It was a bloody telemarketer. Nick says I should be polite about telemarketers forever more. And to them. He says they earned it because of what I put that young man through on the phone that Sunday.
“Do you know I’m waiting on a phone call from my sister? And that she’s in Canberra and only just escaped the bloody bushfires? What the hell is it you want me to buy?” That was the polite bit. If that young man retires from telemarketing with compensable injuries, it will probably be my fault.
Belinda’s suburb was lucky. Only a few houses destroyed. Her friend in Duffy, the one who was going to be our safe house if things got hairy with Peter — she lost everything. Everything.
Linnie’s place was a mess. All her curtains and soft furnishings were damaged by water or smoke. Enthusiastic fire
