She didn’t look at Doris, just put the cup back in the cupboard and went to get Jamie up. Beck might have been born in the city, but she knew about the fucking flood risk across the plains south of Kippen.

Beck packed the car while Jamie sulked in the front seat.

‘Brian Fryer’s funeral is Friday,’ Doris said when she eventually came to the door.

Beck nodded and shrugged. ‘Well, thanks for having us.’

‘Right you are,’ Doris replied. ‘It’s brisk!’ she added, rubbing her hands.

‘Jamie, say thank you to your aunty.’

‘Thanks for having us,’ Jamie said, not even getting out of the car.

Little shit, but Beck could see his point. Doris was going to leave all her point scoring and nitpicking unspoken. Nothing new about that. Goodo.

Over at Glen Alpine, Alan was driving the tractor and looked totally crestfallen when his mother expressed her wish to get away immediately. Still, Beck felt like getting out and having a look, just so she could say a proper thank you to Bill.

The scent of mown grass pervaded, and the old house was already looking a bit better now that half the blackberries had been torn from their roots.

‘I’ll poison the stumps in a bit,’ Bill said, but none of them had a response for him.

Alan loaded his bag into the boot; Jamie was slumped in the front seat. Beck just couldn’t imagine Leanne moving into this derelict-looking place, with gaps in the weatherboards and the roof going rusty. The frost was still heavy in the shade of the hedge, and she noticed a crack in one of the window panes.

‘Looking good, Bill. See you again somewhere down the track, I expect,’ Beck said, reaching in to give him a peck on the cheek.

‘Well, have a nice trip,’ he said, and gave her arms a strange little shake of approval.

Even though the boys started fighting about who was going to sit in the front, Beck felt immediately lighter once the hard surface of bitumen sounded under the tyres.

‘We’ll have a quick brekkie in Kippen, if anything’s open,’ she said, snapping a new tape into the console and singing along to the music while the boys sulked.

The shops were mostly shut, but the milk bar’s owner was sweeping the pathway, steam rising off his breath. She turned her head to reverse park on the country angle and noticed her sons looking away from one another, and from her.

‘Look, Alan, you can have the front seat later, alright?’ she said, tugging at the handbrake. ‘Who wants pancakes?’

She didn’t wait for them. That was always the best way to get her boys to move.

James ignored his brother showing off about getting permission to have a coffee, like Mum, and asked the waitress where the bathrooms were.