They made their way out to the front verandah that wrapped around the whole house in a wide sweep of cedar protected by a corrugated iron overhang. The discoloured paint of the weathered supports which were possibly once white, was flaked so badly the slightest touch left confetti covering their hands. Mandy gave Nicole a run-down of the town – footy every second Saturday at the oval where they also held a market, the markets usually more successful than the footy team; trivia every month at the pub, she was most welcome to join in, Lord knew Mandy’s team could do with an extra brain; art classes in the town hall …

Nicole listened to the happy lilt in Mandy’s voice, feeling guilty she wasn’t in the garden helping the guys. Not that her lending a hand would be considered help. She’d discovered long ago that her thumbs were definitely not green.

‘He’s a great worker, my boy.’ Mandy looked in Jack’s direction.

‘Seems so.’

‘A good kid, too. Not that he’s a kid anymore. I was only just eighteen when I had him. I was going to study journalism, can you believe? But,’ she shrugged, ‘popped him out just after exams and here we all are two decades later.’

Mandy’s openness made Nicole feel slightly more at ease. She’d forgotten that about country folk – their candour and lack of pretence. The friendships she’d made after moving to the city tended to be quite superficial. Most people seemed concerned about their square meterage, which private school they’d attended, their next promotion at work. At least in her corner of the city that’s how it went.

The whirring of the whipper snippers stopped and Jack and Danny loaded piles of grass clippings into the back of the ute. The sweet smell of freshly cut grass floated on the light breeze and filled Nicole’s nose.

‘When we heard someone was moving into the cottage, I did a little snooping. One of my vices.’ Mandy raised her hand to her chest in a gesture of apology. ‘And once I found out your name, well, you’re Nicole Miller the author, aren’t you?’

There wasn’t much point in lying. A quick Google search would turn up a picture of her author Facebook page, complete with photo. Nicole ran her fingers through her recently cropped hair. She tucked what she could behind her ear and it sat just below her chin.

‘Oh, so you are? You look a little different from the photo in the back of Tide, but that’s to be expected, I suppose.’

‘Yes, well it was taken a little while back.’ A few years, a dramatic haircut and a couple of extra kilos did make for altered appearance.