The woman, Leonie, looked straight at me then, her shock deepening into something else, a deep crease appearing between her eyebrows, almost anger. Quickly, another expression appeared on her face, and it looked like the exact opposite – soft and sad and resigned. And tired.

‘How is your mum?’ she said. ‘Is she okay?’

‘Um . . . well . . .’

‘Sorry. You don’t know me. You don’t have to tell me,’ Leonie said. ‘But she knows you’re here, right?’

‘Of course,’ I said, without missing a beat. She looked at me a bit too long then, but I made myself busy with some offcuts of tape, and after a moment she let it go.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s go again: so, I’d shake your hand, but . . .’ The woman wiggled blue latex fingers and said, ‘Hi, I’m Leonie. I’m an old family friend.’

‘Hi Leonie,’ I said, wiggling my fingers back. ‘I’m Anna.’

‘Hi Anna.’

‘You’ve cleaned up around here,’ Leonie said, looking around. ‘I assume that was you. The place looks great.’

‘Come on,’ I said, checking Bette was properly asleep, and lowering my voice anyway. ‘The place looks one step above unsanitary. Which, yes, is one step above when I arrived.’

Leonie chuckled openly then, a deep, throaty, burbling laugh. I liked it. It was a great sound. She leaned back over her work on Bette’s arm again.

‘I’m not sure how long I’m staying.’ I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I wanted it out there in the air around us. But Leonie just nodded and I leaned forward as she peeled back the dressing more; it didn’t stick this time. The whole pale underside of Bette’s forearm was a weeping mess, red and raw and gelatinous. It was impressive. I breathed out.

‘Can’t really blame her for knocking herself out like that,’ I said, as Bette gave another snore. ‘It must hurt like hell.’ I peered closer at the ragged edges. ‘That’s really quite bad, isn’t it?’ Leonie nodded. I went on, a bit shocked that Bette had been nursing this the whole time I was here, as she was cooking breakfast, delivering tea, doing dishes. ‘I had no idea. I really had no idea.’

‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Leonie said.

‘Sorry, what do you mean?’

‘Well . . .’ Leonie seemed to toss something up in her mind. ‘It’s just that I’ve known your family for a long time, I guess. All your women are bloody weird and secretive and always thinking they need to shut up and go it alone.’

A strange tingling sensation flushed through me. ‘Is that what you meant about me and Bette being family?’

‘Yeah, sorry about that. I know your family, but I don’t know you. It was a dumb thing to say.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

As Leonie cleaned and re-dressed Bette’s wound she told me about everything she was doing and why she was doing it. ‘This is a dressing which keeps moisture in; it’s important to keep a wound like this moist.’