‘A storm is coming,’ commented a girl behind Jasmine. ‘When they all fly somewhere like that, they’re looking for shelter from a storm.’

‘Bullshit,’ said her friend. ‘Forecast says we’re good.’

‘I’m telling you, the birds know better.’

‘Alright, bird-whisperer.’

Jasmine focused on where she was placing her feet, the ascent already growing steep, the pack heavy against her back. She was one of the smallest in the class, but she’d push through. She’d carry this damn pack all the way.

Dimly, she hoped there wasn’t a storm coming. They’d been enjoying the warm weather they’d had the last few days. Indian summer, came Dad’s voice in her mind. Warm weather that will last a week and then we’ll get another month of storms . . .

She shivered. Something did feel a bit weird in the air.

The trees and scrub beside them soon gave way to a burbling creek of yellow-brown silt, smelling loamy. One girl had stopped to fill up her empty bottle, even though they were barely five minutes into the hike, and another was trying to convince her there was wallaby poo in the water.

Five minutes later, the creek wended away from the path and they reached the first real milestone of the trip: the Hanging Tree. Jasmine could tell when they were drawing close, because all the laughter stopped.

It was a crooked King Billy Pine, with spreading branches and wide roots. A freak of nature, it had three trunks instead of one; the two smaller, stunted trunks twisted away from the central one like tortured arms. It stood in a rocky clearing all of its own.

Nestled in its roots and the blanket of pine needles were ribbons and bouquets of flowers – some fresh, some old and plastic – as well as framed photographs. A large rusty sign on a post read: LIFELINE – NEED SUPPORT? – WE WILL LISTEN – 13 11 14.

Carved into the trunk was a large and messy capital A, dull red from where someone, long ago, had spray-painted the carving, keeping the bark from growing back.

It was called the Hanging Tree by the locals. Five people had hung themselves on this tree: all at separate times, none of them related. There had been two other suicide attempts. The first was found trying to climb the tree with a rope and the second was intercepted on the way up the escarpment.

The first known hanging on the tree had been the Aboriginal man Theodore Barclay. Everyone knew his name. He had been the number-one suspect in the 1985 Hungry Man disappearances. He killed himself before a trial could be held, after his house had been burned down and he’d been bashed to within an inch of his life by vigilantes.