And then, late at night, after the credits had rolled, the telephone rang. She leapt on it, phone to her ear, putting on a nonchalant voice.

‘Hello?’

‘Leonie?’ It was Cathy.

‘Oh.’ She tried to cover her disappointment. ‘Hey, Cathy.’

But Cathy was in tears. She could barely draw breath. Ragged air filled the earpiece.

‘Whoa, Cathy. You right?’

‘No,’ Cathy managed to get out. ‘It’s Danny.’ Her intake of breath down the phone line was harsh. ‘He’s in hospital, Leonie,’ Cathy was saying. And then she sobbed as she tried to get it out, as she said, in broken fragments, ‘We don’t know if he’s going to be okay.’

Leonie felt numbness wash through her. ‘What?’

‘It’s his head, his poor head . . .’ and Cathy’s words disappeared into a tumble of tears.

‘Where is he?’

‘In Melbourne. We’re in Melbourne. Mum and Dad have gone down to the cafeteria – that’s why I can call you now.’

‘Now? How long has he been in there?’

‘Since last night – since we got home.’

‘From the reservoir?’

Cathy was silent for a while – silent or crying, Leonie couldn’t tell. And then Cathy said, ‘He had an accident.’

‘Bullshit he did, Cathy.’

Cathy didn’t respond. Leonie said, ‘I’ll come. I have to come. Dad will drive me.’ Her parents were standing next to her by now, her own thin breaths alerting them to tragedy.

Danny had been there since last night. He’d been there, and she’d had no idea. She’d gone to bed. Slept. Eaten breakfast. Waited for him. It seemed inconceivable.

Her father was already reaching for his car keys.

‘I’ll look for you downstairs,’ Cathy was saying. ‘Don’t let Dad see you.’

And Leonie dropped the phone receiver and ran to the car.

*

Danny had his eyes shut. A tube was up his nose. There were monitors attached to his chest and a clamp on his finger. A nurse sat silently in front of a monitor in a sectioned-off corner of the room.

‘He might open his eyes if you talk,’ said Cathy.

Cathy had secretly brought Leonie upstairs while Hessel and Bette had gone to lie down in the family rest area rooms. She leaned down to kiss her brother quickly on his forehead, and stepped out of the room to leave Leonie alone.

The lights were low. Leonie took his hand. He was cold. She tucked his hand under her shirt and warmed it against the skin of her belly.

‘Danny,’ she said. She almost didn’t want him to open his eyes – he was familiar this way, she’d seen him with his eyes closed before, but she didn’t know what to expect if he opened them. But he did, the eyelids moving up slowly, like heavy blinds on an ineffective drawstring.

But he didn’t look at her, he looked straight ahead.

‘Danny,’ she said again and kissed him on the cheek, and a tear left her eye and landed on his skin there and she wiped it off with her thumb. She kissed him on the mouth, and he looked at her. And then he closed his eyes again.