Bree stayed where she was, annoyance flowing through her body like a charge. Her dad spoke as if she were a minion at his beck and call. He wouldn’t speak to Graeme like that or bloody Jack Halbot. It irked her that he didn’t see her as a partner in the business.

She pushed off from the fence and a sharp pain tugged at her thigh.

“Damn it,” she hissed.

She was glad she’d made the decision to go away with Owen. Let her dad run the place without her and see how he got on.

Natalie looked out the window of her parents’ unit where wind and rain lashed the tall Norfolk Island pine trees across the road. The day had turned wild. She glanced back at her dad who was dozing in his recliner. It was one of two set up in front of the television, which had been on when Natalie arrived, a never-ending game of lawn bowls playing. Her father had turned it down but not off as they’d chatted over their tea and the fruit cake Natalie had brought with her. It was her father’s favourite but he’d only eaten half the piece she’d given him. Said his appetite hadn’t recovered since the pneumonia.

Natalie’s guilt had deepened at the sight of him when he’d first opened the door to her. He looked much thinner than he had at Christmas and he’d felt frail beneath her embrace. Their conversation had dwindled and after he’d nodded off Natalie had stayed in her chair, thinking she could shut her own eyes after the long drive, but she was restless and found herself taking in the neat and modest furnishings of her parents’ small lounge room; gazing at family photos on cupboard tops and walls, recalling the life events that the pictures represented. There were far more of Bron’s family than of hers. Natalie could have sent others, of course. Another thing to feel guilty about. She picked up a more recent photo of her parents, taken at Kate’s wedding with the bride and groom. Ray and Althea Turner beamed at the camera, their arms linked with Kate and Sean. They’d been so proud and happy that day.