She hunched under the vestibule of her tent in the hot, grey dawn. There was no breeze. Gums listless, flies already buzzing, the wet forest beckoning across the clearing. She pulled a water bladder from her pack and unscrewed the nozzle, pouring a generous amount into her canteen. Some spilled over her hands and it was a relief even at this early hour. She had not expected it to be so muggy this far south. She took a draught and wiped some water over her face, leaf rot steaming at her feet.

Ainsley stares into the mirror, pours herself into her eyes, there is no tear yet but soon there will be. [Best Newcomer: Television Drama!] Parts her lips. Does shocked-scared followed immediately by tortured-brave. Then her mother shows up, how’d she get in? Poor old mum, holding yet another scarf. But no, mum. Not the time. You get out. I’m doing sad. Ains holds her own gaze. It’s the beauty that gets her, these eyes are really pretty, she widens them, lets in a little air.

The first door is split directly from the centre of a swamp gum and is blocking up its home, swaddled in the bush. The timber’s grain ploughs its length and a fist of brass knocker presses its knuckles from the centre of the wood. As I float down the sandstone path, dressed as a vampire, the eucalypts in flower swirl all around me and their scent rains down and the sound of their smell is a bright and comforting chime of sweet wetness. And yet I am frightened – for a long time I’ve been unable to sleep.