But I didn’t want to get changed until I had sorted everything out. First I soaked the bed linen, then stuffed it, together with the pyjamas, into the propane washing machine. I carried Irene’s mattress onto the balcony, washed it, and laid it in the sun, took a mattress from another room to her room and made her bed. I made tea and porridge and left them on the nightstand. Then I dried her off and carried her to bed; she again said nothing.

“I’ll be back in a moment, I just want to get changed.”

“The others have left?”

“Yes.”

I stood in the door and stared at her until she smiled and said: “Don’t look so serious!”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“In a minute. Go get changed.”

But when I came back to her room she had fallen asleep, and when she woke up she didn’t want to talk about her health. She drank the lukewarm tea and ate the lukewarm porridge and wanted to be driven to the two farms, because she wanted Meredene to pick up some things in town, and because Meredene would have to start giving the man from the second farm his injections.

I wrapped Irene in a coat, buckled her tightly to the seat with a belt, and drove her to the farmsteads in the Jeep. When the trail vanished, she pointed out the way to me, and I tried to memorize the riverbeds, pools, clumps of trees and boulders that the trail led past. Next time, I might have to drive alone.

At both farms, Irene stayed in the Jeep. She had me fetch Meredene, and she explained to her that she would have to give the injections from now on, even if she preferred not to, and gave her the shopping list. “What about…” I began, and Irene knew what I wanted to say, and said: “Yes, I need diapers as well.” At the other farm, the old woman grumpily took the news that Irene couldn’t do it any more, and that in future Meredene would come in her stead, without a question or a word of thanks.

Irene watched her go. “I owe the house on the sea to her husband and I wanted to pay him back by looking after him until he passed away. Now he’s going to survive me.” She sensed my questioning look. “Pancreatic cancer. I’ve got a couple of weeks, maybe just one. I can’t say for sure.”

2

Irene wanted to lie on the balcony, rather than in her room. I went from room to room until I found a bed frame that was light to carry onto the balcony. The mattress I had washed was dry, and smelled of the sun.

“You should have left with the others,” said Irene from the bed. “Now you have to stay until the end.”

“Who diagnosed you?”

“The doctors at Sydney Cancer Centre.”