One of the SES workers – a woman with grey hair – overtook him and walked right to the edge of the falls, peering down. Despite herself, Eliza stepped up onto a slippery rock beside her. The water below was amber brown and rolling with foam and waves, beautiful in the sunlight, treacherous among jutting rocks.

‘Could they be down there?’ she found herself asking the woman, nausea rolling through her belly at the thought.

‘Possibly,’ said the SES volunteer with a heavy sigh. ‘Should we have some divers come check?’ she shouted to Darren above the sound of the falls.

Darren’s feet were steady as he looked down into the base of the waterfall, even as the water rushed over his hiking boots. ‘We can’t search every pool we pass,’ he said, ‘but . . . maybe we can try this one.’

Eliza listened as he called it in, following Darren as he walked to the other side. He was matter-of-fact, detailing the co-ordinates of the waterfall, the route there, his request for divers.

The cable bit into her palm as she crossed, while her mind returned to the rolling, boiling water. We can’t search every pool . . .

The rest of their party followed behind, their eyes on their respective directions, their mouths shut, faces grim.

After half an hour’s walk, they stopped, the sky overcast again and a chill wind starting to blow. ‘Now, I believe this is where Mr Jack Michaels eventually found you, once he’d met up with Miss Carmen,’ said Darren.

A large daisy bush reached over the edge of the trail here, its hundreds of beautiful white flowers early for the season. The smell was sharp and spicy, and the air droned with bees.

Somewhere, we joined the Lake Nameless trail, she thought in surprise. I didn’t even notice.

She felt completely lost.

But she had a pang of memory as she crouched down, pressing a hand to the soft flowers of the bush. She remembered lying here, in the mud and wet. The aroma was wilder than other flowers.

‘This is where they found you.’ said Darren. ‘Any details come back to you?’

‘I think I remember stopping here.’ She looked over to the bush. It was taller than her, taller than Darren, so big it felt otherworldly: like someone had taken it from a suburban garden and sprinkled magic powder on it, making it grow wild and ferocious. ‘I don’t know why, but it felt like the right place to stop.’

‘Probably the flowers,’ remarked the grizzled farmer from their party, scratching behind his knee. ‘Girls like flowers.’

Eliza pinched off one of the flowers, cradling it in her hand. The wild bees buzzed.