The Refugee (Jenny)

She arrived at sunset, cruising slowly around our cul-de-sac in a beat-up Toyota Corolla which once, long ago, might have been white. I watched from the kitchen window until I was sure she was trying to read the numbers on the letter-boxes, and then I went out to wave her into the driveway.

I was expecting a family - I had said a family when I registered - but she was on her own. A little too old to have children living with her, all salt-and-pepper frizzy hair, eyes squinty in a sun-darkened face, and not a confident driver. It took her three goes to get the Corolla parked beside the car port, by which time we had established that I was Julie and she was Patricia, and I could call her Tricia, but never Pat. We had also established that she was eternally grateful and it was really no trouble as far as I was concerned.

She had no bags, of course - she had been to Sydney for a concert. By the time I had made tea, I had a rare appreciation for the ins and outs of Australian folk music in the noughties.

"have you noticed how young the police are, these days?" she asked me as I handed her the tea. "The young fellow who told me the road was closed looked like we wasn't old enough to shave! But so polite, and the directions to the shelter were very detailed. Do you know, he had a zit right by his left nostril? I found it very hard to concentrate on the directions. Do you suppose they have Police-issue zit cream?"

She laughed. I nodded sympathetically. I had read up on trauma victims and crisis counselling while I was waiting for her to arrive. This was denial. Or perhaps displacement.

"My nephew wanted to be a policeman," she continued. "He actually started training, but they flunked him. I could have told him it was a bad idea - the police force have the quaint idea that recruits should follow orders. Our family has never been good at doing what we were told! He didn't have many zits, though - not like the young chap at the roadblock today."

She took a sip of tea.

"I wonder how long he had been there at that roadblock, that young fellow. He looked pretty tired. They all looked tired, actually, all the police and all the girls running the shelter."

She looked down at the cup, smiling.

"This is good tea. The tea at the shelter was dreadful. I think they made it from powder or something. Weak as dishwater. It's lovely to get a decent cup of tea."

"So it was busy at the shelter?" I prompted.

"Oh yes, an absolute madhouse. I had to park three blocks away, and I have a bit of a knee, you know, so by the time I got there it was starting to hurt, and there was a queue. A long queue, and all the shoppers going round it or pushing through it. Everyone was nice, though. Young Janine held my place in line so I could sit down."

She stopped for just a moment, looking away.

"Janine had her dog with her, you see. In the line. A gorgeous Border Collie, about three years old. So well-trained. I saw a Border Collie once doing a show at the football with a Frisbee ... Kenny, Dog Wonder, they called him. Apparently he had a TV show - did you ever see it?"

I shook my head.

"No, I had never heard of it, can't remember the name now, but anyway, he was incredible - the things he could do! He had one blue eye and one brown eye. Jumped up higher than a man and just plucked the Frisbee out of the air. Border Collies are wonderful dogs. So intelligent, and such hard workers."

She sipped her tea again.

"Do you have a dog, Julie?"

"No, not for a long time."

"You used to, though?"

"When I was a kid."

"What sort of dog?"

"Oh, she was a bitzer."

"As in bitzer this and bitzer that? They're the best kind, sometimes."

She twirled her cup reflectively.

"One of mine is a mutt - Heinz. You know, fifty-seven varieties. Donna is a kelpie. She's getting a bit older now ..."

Her voice dropped, so I leaned forward.

"I sat there, watching Janine with her dog, such a lovely dog she was, a real beauty, and I wondered how ..."

Her voice trailed off.

I wanted to tell her that her dogs were OK, that everything would be OK, that the fires would miss her home, that life would seem as much worth living tomorrow as it had this morning.

I wanted to, but I couldn't.

"Here," I said, reaching across the table. "Have a biscuit with your tea."