She tried again, and they worked their way along the track: starting, revving, jerking, stalling. She felt the ute getting angry. It growled when she pressed the accelerator and grumbled each time she made a mistake. Finally, she managed to do something right: the ute rolled forward. The front end jarred in a pothole, but they were off and running at last.

‘It’s going to take a bit of practice,’ Kurt said, gruff.

‘But I’m doing it, aren’t I?’ she said, elated. ‘When I get the hang of it, I can get my licence.’

From the corner of her eye she saw his mouth twist. ‘No need for that. This is just in case of emergency.’

‘But if I have my licence, I can help you more.’

‘You have your jobs, and I have mine. Driving isn’t for women.’

All the women in town drive, she wanted to say.

The car stalled.

‘Try again,’ Kurt said. ‘And stop being so demanding.’ But he was smiling again.

After they’d driven back and forth across the clearing several times, Kurt took over and drove into the forest; the lesson was over. He parked at the usual spot then took off up the trail with his rifle and backpack, telling Miki to stay in the car. She was miffed that he should expect her to sit there on her birthday when the forest was all around and she could come to no harm. As she watched him striding away, a tiny robin with a small splash of red on his chest and a patch of white on his forehead swooped down to inspect his reflection in the side mirror, tilting his head. Miki was convinced this was a sign—the bush was calling to her. She slipped out into the cold morning air and the robin fluttered away, flashing his tail at her.

She walked up the trail, following Kurt’s boot prints in the mud. At a large blown-out stump, his prints stopped, and she saw the suggestion of a faint trail leading into the bush. She’d never come this far before, but now she was here she was curious. What was Kurt doing in there? She hadn’t heard any rifle shots.

Pushing into the scrub, she made her way uphill, following a vague trail. The going was tricky, crisscrossed with roots and sticks and slippery logs. She took her time, placing her feet quietly. Kurt would be cross if he saw her. The bush folded around her, and she knew how to embrace it. Navigating the understorey was a knack—if you didn’t fight it, the forest let you in.