‘I’d love everything, thanks. And tea, please. I’ve got a big day today.’ Eliza was studying physical education at university. During the week she coached two junior netball teams. On weekends she ran in cross-country competitions. The only time any of her family saw her out of tracksuits was if she went to church on Sundays, and she rarely did that any more. She took up her usual seat at the wooden table. ‘Why do you put yourself through this every morning, Juliet?’

‘Practice. Research purposes. A strongly developed sense of familial responsibility. It’s all good training for when I have my own café.’

‘Really?’ Miranda replied. ‘So if you were training to be an undertaker you’d embalm us each morning?’ She was now eating a grapefruit and ignored a yelp from Eliza as her jabbing spoon sent a dart of juice across the table.

‘If you get any funnier, Miranda, I’m going to explode laughing.’ Juliet put Eliza’s toast on and stood by the window. She pulled her dressing-gown tighter around her body as a sharp breeze came in through a gap in the frame.

It was autumn in Hobart, getting colder each day. Their weatherboard house was heated by open fires in the living room and the kitchen, though they were never lit in the morning. Wood was too expensive. This morning was bright and crisp, at least, the sun strong enough to send gentle light through the red and orange leaves in the front hedge. A scattering of frost lay on the ground. There’d been warnings already that the winter would be a cold one. Possibly even snow, and not just on top of Mount Wellington.

Juliet touched the windowpane as she refilled the kettle. It was icy cold. Their North Hobart house was in the dip of a hilly street, but high enough to give them a view of the mountain, though the trees their father had planted years ago were now threatening to block it. If she stood on tiptoes, Juliet could see the glisten of frost on cars in the street and on the hedges of the houses opposite. She gave a fake little shiver. She liked telling her friends that this weather was nothing like the cold she remembered from her childhood in England. Not that her memories were all that strong any more. Like their English accents, they had nearly faded away.

The whole Faraday family had emigrated to Tasmania twelve years earlier. The girls’ father, Leo, a botanist specialising in eucalypt plantations, had been headhunted by a Tasmanian forestry company. Juliet could still remember the excitement of packing everything up in preparation for the month-long sea journey from Southampton. None of them had even heard of Tasmania before then.