Eliza let the nurse tie the headscarf around her head with a large bow by her temple. It covered everything neatly.

Monica and Eliza walked out through the long corridors of the hospital, Monica clutching Eliza’s arm as though worried she would fall over.

All the while, Eliza’s mind kept returning to the trail.

When they stepped outside, the sounds of Launceston rushed through the air around them. The rain hadn’t stopped overnight but a pair of hopeful journalists was loitering outside, waiting for her release, and Monica cursed them out loudly as they pushed past to her car.

‘Just a quick word! How are you feeling, Eliza?’ shouted one. ‘Do you know what happened?’

Eliza grimaced, silent as she climbed into the car, holding back all the apologies she wanted to make.

Then they were on their way back. Back to Limestone Creek.

Eliza watched the clouds as they faded and thinned, the storm finally easing. Monica held her hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb.

I’m so selfish, she thought suddenly. ‘How’s Tom?’

Monica’s husband had been on the hike too. He would likely feel as responsible as Eliza did, even though he and Jack’d had all the other girls to take care of at the time.

‘He’s waiting at home. He was going to help with the search, but he had to look after Wren while I came and got you.’

More guilt. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t you dare say sorry, Eliza,’ said Monica firmly. ‘Not after what you’ve been through.’

Eliza felt like she wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. She felt herself slowly retreating back into herself and cut it short. No. You will feel every shred of this. You don’t get the easy way out.

The tears formed. Soon she was sobbing hysterically.

‘Shhh . . . it’s okay, Eliza . . .’

The foggy line of the Great Western Tiers was cutting in and out of view as the rain started and stopped. They left the highway and soon drove through the winding roads of the Meander Valley, bordered by clumps of pine trees, sodden paddocks, lonely convict-era graveyards. An hour after they left Launceston, they pulled up at Monica and Tom’s house, on the outskirts of Limestone Creek, bordered at the back by paddocks and poplar trees.

The house was double-storey, federation architecture of red brick, with a verandah, a big rambling cottage garden of wattle trees and rose bushes and lavender, and two vehicles in the gravel driveway: Eliza’s Corolla and Tom’s Landcruiser.

Eliza, now all cried out, walked up the gravel footpath to the front door – it wasn’t locked – and went inside. Family photos hung in the entryway. Eliza looked instantly at Denni’s portrait; she did it every time.