Laura imagined a severed artery. Didn’t people bleed out fast from that kind of injury? She was aware of Kate taking in gulping breaths as she hurried away but Laura’s focus was on Bree and how she’d dismissed her request for help that morning. Maybe Bree had cut corners because she was trying to do too much. Laura chewed her lip as she rounded the ute, flooded with guilt and terrified for her sister.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Graeme said.

“I could walk.” Bree’s attempt at stoicism was half-hearted.

“Stop mucking around, Bree.” Olive’s tone was kind but firm. “Help Graeme as much as you can.”

Bree complied meekly. That was the thing about Granny. She gave orders and everyone obeyed, even Bree.

As soon as her sister was clear of the door, Laura gripped the bloodied towel, applying as much pressure as she could.

Bree winced and Laura’s stomach churned at the thought of what the leg might look like beneath the bloodied towel. Together she and Graeme manoeuvred Bree inside with Olive leading the way and holding the doors.

“Put her on the table,” Olive said.

“Bloody hell, Gran,” Bree complained. “We’ve got a million beds in this house.”

“I’m saving your mother a mess to clean up.” She gently pushed Bree backward onto the table and an equally pale-faced Kate slid a cushion under her sister’s head.

“Make Graeme a cuppa, Kate.”

“I’ll switch off the ute first.”

In their rush to get Bree inside they’d left doors open and the engine running.

“Right you are.” Olive dismissed Graeme with a wave. “Laura, find some heavy-duty scissors.” She patted Bree’s hand. “Hope they’re not your favourite jeans but I want to see what the damage is under here.”

“The wire went into the front of my leg and ripped sideways.” Bree’s tone was matter-of-fact now. “Not too deep so no major damage.”

Laura came back with the scissors and the first aid kit as Olive gave a slight nod. “Have another towel on standby just in case.”

Laura’s stomach roiled but she did as she was bid, picking up a fresh towel and gripping Bree’s hand as Olive carefully loosened Graeme’s makeshift bandage and peered underneath. She pressed the dirty towel back. “You’re right. It’s messy but you’ll live. I think a bandage will do until we can get you to the hospital. You’ll need stitches.”

“It’s not that bad, surely,” Bree complained.

Olive tutted and set to work cutting the jeans away and then quickly bound the wounds in a bandage. “You were lucky,” she said. “It’s not too deep but it’s jagged. I still think you’ll need stitches. Or at the very least a thorough clean-up and a tetanus injection.”