A RAIN OF Small Kindness

I WAS in Canberra at a book launch the day of the first fire here, bleeding across the mountains in gale force winds. Bryan rang to say he had the phone message to evacuate. He was driving down to Robyn’s, ten minutes away but defendable. An hour later she rang to say he hadn’t made it. All she could see up here was red haze.

I gave the speech, because I couldn’t think what else to do. Bryan rang as I finished. He’d stopped to fix a water leak. He was fine, our home was fine. He and Robyn were sitting down to dinner.

I dropped in to the chemist for a repeat prescription, still shaking. She gave it to me, then just as I was leaving told me the script had run out a week before but