‘The branch hit him – he was stunned. He burned his hands. Is he okay?’

‘He’s in hospital.’

‘Will you visit him? Can you take a message? Can you tell him I’m okay? I’m worried about him and I haven’t got home yet… mainly, tell him I’m okay.’

She was in no fit state to answer more questions about Caleb. Hopefully this would all have blown over by the time she was. ‘You haven’t been home?’ I asked. ‘Penelope, you need to know... the fire will have done a lot of damage. There might be some things you can salvage. Jack, maybe we can take her with us?’

Jack frowned. ‘Is that wise?’ He held my arm and led me a few steps away. ‘You sure she shouldn’t wait? Shuttle buses will take

people around tomorrow morning. And it might look bad later for us to have all been together if she’s Caleb’s alibi. You saw how grim it is.’

‘I’ll look out for her.’ I gestured for her to step closer, be on my side.

‘Well, all right.’ Jack opened the door of his ute and Penelope climbed in. I followed.

‘Back to Linlithgow, then?’ Jack asked.

Penelope fingered her pendant. Her fingernails were a near-black purple, badly chipped.

‘You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘We’ll look after you.’

Jack started the engine.

‘The police asked me about Caleb.’ Penelope clutched her seatbelt. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. ‘If he was angry with my parents. Or with you. I told them of course not. Caleb says you’d do anything for him. He says that’s what family is about…’

Dread coiled in my stomach. ‘Did he say he’d look after them? The police made that sound menacing.’

‘He didn’t mean anything. He saved me. I don’t think the police were really listening to me. They just knew what they wanted to hear.’

‘Was Caleb with you the whole afternoon?’

‘Most of the afternoon. He was gone for a bit. He went home, I think. He said he needed to get his sketchbook…’

‘He left everything and put himself in danger just for that?’ My dread grew.

The road was blocked by a young police officer, who waved us through when she recognised Jack. Beyond her, trees burned, and emergency vehicles drove past as though this didn’t matter – like it was natural for eucalypt trees to flower flame instead of buds.

A breeze blew up. We were ambushed by an army of gold-and emerald-coloured embers lurking roadside. Again and again, I remembered Caleb’s actions last night. How strong his fingers had been on the frail neck of that wallaby. How tenderly he had killed, saving it from suffering. He was a kind man, my son. What was it about his sketchbook that mattered so much?