Here, Kurt kept the folder hidden away too, possibly in the locked room under the shop where the fizzy drink was stored, and where he liked to retreat for some peace. Kurt said the folder was their ticket to the future, so he had to look after it. Miki couldn’t imagine what might be in there—maybe his chequebooks and the lease for the shop. What else could there be?

After the fire, Kurt had wanted to stay on the farm. He’d planned to transform the shed into a home and have Miki help in the orchard. But when he’d visited the bank and discovered the farm was in debt, the only solution was to sell. With barely any money after settlement, the lease on this shop was all they could afford. Since then, they’d been working five days a week, seven in the morning till eight-thirty at night. It was a source of income, which they needed, and close to the forest, which they loved. And the shop had been successful. Kurt had bought furniture, a large colour TV, a new ute, gym equipment. He said they had savings and were on their way to having a deposit for their own farm. She knew he was devastated by the loss of the family property and couldn’t wait to take back what had been theirs.

He emerged now from the rear of the shop as the first evening customers came in: big tattooed Toby from the mill with his tribe of four children. Toby was a giant of a man, with a bald head and a bushy beard like a nest of lichen draped from his chin. Weekdays, he smelled of sawdust and sweat, but weekends he wore aftershave with a hint of oranges, just like the cleaner Miki used on the floors. At a nod from Kurt, she lowered her eyes and stepped aside so he could take the order. He was gruff: ‘What do you want?’—Miki would have done it differently.

Toby didn’t bother with niceties either. ‘Family pack of fish and chips and twelve potato cakes.’ He frowned. ‘How many bits of fish do I get?’

‘Five. Same as always.’

‘But there’s six of us. Me and Steph and the kids.’

‘Want an extra piece then?’

‘How much are you going to charge me for it?’

‘Prices are on the board.’

Miki would have added an extra fillet anyway; this was a weekly argument. The men bristled like dogs in the street even when there was nothing to fight over. Kurt charged Toby for six fillets while Miki slipped in a seventh and sank the frying basket into the oil. When Kurt’s back was turned, Toby winked. He knew she was neutral territory.