‘Nobody is saying that!’ said Monica. She settled on Wren’s other side, holding her hand in her lap, clutching tighter when Wren tried to pull away. ‘Mummy is a bit sad this morning. Can I hold your hand?’ Wren, grumbling, acquiesced.

Sarge jumped up beside Eliza, resting his head in her lap and pressing his weight against her. He was snoring before long.

Together, they watched the cartoon heroes on their talking horses save the town from an earthquake. The bright TV and the flashing animations hurt Eliza’s eyes. The doctor had said this might happen – the effects of her concussion. If the symptoms grew worse, she was supposed to go back in for observation, but there was no way that was going to happen. She would stay right here, with her family. She closed her eyes and enjoyed their presence.

After a while, Tom joined them, carrying four plates of cut ham-and-lettuce sandwiches. ‘Wren, we need to put the news on, sweetheart,’ he began, seeing the cartoon credits on the screen.

‘Not yet,’ said Eliza, before Wren could even protest. ‘Can we watch another episode?’

Tom snuggled in behind Wren, holding her in his lap and coaxing her to eat her sandwich. Eliza felt his leg pressing hard against hers.

Sarge snuffled, woke up, yawned, and climbed down, heading for his doggy-door into the backyard.

Eliza listened blissfully as the Piebald Rangers successfully navigated the conflicts of friendship, and then another episode was over. Without another word – just a glance in Eliza’s direction – Tom let the next episode auto-play. The four of them finished their meal and sat, silent, watching the Piebald Rangers yet again save the town. Eliza’s mind was far, far away.

The doorbell rang and Sarge came sprinting through from outside, straight to the door.

‘It’s alright, it’s just Tom’s mum,’ said Monica. ‘I asked her to come take Wren for a while . . . if the police are coming, I . . .’ She broke off into sniffles.

‘No, no, get down, you stupid mongrel,’ came the voice of Mrs North in the hallway. ‘Good boy.’ She bustled into the lounge room. ‘Eliza, you poor thing!’

Eliza rose and let Tom’s mum hug her.

‘How are you? Are you okay? How dreadful. Anything you need. Anything at all.’

Wren, not understanding the sudden emotion, began crying. Mrs North quickly scooped the girl up into her arms. ‘Don’t you worry, baby. It’s fine. You’re okay. Quick, say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy and Aunt Leesey.’ Mrs North let them all kiss Wren, before she took the screaming girl away.

‘Can I . . .?’ said Monica, teary, reaching for the remote.

Eliza nodded.

Immediately footage of Cierra, Jasmine and Georgia filled the screen. It was from the morning of the hike, on the school bus. It must have been footage from Madison’s YouTube channel. No Bree. She wasn’t in the girls’ self-dubbed ‘Fab Four’.