‘When we moved here we didn’t expect everything to turn to shit,’ Josh muttered, brushing dirt and wood chips off his fleece.

  As the debris fell onto the floor she’d swept before dinner, she fought a surge of aggravation and bit off indignant words. Now wasn’t the time to talk about any of the crap that clung tenaciously to their life—she desperately wanted a night off. ‘Why don’t you go out tomorrow night and I’ll stay home?’

  ‘Where exactly? This stinking town doesn’t even have a pub anymore.’

  ‘Maybe you could put up a flyer on the noticeboard at the stadium? See if anyone wants to play basketball.’

  He grunted. ‘You know it’s a footy and cricket town.’

  ‘Join a team in Colac?’

  ‘We can’t afford the petrol.’

  She wanted to shout, ‘Don’t try then. Be miserable!’ But that would only trap her there. ‘I better go or I’ll be late.’ She moved to kiss him goodbye.

  He dodged her. ‘Great! So you’re skiving off and leaving me with the dishes?’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll do them when I get back. Promise.’

  ‘And wake me and the kids up with the crashing and thumping? Don’t bother.’ Josh walked to the area they called the kitchen—a fridge, a two-burner gas camping stove, a stainless-steel sink balanced on Masonite with some storage underneath, a zippered three-shelf pantry and an island trolley. He filled the electric kettle from the cold-water tap before flicking it on.

  The rigid set of his shoulders almost undid Sophie’s resolve. Almost made her stay, but the need to leave won out. ‘Bye,’ she said softly. When he didn’t respond, she slipped out into the night.

  Unlike when they’d lived in Melbourne, these days whenever she was out at night she automatically glanced up. No wonder it was cold; there wasn’t even a sliver of insulating cloud wafting over the inky sky, only a carpet of silver stars. She huffed out a breath, watched it vaporise in a white puff and wondered how, despite everything that had happened, she’d not only got used to the endless space and sky, but somehow needed it. When things pressed down on her so heavily that it hurt to breathe, she came outside. She’d sit on a plastic chair in the middle of the new concrete slab that she both loathed and loved, and she’d stargaze. Sometimes she managed to convince Josh to join her but more often than not he stayed inside with his wireless headphones clamped to his ears, watching TV.

  The drive to the CWA meeting rooms took her less than five minutes. Built with bushfire relief money, the new building had two distinct areas: the CWA at the front and the Men’s Shed at the back. Not that it looked anything like a shed. Despite the men wanting a simple Colourbond construction, architects had got involved and Myrtle now owned the most luxurious ‘shed’ in the country.

  When Sophie had accepted the invitation to the craft group, she’d assumed the gathering would be held at Julie’s place, given it wasn’t connected with the CWA, but the older woman said it was important to use the new buildings. There were a few cars in the carpark and Sophie’s stomach lurched with a combination of anxiety and excitement. Since moving back to their block five months earlier, part of her missed the company of the women in the temporary housing village. All of her missed her life before the fires. Sometimes the memories were vividly 3D and taunting and at other times so ephemeral and fleeting that Sophie wondered if they were tricks of the mind. When she summoned the courage to look at the photos on her phone that she’d taken in the few short weeks they’d lived in their Myrtle home, she often got the feeling none of it had been real. It felt like someone had photoshopped Josh, Liam and a pregnant Sophie into the picture as an advertisement for Petrovic Family Homes.

  Slipping out of the car, she walked into the well-lit building. The large meeting room was empty but a bubble of conversation drifted from another doorway. She entered the smaller carpeted room, which was tastefully decorated with couches, comfortable chairs and local artwork. A low table groaned under the weight of a cheese platter with three types of cheeses and crackers, grapes, figs and strawberries. It was the white bowl filled to overflowing with the rainbow colours of chocolate balls that caught her eye.

  ‘You made it.’ Julie greeted her warmly.

  When Sophie had met Julie for the first time, she’d been struck by how the older woman looked so much younger than her years. Not anymore. Her once blonde hair was now white. Her round face, which had previously been lightly dusted with lines, held deep furrows around her mouth and eyes.

  ‘It was touch and go there for a minute, but I left Josh with the dishes and here I am.’

