Inside the terminal there was no relief from the heat as she joined the press of people waiting to collect their luggage from the single carousel. Another flight had landed just after hers, adding to the crowd. She watched through a gap for her bag. The few times they’d flown, short trips for business or a wedding, she’d left the luggage to Milt. She was always the one to hold the tickets. It was odd being on her own with no-one else to think about and yet nerve-racking she had no-one to confer with; would her bag be there, was she in the right place, had she booked the correct dates for the hotel?

Her blue case with its vivid red name tag burst from the flaps, halting her wayward thoughts. She squeezed her way forward to grab it then, bags in hand, she found the complimentary transport to her hotel.

Once settled aboard a minibus with several others, the cheerful driver entertained them, pointing out the sights and telling them all to relax, they were now on Broome time. She did her best but the last twenty-four hours had exhausted her and even though the bus was air-conditioned, she was generating an internal heat that overwhelmed her. Perspiration dampened her back and her chest felt tight. She drained the last of her water bottle and glanced at her fellow passengers, all couples. She was the only one travelling alone. The drive from the airport was through an alien landscape of red dirt and unfamiliar bush, adding to her apprehension. The further they got from the airport the more she thought how stupid she’d been to have come all this way on her own. A spur-of-the-moment whim fuelled by her husband’s infidelity twenty-seven years ago come back to haunt them, and instead of facing it head-on like she’d done most crises in her life she’d run away.

The previous evening, after she’d settled into her room at the airport, she’d sent Milt another text. Arrived safely at airport, flying out first thing tomorrow. She’d owed him that at least, and she’d sent the girls a good night message, generic for all three with an extra request for one of them to take her green folder back to school for her first thing Monday. She hoped Claire might be able to take her class again, or one of the more experienced relief teachers as Natalie hadn’t touched the folder to update or elaborate on her program. The girls had each replied immediately, quick messages of goodnight, very brief except for Laura, who added she’d make sure the folder was delivered.