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fifteen years ago when everyone’s life changed.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Miss India. Please come in.’
    The door swung open and India stepped over the threshold into the darkened room. The familiar fragrance of roses and dust greeted her. Such an old smell, and Mama wasn’t old; just trapped in the misery of the past, unable to move on.
    Anya did her best to keep the rooms clean while Mama insisted everything should remain untouched. She sat statue-like in the bath chair, her profile gaunt and her body frail beneath the white gown and shawl. Staring out of the window she swung the old metal cradle and fingered the mourning locket she wore on a chain around her neck.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Mama.’ India walked over to the bath chair and dropped a light kiss on her smooth, pale cheek.
    Mama’s eyes flickered although her attention remained fixed beyond the window. India could clearly remember the last time she’d held her mother’s attention. The occasion of her fifth birthday. The cook, the old stud master’s wife, had baked a cake for her birthday, full of blueberries from the garden. No-one had ever had their own cake before, made especially for them. It had made her feel so special, so loved. Mama looked straight into her eyes across the table, then stood and brought the knife tied with a ribbon to her. They’d allowed her to cut it, and everyone had clapped.
    â€˜Mama, we’ve had a very successful day. The new man has arrived and we’ve spent hours working around the stables. We’ve even given the inside walls a lime wash. They’re sparkling like new.’ The false joviality she forced into her voice snatched at her throat, competing with the memories.
    She understood Papa’s despair. In one fell swoop everything he’d cherished and worked for had vanished. Misery had gouged the heart out of the homestead and the property, sucking every ounce of life from him until he became as much a shadow as her mother.
    It wasn’t until she returned from school in Sydney that the enormity of Papa’s despair had become apparent, her home reduced to such a shell of despondency. It made her heart bleed. Encouraging Papa to return to the city and his shipping business, she pledged to return Helligen to the home it had once been. Besides, she had a responsibility to Mama. One day she would regain her senses and return to the vibrant woman of India’s childhood.
    Receiving no answer India turned, as always, to Anya, the one person who understood. ‘Have you everything you need? Is there anything I can do?’
    Anya’s hand grazed her shoulder and she shook her head. ‘It has been a pleasant day. We have talked of past times and remembered old friends.’
    India listened to the words, knowing them by heart. Tears stung her eyes; there were so many conversations she wished she could have with Mama, so much she’d missed. Thank goodness Anya had the patience to deal with Mama’s delusions. Day after day they sat staring out of the window recreating the events that had changed everyone’s lives forever.
    â€˜I saw Goodfellow.’
    India jumped at the unexpected words. Anya’s hand tightened on her shoulder before reaching out to smooth her mother’s greying hair. ‘There, there, Miss Laila. Hush now. Don’t concern yourself.’
    For a reason India didn’t understand she stilled Anya’s hand. ‘Did you, Mama?’ Her voice snagged; she didn’t want to upset her mother but all the same she couldn’t let the first inkling of communication between them pass. The granite slab marking Goodfellow’s grave stood alongside Oliver’s beneath the fig trees. Mama often sat on the stone bench there, staring into the distance.
    â€˜A man was riding him near the lagoon.’ Mama ran her finger and thumb over the chain around her neck, the constant reminder of all she’d lost.
    India met Anya’s