  ‘Good for you. You know, Bec, don’t you?’ Julie gestured towards an elegant woman standing chatting with two women Sophie didn’t know.

  ‘Sure.’ The correct answer was ‘Sort of, not really.’ Sophie didn’t really know the woman other than she was a lapsed hairdresser and a busy stay-at-home mum of two daughters. Any chance of a possible friendship had, like so many other things, been exploded by a fireball on a blazing December day.

  ‘We’re just waiting for one more and then we’ll make a start,’ Julie said. ‘Help yourself to something to eat and drink.’

  Sophie poured herself a mineral water, bypassed the cheese and, ignoring a critical voice in her head telling her she was yet to lose the baby fat, selected a chocolate. Worrying about calories came at the bottom of a very long list of issues currently taking precedence over her weight.

  ‘I’m a sucker for salted caramel,’ Bec said, plucking out one of the turquoise green–wrapped balls. ‘I try hard but I can’t resist them.’

  In the first year after the conflagration, Bec had lived in Melbourne, close to the hospital and Adam. More than once, when Sophie was trying to soothe a crying child upset by a neighbour’s noise in the temporary village, she’d been struck by the paradox—she was homeless in Myrtle while the award-winning Petrovic family home five kilometres away sat untouched by flames and empty. The uncharitable thought was always followed by drenching shame.

  Sure, she and Josh wouldn’t wish their situation on anyone—except perhaps her sister, whose self-obsession prevented any level of understanding of what they were going through—but at least the four of them were safe and together. Adam Petrovic had almost died … technically had died in the burns unit but the staff had successfully restarted his heart. When Bec and Adam had finally returned to Myrtle, Sophie wasn’t sure what had shocked her more: Adam’s ugly scars or Bec, who’d dropped two dress sizes. Sophie had noticed at the stadium opening that Bec had gained some weight and no longer looked like she had a terminal illness.

  ‘It’s great to see you here, Sophie.’ Bec smiled. ‘How are things?’

  A litany of words rose, almost choking her, but she swallowed them down. The question was purely social. ‘Oh, you’re a mum,’ she said vaguely. ‘You know how it is.’

  ‘Busy, busy, right? It’s great you’re taking a night off for yourself. I always think it’s a good thing for the men to spend some time at home alone with the kids like we do. There’s nothing like some hands-on parenting reality to make them appreciate all we do.’

  ‘Actually, Josh—’

  Julie clapped her hands. ‘Everyone’s here, let’s make a start. Grab a seat.’

  Sophie sat next to Bec on one couch while the two unknown women settled themselves on the couch opposite. Claire McKenzie plonked herself hard and fast onto one of the two chairs, her cheeks bright pink as if she’d rushed to get there.

  Julie sat on the other chair. ‘There’s only six of us, so we don’t need nametags, but let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves anyway. I’m not sure Sophie, Erica and Layla know everyone.’

  As Bec was saying, ‘Great idea,’ Sophie heard a groan. She was surprised to see Claire rolling her eyes.

  ‘I’ll go first, shall I?’ Bec didn’t wait for confirmation. ‘I’m Bec Petrovic and if the name rings a bell, it’s probably because my husband’s company built your house.’

  ‘Not ours,’ Claire muttered.

  Sophie felt Bec stiffen next to her. This snarky version of Claire was very different from the professional nurse who’d visited her at the temporary village during her lowest point with Trixie. That Claire had been caring, reassuring and practical. She’d cut through the chaos with steady calm and the reassuring words, ‘You’re doing your best under very difficult circumstances, Sophie. No one can ask for more than that. You need to be kinder to yourself.’

  ‘Anyway …’ Bec said firmly, ignoring Claire, ‘… I think craft group is a great idea. I’m looking forward to it and getting to know you.’

  ‘You’ve all met me before in my preferred domain at the clinic. I just want to put it out there that I totally suck at crafts.’ Claire glanced around hopefully. ‘Is there wine?’

  ‘If you behave, there’s cake at the end,’ Julie said mildly.

  Layla, who wore a headscarf and spoke with an accent, looked slightly askance. ‘Why do you come if you don’t enjoy making things?’

