‘Yes, you bloody well could. It’s Christmas Eve. You’re busy enough as it is. How do you always end up doing so much for other people?’

‘I’m nice. That’s how. I offered to keep an eye on their mail while they were away.’

‘Which ones are we talking about again? The young ones on the left?’

‘It would be nice if you remembered their surname, they’ve been living next to us for five years now.’

‘It has not been five years since Wayne and Barb moved out.’

‘It has.’

‘Don’t see why they had to move into a bloody retirement home.’

‘Don’t go saying that to them. They call it a “lifestyle resort”. And Barb says they’re very happy there.’

‘Bullshit. Wayne loved that house.’

‘Wayne couldn’t get up the stairs anymore.’

‘Bullshit,’ Frank said again.

‘I guess we should get moving,’ Jill said, knowing there was no point continuing this line of the conversation — Frank would only continue to argue. ‘We still have to go to the post office, pick up the ham from the butcher and buy one last gift for Tara and we want to be on the road by four.’

‘Darl, you’re bloody dreaming.’

‘We can get it all done if we move it now.’

‘No, not about getting it all done, about driving up the freeway. The Mount White fire, remember? I reckon the freeway will be closed this arvo.’

‘No, it won’t. Don’t say that! The Christmas plans will be ruined if the freeway is closed.’

‘No. The kids have the backup plan. Christmas at Tony and Andrea’s.’

‘We are not having Christmas in an apartment. It’s too small! We’re going up to the Nords Wharf house like we always do. It’s not Christmas if we’re not there.’

‘Darl, it’s still bloody Christmas wherever the hell we are.’

‘But if we’re not at Robin’s Nest . . .’ Frank, you know how important it is to spend Christmas there.’

Frank gave her a sad smile. ‘Yes, love. I do.’

*

‘There you go,’ said Frank, taking one hand off the wheel to jab at the radio. It was several hours later and they were well on their way up north. ‘Did you hear that? They’ve closed the freeway behind us. We were probably one of the last ones through. We’re bloody well fucked.’

‘Don’t swear!’

‘Fucken fucked,’ said Frank, and she knew it was just to annoy her more.

‘We are not . . . fucked.’ Jill placed the appropriate amount of reverence around the word. ‘As long as the kids got through before they closed it, we’ll all make it to Nords.’