Del bumped down the rutted drive, determined to keep her thoughts firmly on the here and now. She took it too fast, and the car pitched in and out of the deepest potholes, flinging its occupants about. Tiny whined in protest.
‘Sorry, boy. Who’d have thought you could get seasick this far from the ocean?’
Del returned to the problem of the farm’s lamb-heavy menu. Maybe she’d offer to cook a few vegetarian meals each week, using the abundant fresh produce from the garden. She’d need to Google some recipes. Until now, Del had avoided using the internet, such as it was. The farm had terrible reception. She hadn’t even looked at Mum’s copies of the Winga Gazette. She couldn’t face it. But she also couldn’t shut out the world forever. It was time to take baby steps out of her seclusion – time