  ‘Claire’s like a naughty girl at the back of the bus, Layla,’ Bec said with a bright smile. ‘Don’t believe everything she says.’

  Layla smiled politely but Sophie felt the woman was unfamiliar with the back-of-the-bus analogy. ‘I’m Sophie or Soph,’ she said hurriedly to prevent Bec or Claire saying anything else. Julie obviously knew both women well so why had she thought inviting them to join the same group, let alone sitting them together in a small room, was a good idea?

  ‘I’ve got two kids. Liam’s at kinder and Trixie’s eighteen months.’

  ‘Such fun ages.’ Erica’s friendliness leaped around the room like a playful labrador. ‘That extra gap between kids is great, isn’t it? You get some one-on-one time with the younger one when the older one’s at kinder.’

  ‘It’s worked out great,’ Sophie heard herself saying enthusiastically. No way was she admitting to this bouncy, cheerful woman that nothing had worked out great. That was tantamount to admitting to being a total failure as a mother. Wondering if lying at craft group was against the rules of craft group, Sophie studiously avoided Julie’s gaze and changed the subject.

  ‘I don’t know if I suck at crafts or not, because I’ve never done any. I’m really looking forward to learning how to knit. We’re currently living in a shed on our block while we …’ Why did you mention the shed? Now what will you say? Avoid bankruptcy? Dodge homelessness? ‘… owner-build.’

  Owner-build—it sounded like something off Grand Designs when the reality was so far removed from that it was laughable. ‘Anyway,’ Sophie rushed on, ‘I thought I could learn to knit and make a blanket for the couch at the same time.’

  ‘Wow! How exciting that you’re building your own home,’ Erica gushed. ‘That must be giving you the most amazing sense of achievement.’

  Sophie tensed, instantly visualising the barren concrete slab and the distinct lack of the steel struts it was designed to support. Those weren’t any closer to being erected than the day the slab was poured months earlier. ‘It’s so rewarding.’

  Was God going to strike her down for that outright lie?

  ‘Your partner must be a lot handier than mine,’ Erica prattled on. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love Nathan to bits, but he doesn’t know a screwdriver from a wrench. Fortunately, he’s a lot more talented with the stock market so we left everything to Bec’s clever husband. We’re so excited to be in Myrtle, but I don’t have to tell you girls anything. You’ve had the luxury of living the country life for longer than me.’

  The room quietened so fast it was as if everyone had stopped breathing. Sophie waited for Julie, Bec or Claire to mention the elephant in the room but they all looked as stunned as she felt. She stared at her knees. She didn’t know if her throat was tight with anger or the shock of being side-swiped. Coming here tonight was supposed to be an escape—a couple of hours away from her fire-impacted life. A place where she could spend an evening talking about inconsequential things like knitting. A chance to be normal. Who was she kidding? She wanted to leap across the coffee table and slap Erica’s friendly face.

  Sophie shoved her hands under her thighs. ‘I don’t consider a bushfire burning down my home a luxury.’

  Erica’s brows drew down, giving her a doleful and perplexed look. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … It’s just with all the new public facilities, I assumed the rebuilding was finished. I mean the fires were ages ago, weren’t they?’

  ‘The fires were a lifetime ago and yesterday.’ Grief cracked Julie’s voice.

  Without thinking, Sophie reached out and squeezed the older woman’s arm. Julie’s ability to appear together and serene always made Sophie feel calmer. Sometimes she forgot the terrible toll the fire had exacted on Julie and Phil.

  Julie patted Sophie’s hand and gave her a wobbly smile. ‘Sophie’s blanket idea has hit the nail on the head. I think it would be great if our mission is to make things for people who are doing winter tough. Socks, gloves, beanies, blankets, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Socks and gloves?’ Claire shuddered theatrically. ‘Doesn’t that involve four needles? I tried it once and all my stitches slid off the end.’

  ‘Stick to making a blanket and leave the complicated things to the more experienced knitters,’ Bec said coolly.

  ‘Can you crochet?’ Layla asked. ‘Is easier than to knit. Only three or four stitches.’

  ‘Oh, I like the sound of that.’ Claire hacked hunks of Camembert off the wheel with the urgency of someone who hadn’t seen food in days. ‘Can you teach me how to make an Afghan?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m from Turkey not Afghanistan.’

