Taking Genevieve there. Just the suggestion was hilarious. ‘I’ll call you back.’

I weighed my options. I needed to see that sign-out book and check the date of the fire. Had Shirley escaped then, too?

It was nearly dinner hour in the Retirement Home, and a lot of movement was going on with staff pushing residents through the foyer in wheelchairs. The smell of boiled cabbage hung in the air like a disease. Rebecca, behind a vase of dusty artificial flowers, tried to wipe fatigue and hassle off her face and replace them with a smile. ‘It’s good for Shirley to have visitors. She gets so excited about seeing Jack.’

Rose-scented oil evaporated nearby, mimicking life. The sign-out book was too far away to casually flip through. Was Jack Shirley’s only regular visitor? Could she have left on the day of the fire because he didn’t have time to visit? Disappointment made people unpredictable. I imagined Caleb, wanting to go to AFL practice, deciding to try getting there in the old four-wheel drive…

No, I didn’t.

After giving me a visitor’s pass with a bright lanyard, Rebecca let me find my own way to Shirley’s room. Shirley sat on the edge of her bed, laughing toothlessly at her television set. I tapped her doorframe. A box set of I Love Lucy rested on the vinyl armchair beside her. Shirley glanced at me. ‘Hello, Nurse. This Lucy will go far. She’s so funny!’

‘I’m not a nurse. I’m Phoebe. Can I come in?’

Shirley fiddled with her top button. ‘Hear my chest. I’m coughing again.’

I turned the DVD case over in my hands. A gift tag was stuck to the back. Merry Christmas, Mum. Love from Jack. ‘I’m really not a nurse.’

Shirley flattened her palm against her frail breastbone and frowned.

‘I’m Phoebe. I came here with Jack.’

‘Jack!’ Excitement wiped years off her face. She peered behind me.

I rested my hand on her shoulder. ‘He couldn’t come today.’

‘What’s your name again?’

‘I’m Phoebe—’

She grinned. ‘Jack’s girlfriend?’

‘I suppose I am.’ I smiled. ‘I’m interested in Brunton’s history.’

‘I could tell you more about the history of Rockhampton. I grew up there.’ Shirley nodded conspiratorially.

History, I thought, was written not in the streets and paddocks during the fire but in the courtroom, determined by who had the most convincing story. ‘Rockhampton sounds very interesting—’

‘I’m watching Lucy.’

Soon, the episode ended. Shirley laughed through the end credits then turned to me, puzzled. I smiled. ‘I’m Phoebe. Jack’s friend.’

‘You’re pretty old to be a friend of Jack’s.’

‘We were talking about when you first arrived in Brunton.’