Driving back down to Lower Pinch Road and along the highway to town, Paula made herself run through the guidelines any doctor should follow, going through them like a repetitive chant to control her breathing. Anything she did must be via proper channels.

The town’s police station was small, with only one officer working limited hours, and by the time Paula drove there late on Saturday afternoon, it was closed for the rest of the weekend.

Paula sat on the steps of the locked police station and dialled the after-hours number posted on the glass. When she got on to the sergeant from a larger town further down the coast, she rushed through an explanation of who she was and the family she was concerned about.

The sergeant was patient, taking notes, asking the appropriate questions. Was there immediate grave concern for the safety of the children? Paula probably had to say no to that. Did the children appear well cared for? Yes. Did the woman ask for help or express fear for her life? No. Did the husband make threats in Paula’s presence? Not as such, no.

The cop was very experienced and not a naive guy. He understood the subtle realities of these situations. But it was difficult. And what else could Paula have said to him? ‘I feel in my bones that this man is dangerous’? She had to be honest with herself and acknowledge that her judgement could easily be skewed by the events of the last six months.

The phone call ended with the sergeant assuring Paula an officer would drive out to Upper Pinch Road and do a welfare check during the coming week.

That night, the temazepam and glass of wine were nowhere near enough to tip Paula into sleep. She lay awake most of the night on the lumpy mattress.

First, she tried to control the churn of thoughts in her head by making a list of the calls she would make in the morning to the police and the welfare authorities, to bolster the safety of Nicole and the kids. But afterwards, she would have to rule a line under this.

Lying there in the dark, Paula made another resolution: she would pull out of the other locum positions she’d signed up for. It was clear she couldn’t go on working as a doctor, seeing what she would inevitably see and feeling so powerless to protect people. She’d been kidding herself to think she could function in a detached way. If she could no longer contain things in bearable compartments, it was too painful for her and not useful to patients. There was no choice but to quit being a doctor.

Next, she tried to summon happy memories—times with Remy, or with Anita and Stacey. She conjured up the day at Whale Beach when she’d taken that photo of Poppy doing the fake cartwheel, while Cameron looked back anxiously from the water.