The next time Jess saw Derek she was prepared. It had been almost a month since she’d seen him but she recognised the shape of him walking out on the mudflats. He cast a solitary figure plodding along with his head down as if scouring the puddles for signs of life. He looked dejected, Jess thought, although from this distance it was hard to be certain. There was just something in the way he moved that suggested he was compensating. For a sore leg or weary body, maybe. Or perhaps a sad heart.
Jess recalled an online article she’d read from the Brisbane Times about the percentage of homeless people who suffered mental illness or addiction, or both. At the time she’d been surprised the tally wasn’t much higher. But then she remembered Derek hadn’t actually said he was living rough. And aside
