Her voice sounded over-loud, echoing hollowly in the darkness of the room. ‘Jasmine seems happy at her new school. It’s bringing her out of her shell. Her teacher is delighted with her progress.’

A grunt.

‘Don’t you care?’

‘Of course I care.’ The mattress shifted as he rolled onto his side. To her relief she realised it was to face her, not turn his back. ‘I’m just tired. Do you have any idea how exhausting that can be for a man? And I’m not as young as I was.’ Even in the darkness she sensed he was smiling.

‘Oh,’ she said, taken aback. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. I’m glad Jasmine is settling in and that you two are getting along.’ He paused, adding in a softer tone. ‘She needs a mother.’

‘I’ve become fond of her. And I hope she’s getting used to me.’

‘Why do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Run yourself down, make yourself smaller?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You admit you’ve become fond of her but only that she is “getting used to you”. Why not say you’ve become fond of each other? I’m sure that’s true. Aunty Mimi seems to think so.’

‘Really?’ Evie felt a rush of pleasure at his words.

‘Yes. Really. But you haven’t answered my question.’

She didn’t know how to answer it. It had taken her by surprise. ‘I don’t know.’ Hesitating, she added, ‘It’s just a manner of speaking.’ She gave a little forced laugh. ‘I suppose I don’t want to count my chickens and all that. Jasmine’s just a child and she might change her feelings… I mean…’

‘Don’t complicate things. She’s fond of you. Leave it at that.’

Evie didn’t know how to respond, so decided not to. She was shocked at what he had said. It had shown a perceptiveness she hadn’t expected from him. He was actually paying attention. Maybe he was right, and she did run herself down. All the years of her mother doing it for her had caused her to assume the worst and do it to herself first. And more recently, Veronica Leighton had worn away what was left of her self-respect like sandpaper scraping on soft wood.

But at least Douglas was talking to her. Listening to her. They had actually had a conversation. Eager not to lose the moment, risk him falling asleep or returning to that other bedroom, Evie asked him how the past two weeks had been for him. She wanted to ask why he had left without telling her, but decided to avoid saying anything he might perceive as confrontational.

‘Just doing my work. You wouldn’t be interested.’

‘But I would. I’d love to know about what you do.’

‘I just plant trees, wait for them to grow, collect the sap from them, turn it into rubber and sell it.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Look, Evie, they’re just trees. Go to sleep.’

‘No. I’m interested. Tell me what’s involved.’

Douglas made a sound that she took to signify exasperation. ‘Not a lot to tell. I tap the trees, collect the sap in cans, tip it through strainers and let it coagulate, then turn it into sheets, roll it and squeeze the water out, smoke it for ten days, grade it and sell it.’ He rattled it off like someone reading a manual.