computer.

Zara took a quick look around and decided it was like every country police station she’d ever been into. On the wall were the usual domestic violence and kids helplines, along with those for Beyond Blue and Lifeline. There were wanted posters, and pamphlets offering help with drug and alcohol problems.

The lady looked up from the computer and shifted her glasses to the end of her nose, peering over the top of them. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

Summoning her friendliest smile, Zara handed her business card through the slits in the glass. ‘Hi, I’m Zara Ellison, a reporter with the Farming Telegraph. I wanted to make myself known …’

‘Ah, Zara. You’re Lynda’s daughter, aren’t you? I remember when you were a tot. Nice to see you’re home. Such a bad business about Will. I’m really sorry to hear he’s so unwell.’