‘Because he’s a weirdo,’ Jack mumbled.

‘That’s enough, Jack,’ Danny said quietly. ‘There’s more to Charlie than you think.’ The mood around the table shifted and silence fell.

‘This is a lovely pav, Mandy.’ Nicole changed the conversation.

‘Thanks. The secret’s in the cream. King Island,’ she whispered.

Nicole offered to help with the dishes, but Mandy would have none of it. She kissed her husband on the top of his balding head. ‘You can help, though.’

Nicole had insisted on walking home, citing fresh air and a need to stretch her legs. But what she really needed was some space. She hadn’t had this much social interaction in, well, she couldn’t remember how long.

It hadn’t been unpleasant. Quite the opposite. But it had been overwhelming.

She could have gone straight home, but the thought of being surrounded by those stark bare walls wasn’t exactly inviting.

In the distance the town lights twinkled as Nicole strolled along the headland. Moonlight bounced off the tall gum trees lining her path like sentries standing at attention, and quiet washed over her like a balm.

The boatshed rose before her, shrouded in darkness.

‘I thought I told you to leave me alone.’ Through the night, Charlie’s voice rumbled towards her.

Nicole jumped. ‘God, don’t scare me like that.’

‘Then don’t snoop around where you’re not wanted.’

‘I wasn’t snooping.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Charlie frowned.

‘I was just out walking.’

‘Well, I don’t want you here.’

Nicole wouldn’t have been surprised if Charlie stamped his foot next. ‘I don’t really want to be here, either, but I don’t exactly have a choice.’

‘We always have a choice.’

Was he right? Was there another road Nicole’s life could have taken? ‘Maybe. But not always much of one.’

The hardness around Charlie’s eyes softened ever so slightly.

‘Goodnight, Charlie.’ Nicole smiled.

He grunted and walked away.

Charlie knew all about choices. He’d made some pretty catastrophic ones in his life. He only hoped his latest choice regarding the cottage wasn’t going to end up in that category. He had to believe it wouldn’t.

He lay awake on his old wooden bed and stared out the portal window to the indigo sky until it bled into morning. Some nights, sleep evaded him entirely. It was often better when it did. At least awake he could stop the images coming. The sounds.

Bright orange flames radiating heat that sucked the air from his lungs. Screams, desperate cries that pierced through the thick blanket of smoke.

At least awake he could force his thoughts away from his mistakes and towards the woman he’d silently loved, the warmth and kindness in her green eyes that had once gazed upon him without judgement, even though she knew the truth.

Four