A swim would freshen her up. She’d become used to her daily sojourns in the water. Wearing her new bathers under her cover-up and lathered in sunscreen she stuffed her phone and the striped Turkish towel she’d bought at a little shop outside the supermarket back in Broome into her bag and set off along the track. She was slowed down by the soft red dirt, tried to find firmer ground and eventually made it to the edge of the sandhills where her struggling steps continued on over stark white sand.

By the time she got to the top of the first hill she was puffing hard. The sea was a thin blue line in the distance. She caught her breath and set off again and at the top of the next ridge of sand she stopped again, puffing harder. The distant blue line looked no closer. She struggled on for a few more metres then stopped. Behind her came the sound of a vehicle labouring up the sandhill. Perhaps she could catch a ride. She caught a glimpse of a four-wheel drive roof then it veered off, heading away from her on one of the many trails that had split from the main track. She recalled the words printed on the map: visitors were to stick to the main beach track. Access to other roads was prohibited.

She stumbled on for a few more steps, then her feet sank in a deep patch of sand and she fell to her knees groaning in frustration. Even if she managed to make it to the beach she’d have to come back and already she felt exhausted. What had brought her to this point? She’d been so determined to do something different, turn her back on Milt, and…what? Prove she didn’t need him? So much for Faye’s declaration of independence. Tears rolled down Natalie’s cheeks. A breeze cooled her skin and rippled the sand. It was already hard to see her footprints in the sand behind her and she’d forgotten to put a bottle of water in her bag. She struggled to her feet and began to labour back across the stark white landscape, batting at the tears that continued to flow.