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annoyed by his probing, each question leading me inexorably into what seems like a trap, some sort of admission of personal weakness. It only took him half a dozen questions to get to Anna. He’s good at this and I’m not. I don’t think I want to continue answering his questions.
    I am prepared to admit to myself that Anna’s death, despite my being prepared for it, has been a terrible shock, but I’m not ready to share it with anyone. Her memory is too precious, too private . . . too raw. He waits for my answer. It’s all too complicated – her imprisonment by the Japanese, her subsequent heroin addiction. She’s gone and I don’t want her judged, her memory sullied.
    Tony Freeman wants to dig into my past, and while I understand why he needs to do so, I don’t like the process one little bit. He seems to sense my reluctance and doesn’t press the point but asks instead, ‘Has your sleep pattern changed since your partner died? Do you wake at night more frequently?’
    I grin. ‘You mean to take a piss?’
    ‘Yes, or just wake up spontaneously?’
    ‘Are they connected? The dreams and my over-active bladder?’
    ‘Whatever the cause, sleep deprivation can have a pronounced effect on the unconscious,’ he replies.
    ‘My need to take a piss several times a night started well before Anna’s death,’ I protest.
    ‘Ah, the two things are probably not connected.’ He pauses. ‘Do you find yourself increasingly grumpy, impatient . . . even exasperated for very little reason?’
    I laugh, despite myself. ‘You’ve noticed.’
    ‘And do the dreams in some manner include your lifetime partner?’
    I feel myself frowning; he is back again with the same question. ‘Yes.’
    ‘You mentioned earlier that you’d been involved in jungle warfare in the islands. Does this feature in your nightmares?’
    ‘What, in a general or specific sense?’
    ‘Well, for instance, does the dream experience take place at the same location?’
    ‘Not always, though mostly it’s Guadalcanal; I’m on Bloody Ridge with the marines.’
    ‘You fought with the American marines at Guadalcanal?’ he asks, obviously surprised despite his calm manner. ‘I thought you’d mentioned Guadalcanal earlier, but I’d always imagined Bloody Ridge was strictly an American battle.’
    ‘It was. I was seconded from Australian Naval Intelligence – the coastwatchers section – where I worked as a Japanese translator for their Radio Intelligence Unit.’
    ‘You speak Japanese?’
    ‘Yes, I was born in Japan. My father was a professor of English, later turned missionary in New Britain.’
    ‘Bloody Ridge? Radio intelligence? You said earlier that you fought in the battle?’
    Christ, is he trying to trap me? ‘I was present at Bloody Ridge manning the radio, listening in to the enemy field transmissions. Towards dawn on the second night, with the Nips coming at us from every direction, things got a little difficult. I had my Owen with me and fired at them as they advanced.’ I grin. ‘It was either that or a Jap bayonet in the guts.’
    Tony Freeman looked at me doubtfully. ‘Owen? Are you sure? I thought the marines were using Springfield rifles then. I always understood the Owen submachine-gun was exclusively used in battle by our forces. An Australian invention, isn’t it?’
    Fucking smart alec; now he doubts the veracity of my story. Suspects it’s bullshit. Stay calm, Nick, don’t pop your lid . Attempting another grin, I say, ‘I see you know your weapons history.’ I think twice – will I or won’t I bother to straighten him out? What the hell, let him think what he wants. He was in Vietnam and ought to know the drill.
    ‘I received my training from the Special Forces Unit in Queensland where the Owen was my instructor’s preferred submachine-gun. We were trained to double tap, two shots, head and chest, in less than two seconds and, used correctly, deadly up to twenty-five yards. When I was seconded