Kurt shook his head as he stepped into the suit, hitching it over his shoulders. ‘Not today. It’s almost the end of the season and the bees might be grouchy.’

‘I’d be safe in the suit.’

‘I don’t want to annoy them. They might pack up and leave.’

During winter Kurt left the hives full of honey, and the bees hid inside because they hated the cold. Miki watched him stride off through the bush like a spaceman in his bee suit. He was carrying a large plastic box to bring back the honey frames. She pictured him lifting one out and shaking off the bees. They wouldn’t like it, and they would spin and buzz around like noisy little satellites, until eventually they returned to the hive to get on with their work. At home Kurt would carefully scrape off the wax caps that sealed the honeycomb, then slide the frames into the extractor and spin out the honey. Miki would sieve out the fragments of wax then pour the honey into jars to be sold in the shop.

She waited in the ute wishing she’d brought something to read, but her three special books were on the bedside table in her bedroom. She and Kurt had found the books while going through boxes in the farm shed after the fire, searching for anything useful their parents might have left behind. The boxes had contained mainly old household items: cracked crockery and tarnished cutlery, salt and pepper shakers, vases, worn flannelette sheets. Miki had opened a box expecting more of the same, but beneath old folded camisoles, silky pantyhose and a pair of faded jeans, she’d uncovered three books: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and Tess of the D’Urbervilles. She’d lifted them out and thumbed through the stained yellow pages; Mother’s maiden name, Heather Jones, was inscribed inside each cover. Kurt had wanted to throw the books away, but Miki begged him not to, and in the end he’d let her keep them. On the farm, she’d grown up with only the Bible, so these books were exciting. They were from another time in Mother’s life, and their existence made her a mystery. Miki wondered why Mother hadn’t stored them in the house. And what had made her relinquish them for the Bible? Had she read other books? She must have given these ones up, but why had she kept them? Had she been saving them for her daughter?