  Julie laughed and pulled a brightly coloured rug from her basket. ‘Layla, we call this an Afghan rug.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Layla smiled. ‘I can teach Claire this. I think it’s what you say is easy-peasy?’

  Claire smiled wryly. ‘You haven’t tried teaching me yet.’

  They paired off naturally—Julie and a subdued Erica, Claire and Layla and Bec and Sophie.

  Bec picked up a ball of wool. ‘I’ll teach you how to cast on using the long-tail technique.’

  ‘Is it hard?’ Sophie was suddenly anxious that she might not be any good at knitting. Unlike Claire, the idea of publicly announcing her deficits petrified her.

  ‘When I first learned, I was all fingers and thumbs but it’s like anything. Practice makes perfect.’

  Sophie glanced at the beautifully groomed woman beside her. ‘Is that a personal mantra for you?’

  Bec’s fingers stilled on the wool and a beat passed before she laughed. ‘Heavens no. It’s just something my babushka used to say.’

  Sophie followed Bec’s instructions, wrapping the wool around her forefinger and thumb and trapping the length of the strand against her palm with her other fingers. Ducking the needle through a loop, she caught the wool and drew it back. Suddenly she’d created a stitch. ‘This feels like that wool game I played as a kid.’

  ‘Or tying shoe laces with the bunny going through the hole.’

  Claire glanced up from her chain of crochet stitches. ‘God, I’d forgotten all about the wool game. When I was in grade three, it was huge at Myrtle Primary. I could do cup and saucer and the cat’s whiskers but all I really wanted to do was the parachute. I spent hours on it but I never managed it.’

  ‘It’s really not that hard.’ Bec held up her hands. She’d woven wool through the fingers of her left hand creating the shape of parachute silk and her right hand held down a strand of wool to represent the parachute lines. ‘See?’

  ‘Rebecca was queen of the wool game at school.’ Claire’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘And skipping. Oh, and I think her Tamagotchi was the only one that didn’t die.’

  ‘That’s so cool! Can you teach me how to do it?’ Erica asked, oblivious to the tension that arced between Claire and Bec. ‘I’d love to show the kids.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bec said. ‘I’ll show you and anyone else who wants to learn when we’re having supper.’

  Sophie noted that Claire didn’t take Bec up on the offer.

  * * *

  Julie walked into Beechside and found Phil on the recliner with his feet up and Taffy, their ageing beagle, on his lap. Both were watching television.

  He glanced up when her hand touched his shoulder. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Do you want a nightcap?’

  ‘That good, eh?’

  She poured two ports and carried them over. ‘Remind me why I thought it was a good idea.’

  ‘Because Bec and Claire have got the stuff Myrtle needs.’

  ‘Individually perhaps, but after what I saw tonight, definitely not together. I thought after their shared experience of the fires …’

  ‘We all experienced the fires in some way or another. Doesn’t mean we shared anything.’

  Julie sighed. ‘I suppose not. Tonight was like their deb preparation all over again. Bec was doing everything a little too perfectly and although Claire wasn’t outside smoking with the boys, she was misbehaving.’

  ‘And the newbies?’

  ‘Erica’s enthusiastic but she’s got foot-in-mouth disease. Layla’s lovely. She seemed a bit overwhelmed at times. Claire adopted her.’

  ‘Of course she did. Did Sophie go?’

  ‘Yes.’ Julie sipped her port. ‘Unfortunately, we both had a bit of a moment.’

  ‘We all have those, Jules.’

  She patted his knee, remembering the week before when she’d found him hammering in the stakes for the standard roses, tears streaming down his face. Fortunately, it was a coping day for her so she’d been able to support him. It was the times when they both fell apart that terrified her.

  ‘I see a lot of moments at the Men’s Shed,’ Phil continued. ‘Were punches thrown?’

  ‘Very funny. The moment wasn’t between Sophie and me. It was sparked by something Erica said. Am I foolish thinking Myrtle can build a bridge between the old community and the new?’

  ‘In the grand scheme of things, Sophie and Josh are relatively new.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah. Bushfire veterans versus bushfire virgins.’ He picked up her hand. ‘These things take time.’