Sleep had come in fits and starts last night. Memories plagued her, and she had tossed and turned, and her body felt heavy today. When she reached the boatshed she saw Charlie waiting for her and her mood lifted a little. He greeted her with his customary nod.

‘I’m feeling lucky today, Charlie,’ she said as she sat on her canvas chair.

‘Not lucky enough,’ he grumbled back.

‘I came pretty close the other week, you have to admit.’

‘Not close enough.’

‘We’ll see.’ Nicole arranged her tiles and started watching Charlie carefully for any clues he had good letters – a touch of his nose, running his thumb along his forefinger.

‘Kilt. Triple word score.’ She had the upper hand now.

‘In the mid-1700s tartan was banned by the British government,’ Charlie said, not looking up from the board, studying his next move.

‘Is that so?’ Nicole had decided that Charlie must have either been a professor in his previous life, or game-show host – his breadth of knowledge so vast. One day she might just ask him.

He was even quieter than usual today. Not that she minded. She was just grateful he now accepted their weekly game as a given.

He put down his next word in silence.

She countered.

The sun moved across the sky.

He said no more.

‘Oh, yes!’ Nicole shouted. ‘And that’s the game, old man.’

‘No one likes a bad winner,’ Charlie mumbled.

‘No one likes to lose.’ She grinned.

Charlie packed up the Scrabble game and took the box and table into the boatshed. Nicole folded the chairs and carried them to the door, leaning them against the dirt-spattered wall. She headed up the path and when she got to the gum tree that encroached the track just before the hill’s rise, she stopped and turned.

He never noticed, but she always watched him walk down the cove and up the North Face, every Sunday after their game. Except last Sunday. He’d stayed in the boatshed that day and when she popped by on Monday under the pretence of sharing a coffee, he wasn’t there.

‘I had to go away’, was the only explanation he offered when she asked him about it.

At least Ivy was more forthcoming with details about her life. Sometimes too many details and the vignettes became a blur that Nicole could not recall. Mostly though, the letters stayed with her and she could recite them by heart.

8th April, 1950

My Dearest Tom,

Our Easter markets were a resounding success. So successful we have now decided to charge a minimal amount so we can replenish our stock and make more for Christmas. We will donate any profit beyond our supplies back to the church.

Lucy tried to show me how to make bunny rabbits with wool and rags, but the ears were always lopsided. She is much better at them, and her rabbits are very popular with the children.