‘Fine,’ said Eliza, speeding up her pace, footsteps squishing in the wet. ‘Go back to the car then. I’ll go by myself.’

‘Don’t be like that.’ Tom jogged to catch up. ‘I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.’

‘I know these girls, Tom. They’re capable of it.’

‘You think I don’t? I know Cierra better than anyone else.’

That wasn’t comforting in the slightest, as her mind replaced Cierra’s face with Denni’s. ‘Why the hell did you leave your bag of weed and condoms in her room, Tom. Are you insane? Wren needs you around, and needs you to have a job. You could’ve thrown it all away because you were . . . careless!’

‘I was greened out! You were there – you know I wasn’t in a good way. You should’ve remembered to bring it with you.’ Tom grunted angrily for a moment, footsteps squelching as he continued on, before he finally said, in a small voice, ‘Sorry.’ Then, like a little boy, ‘What if she doesn’t want to see me?’

‘Cierra loves you, Tom.’ She hated it, but it was true. It started to rain again. Eliza pulled her hood up over her head, but Tom left his down. ‘The hell knows why . . .’

They had reached the copse of white gums that signalled the wallaby trail down to the hidden Fisherman’s Hut, at the side of the lake. The torchlight glinted on the wet, dancing leaves and made motes of falling light where it hit the rain.

Eliza had first heard about the hut from Tom. Last year he had brought her, Wren and Monica here on a family date, bringing a picnic of sandwiches and wine and a mattress. They’d all watched the sun set over the lake. The hut was well hidden, overgrown, and the structure itself was partly dug into the ground. It was a perfect, secret gem.

Now she understood that it was Jack who’d shown it to Tom in the first place.

‘This is it,’ whispered Tom. ‘Let’s go see if they’re here.’

‘Wait,’ said Eliza, pulling the hood away from her ear. ‘Do you hear that? Sounds like a car.’

Even over the rain they heard the distinct sound of a car door slamming shut. Eliza and Tom froze, switching off their torches in unison. The sound had come from further down the track, the direction they were facing.

‘Stay here,’ said Tom, pushing the rifle into Eliza’s hands and running off into the darkness.

‘No, Tom!’ called Eliza quietly, but he was gone. ‘I hate shooting guns,’ she whispered.

It was scary how quickly she felt alone. The bush rustled with the rain and wind. It seemed to close in over the top of her.

Don’t freak out. Do not freak out.

There was the sound of someone stepping in a puddle.

‘Tom?’ she squeaked.