No matter how pretty the town or how nice the locals seemed, Natasha knew there were always hidden secrets. A darker edge. Houses on the wrong side of the tracks that no one wanted to admit existed; people the townsfolk didn’t want to claim as their own.

Settlers Bridge hides it well, Natasha thought as she passed one of the nylon grocery bags to Zehra. Despite having wandered the few aisles of the store with her, the nine-year-old peered into the shopping bag, clearly hopeful some contraband had made its way past her mum’s budget restrictions. No such luck.

‘There’s a Regional Action Group meeting in the old council building next week,’ the woman behind the checkout said, continuing the ‘welcome to town’ speech she’d embarked on as soon as Natasha started unloading groceries onto the smooth wooden counter, and introduced herself as the new teacher. The monologue had begun with a proud rundown of all the local facilities—which included a yet-to open Americana-themed diner and not one, but two pubs—then segued into activities that included the usual country-town favourites: football, netball and tennis clubs, along with line dancing, an apparently recent addition. Now, the cashier had moved on to service clubs and other offerings.

Fifteen minutes earlier, Natasha had paused on the cement ramp into the IGA, taking a couple of deep breaths before committing to entering; it had been a long time since she’d had to go into a country supermarket. Yet, she needn’t have worried—the quaint store was nothing like old Handsy’s shop, back in Borgainville.

‘We’re looking at getting a skatepark set up for the kids,’ the cashier continued, putting the last couple of items into a bag. Natasha tried not to wince at the total. There was a definite financial toll involved in moving to the country. ‘A skate shop in Adelaide’s offered sponsorship, and we’ve all kinds of research and design studies being done.’ Her incredulous tone enhanced how big a deal that was. ‘But if you notice anything else that would help us bring Settlers Bridge back to life, you come along to the action group meeting next week and put in your five cents’ worth, lovey.’

That didn’t sound like such a great idea. Natasha had liked the look of her new work location on Google Earth precisely because the small town was so sleepy. The handful of streets either side of a wide, unpopulated main street where the gum tree–shaded shops seemed to mirror one another, had looked safe. Hopefully, there was a magic number where a small population meant less judgement. Borgainville had obviously exceeded that number.

Perhaps, as Tarik had said, she should worry less about fitting in and more about carving her space. Not that it had ultimately worked for him.

‘In any case,’ the cashier continued, ‘the group will be a good opportunity for you to meet some locals. Though once the new term starts, I suppose that’ll all fall into place. You’ll be going to Settlers Bridge Primary with your mum, too, lovey?’

Zehra nodded, her blonde ponytail pooling like liquid gold on top of the groceries in her arms.

‘Well, don’t you worry, you’ll make plenty of friends there.’

Zehra shrugged. ‘It’s my fourth school. I’m not worried.’ As usual, the nine-year-old’s polite words held a directness, a confidence, that Natasha both marvelled at and coveted. If she’d had that innate confidence, how different would her life have been? Without feeling a need to please, a desire to be loved at any cost, surely she would have made entirely different choices.

‘Oh, goodness, fourth already? That is a lot of moving about.’

Natasha caught the interest in the woman’s tone and registered the instinctive shut down within herself. A ridiculous defensive reflex: she had nothing to hide. And Tarik would have pointed out that by automatically throwing up her walls, she missed a valuable opportunity to close the gap.

But Tarik wasn’t here and there was no reason for her to explain to anyone what had brought her and Zehra to the small South Australian town. Besides, she couldn’t verbalise the longing that had steadily grown within her. For the last ten years, Wollongong had offered a haven. The frenetic pace of life, the consuming, exhausting struggle to get her qualifications, pursue a career and raise her baby single-handedly in the city, meant her sorrow and hurt were only permitted to surface in the small hours of the morning, when darkness walled the tiny space she allowed for her own feelings.

Yet, despite her determination to blend and disappear in the city, she’d felt an increasing desire to reconnect with the country. Eventually she’d accepted that, for whatever reason, it was time to leave. Funny; she’d hated when Dad had done that to her when she was a kid: uprooting her and chasing the dust devils as they headed further and further from Sydney. Though with Mum hanging around his neck like a blotchy white yerungi stone, refusing to move beyond what was familiar, Dad had never made it this far. Instead he’d gotten them stuck in Borgainville. Literally and figuratively on the wrong side of the tracks.

‘Zehra is counting kindy, prep and junior in those four,’ she said, dragging her focus back to the conversation. ‘No relocation require —’ her gaze grazed the woman’s name tag, ‘—Lynn.’

‘Right you are. In any case, I guess being in the same school will make an easier time of it for Sarah.’

‘Zehra.’

‘That’s unusual, isn’t it? Zehra.’ Lynn wrinkled her forehead. ‘Very fancy.’

It wasn’t. It was very Turkish.

‘That school’s not going to know what’s hit it, with two new teachers in the one year.’ Lynn shook her head, as though she could never have imagined such big things for the tiny town. ‘It’s a lovely little school, though. Of course, the older kids have to bus to Mannum or Murray Bridge for high school. But other than that, you’ll find everything you could possibly want in Settlers Bridge.’

A swimming pool? It seemed the only sport the woman hadn’t mentioned and the question trembled on the tip of Natasha’s tongue, but she wouldn’t ask it. She hadn’t been swimming for ten years. Not since . . . Tarik.

‘It does look like a lovely town,’ Natasha agreed politely. And it did. But she’d lived in country towns for long enough to recognise the hidden dangers; she wasn’t one of those parents who would let her child roam the streets, trusting to the town to raise and protect her. In fact, she’d throw herself into the very heart of this community simply so she could check out every single business, every person, to make sure her daughter was safe. It wasn’t only strangers who brought danger. ‘When is that action group meeting?’

‘Thursday. About five. But you wander along whenever suits you, lovey.’ Lynn glanced at her watch. ‘Elaine over at the real estate agent will be back from lunch, if you want to collect your house key. The fridge is on, so you can pop your cold stuff in straight away. Not that it’s going to warm up quickly in this weather, anyway.’ She gave an exaggerated shiver, crossing her arms over her apron. ‘I’ve put you over on Seventh Street.’

Natasha tensed. Was Seventh on the wrong side of the tracks…?