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talk about my books with grudging admiration.
    “It takes a lot of work, I imagine,” she said, “to write that many words all in the right order.”
    Meanwhile, my sisters worked very long hours building bridgesand saving people’s lives, and my feelings of being a fraud intensified and intensified. In some ways, becoming a best-selling author was the worst thing that could have happened to me. Because one good book wasn’t enough. I had to do it again, and again. And, somehow, again.
    But sitting here with Stacy in Starwater’s kitchen, eating chocolate biscuits, I didn’t feel so singular, so apart from the rest of the world. I told her all about Cameron and Tegan, and I had a little cry and she patted my hand, and then she filled me in on gossip about old school friends and we laughed about the old days and she told me hilarious stories about her disastrous love life, and the morning passed sweetly and slowly.
    The kettle whistled, and Stacy said, “I can’t drink more tea. My stomach’s already sloshing. I packed my bikini. What’s the beach like?”
    I was already shaking my head. “Oh, no, no, Stace. It’s not that kind of beach. The sand is only there at low tide and I’m pretty sure there are sharks. But we can go for a walk down there if you like. We might see birds. Maybe dolphins.”
    “I’ll get my hat.”
    •
     
    The Aboriginal name for Moreton Bay was Quandamooka, which meant bay of dolphins, and Stacy and I both squealed with excitement when we saw a pod swimming past while we were sitting on the jetty that afternoon. Stacy had her phone out and was taking pictures within seconds, but none of them captured the glossy silver of their backs.
    “Ah, this is the life, Nina,” she said to me, slipping away her phone and leaning back. “I need more of this. Less ofconveyancing meetings and more of dolphins.”
    “It’s whale season,” I said. “Though they pass through on the other side of the island. There’s a white one, like Moby Dick.”
    “Really?”
    “Apparently. I had a look through some of George and Kay’s whale-watching brochures.”
    “Ah, George and Kay. I wonder what they’re doing now. Probably spending up big on the money they owe you in rent.”
    I pulled my feet up under me. “I presume not. Things must have gone pretty badly for them to fold right before peak tourist season.”
    “You want me to find them for you?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe I should let it go . . . Though, Joe told me they left their boat here and he thought I should take it in lieu of rent.”
    “Well, you can’t do that legally, but I can contact them and see if they’ll do a deal if you like. Keep them out of court.”
    “I wouldn’t take them to court.”
    “You’re too kind. And who’s Joe?”
    “He worked for them. Now he’s working for me. Handyman jobs and so on.”
    “Is he trustworthy?”
    I smiled and pushed her shoulder playfully. “You know, I can look after myself. I’m thirty-five.”
    “And you’re worth a small fortune. Be wary of who sniffs about.” She sighed, lay back on the warm boards. “With that in mind, can I come back soon? There’s nothing as relaxing as an island where my BlackBerry can barely pick up a mobile signal.”
    “You can come back any time. I’d be happy to have you.”
    •
     
    Another storm blew in that night, around midnight. The wind rattled at the windows and the rain bucketed down. I couldn’t imagine how the tarp could stay in place, and I couldn’t sleep worrying about how much water must be pouring into my lounge room. So I rose and turned on the hallway light, hoping it wouldn’t wake Stacy, whose door was ajar, and made my way down the corridor.
    I switched the light on. A steady drip fell from the ceiling next to the chimney, so I found a bucket in the kitchen to place under it. Joe had stripped the chimney wall back to the bricks and there was a lot of dust and plaster chunks on the floor, mostly caught by the sheet of