She shovelled a heap of soil onto the growing pile on the grass and resisted the urge to tell Emma to try to keep it in one pile. “That night, we were in the lounge room and Missy was asleep in the kitchen. My sister went to mic the popcorn and Missy was just…she’d just passed away in her sleep. She wasn’t as old as Lock, but she was still old.” She cringed as a small clump of soil slunk into her shoe. “I didn’t really know what to do, and it wasn’t like it is now, you know, you couldn’t just send a text or call your parents whenever you need to ask how long you need to boil an egg.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “So you buried Missy?”

Kate nodded. “I was determined to take care of it myself.”

“Why didn’t you just wait until your dad came home?”

“I guess I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t need my parents.” The words bubbled from within: “Their separation really did a number on me and I was super depressed. Actually, that’s why they sent me here—so I could get away from that…environment.”

Emma ceased shovelling. She speared her shovel into the dirt and stood tall. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Kate husked. “When I came here to St. Joan’s, I was a mess. And I was acting out too. But the sisters sorted that part out quick smart.”

Emma was quiet. She picked up her shovel and began again. “Do you see your dad much? I mean, I’ve heard you say that you spend weekends at your mum’s, but…”

“I see him from time to time. But he lives in Queensland now. His brother and sister are up there.”

“That sucks…”

“It does, but he likes his life up there, and I fly up to see him whenever I get a chance. What about you? Do you see your dad much?”

“I see my dad a lot. More than I actually thought I would, you know, when they first told me they were separating.”

Kate smiled softly. “Good. That’s great, Em.” She tossed her shovel up onto the grass and pulled herself up. Emma followed.

Together they stood, examining their work. “I think it’s deep enough,” Kate murmured.

Emma looked over at Lockie, shrouded in a paint-spattered drop sheet the sisters had. She puffed her cheeks out on an exhalation. “Okay then,” she said hesitantly.

Kate turned to her. “Want to go and get the girls and the sisters?”

Emma’s expression hardened. “Not really.” She sank to her knees and smoothed a hand over the speckled pink sheet, over Lockie’s head. “He was my first dog.” She raised her gaze. “Can you go get the others and I’ll just stay here with him until you get back? Please?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

The turnout for Lockie’s farewell was more impressive than that of Kate’s great aunt’s. When the teary cohort of boarders was gathered at the edge of the bush, Sister Ruth insisted on conducting the “service.” Twice, Kate raised an eyebrow across the circle at Tilly as the Reverend Mother droned on about an entirely unrelated parable, stopping to blow her nose into a handkerchief before she navigated a roundabout link to Lockie. As the sisters sang a tone-deaf rendition of Ave Maria, the girls drizzled handfuls of dirt into the grave.