Her nana had told her stories, and there was something about them that seemed so personal she wasn’t going to repeat them here. Stories of women who had to be cut open, women whose bodies were so damaged they were left incontinent for life. Then there were the women whose babies had died, who had to go through with the pain of childbirth even though their children were already gone, suffocated in the womb. Suddenly, she wanted to cry for all of them.

The journalist was looking down at his camera, seemed to be scanning through some images. Then he buried it away in the bag slung over his shoulder.

‘Right then,’ he said.

‘Are we finished?’ she asked, surprised.

‘That’s it for today,’ he said. ‘See you Saturday. Good luck.’

Then he turned and just walked off. Rosie looked at Kaz, still standing as if posed for another photograph.

‘Well, he was rude,’ Kaz said, wrinkling up his nose.

Rosie laughed and shook her head.

As they watched, the journalist reached the locked gate at the end of the path, rattled it a couple of times, then leaned down to inspect the padlock.

‘Should I go and tell him …’ Kaz began – there was an open gate on the other side of the house – but before he could finish his sentence the journalist had dropped his bag over to the street and begun climbing. Rosie tilted her head as he reached the top and swung his leg up, revealing a striped green-and-yellow sock. Then he sort of tumbled his way over the gate, stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder and strode off. They looked at each other, stunned into silence for a second before the giggles came.

‘I guess he really wanted to get away from us,’ Kaz laughed.

‘Was it something I said?’

He shook his head. ‘You were perfect and charming and lovely,’ he said, pulling her in for a hug around the pouch.

‘And you are sweet, and a little soppy.’

‘Yes I am,’ he grinned. ‘And he was weird.’

They both stood still for a minute, gazing in the direction that the journalist had disappeared in, though there was no sign of him now. The gate, so far as Rosie could see, was unharmed.

‘Come on, let’s go find Nana,’ she said. ‘I expect she’s trying to hide all of Mum’s favourite newspaper cuttings again.’