‘What’s he going to say to that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Ray’s been good to you. Understanding.’

‘I know.’ He nodded, and she thought he might have calmed down a bit. He ground out his cigarette and wiped sweat from his neck with the palm of his hand. ‘I’d have walked away years ago if it weren’t for Ray. That and the thought of my old man. I’m ashamed to think what he’d say if he could hear me.’

‘You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ He pulled her tight against him. He smelled of smoke, sweat and dust, and a heat came off him like a stove. ‘I have so much to be ashamed of, darl.’

She leaned against him a while and rubbed his back. She didn’t want to look at him in case she saw what she feared she might see. That something was unravelling in him, quite rapidly, like an untethered rope from a harbour wall.

‘I think you should finish this job,’ she said. ‘Don’t end on a bad note.’

‘I can’t, Mandy.’

‘I think you can. Leave after you’ve done it if you still feel the same.’ She held his face in her hands. ‘Walk away with dignity once you’ve done what he’s asked you to do.’

His chest rose and fell. ‘I need to think about it.’

‘You do that, love.’

She went back to the kettle, poured water into the pot and swilled it around. In the corner of her eye he brought his hands to his face. She went to the fridge for milk and stood there a while with the door angled so she couldn’t see him.

17

Leeds, 1967

Isla sat on a wooden chair in the kitchen wearing a sweater that was much too big. The windows were steamed up and it was dark outside, like always. You couldn’t go outside in that perishing cold. The kitchen was the only room that wasn’t perishing, because of the stove, but it wasn’t warm in here either. It wasn’t warm anywhere in England. You had to wear a vest and socks and a sweater inside the house and you could catch your death in the bathroom: there were icicles at the window and it was best not to sit down for too long on the toilet seat. Grandma had a pot under her bed that she used in the night because she did not want to catch her death and one of these days she would get the chill on her chest and that would be the end of it.

Grandma was tidying up the kitchen, wiping the crumbs from the bread board into the sink with the flat of her hand. Isla could tell Grandma was nice but she didn’t like her. England made her hate everything, even nice things. The worst thing about England was, it was a bit the same as Australia, but everything was a bit wrong. Isla did not like the way English houses were tall. She did not like stairs. She liked flat, wide houses, with just the roof on top. English people thought they had it right about houses, this was the thing that made Isla want to cry. They thought their way was right and nobody cared what she thought.