the pillowcase over the joey, and settle him back into the esky. Luke stands up, stretching.
‘You can stay if you like,’ Maya says, trying to make the offer sound casual.
Luke shakes his head. ‘I’ll go and find some supplies – I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep in touch by phone, yeah?’
He grabs his clothes and goes to the door. Maya follows, unable to help noticing the ripples of well-defined muscles in his back. He turns around as though he’s about to say something, but then shrugs. ‘See ya later then.’ And he is gone, leaving Maya to a restless night full of longing and fretfulness, her ears constantly attuned to the small box at the end of her bed.
As light begins its cautious glow through her window, Maya drifts into a delirium, coming to and floating away again so often that she cannot tell where sleep begins or ends.
She is semi-aware of some soft noises, like barking coughs. They are small and wretched – she can hear the desperate call for his mother in them, and her heart breaks for him. Not knowing what else to do, she eventually gets up and rearranges the blankets, topping up the hot-water bottle, grateful when the sound stops. Back in bed, she sleeps a little longer, but then becomes disturbed by how quiet it is. She climbs to the edge of her bed, and gently pulls the covers up.
Something is wrong. At first, she cannot pinpoint what it is, since there is no outward sign of injury or distress. The joey has his eyes closed, appears to be asleep. She picks him up, and he is floppy in her hands. He is warm, but doesn’t move when she gently pinches his skin again, and she is alarmed at how long it takes to settle back in place.
Panicked, she calls Luke’s number. ‘There’s something wrong – I mean, really wrong.’
He sounds groggy. ‘Shit. I can’t get any supplies yet. It’s too early.’
‘I don’t think there’s time for that.’ Maya looks down at the little creature and makes her decision. ‘It’s okay, I’ll go and get help.’
‘Maya –’ Luke says, but she ends the call before he has a chance to object.
She puts the joey in his makeshift bed and covers him well with the blankets. She throws a T-shirt on over her singlet, but doesn’t bother to change her pyjama bottoms. She pushes her feet into her thongs, and then grabs the esky and rushes out to her car. She wedges the esky between the seat and dashboard on the passenger-seat side, pulling the seat forward to hold it tight. Then she climbs in and sets off down the track as fast as she dares, cursing every bump, glancing anxiously at the mound of blankets in the small box, and having to remind herself to keep her eyes on the track. She slows slightly at the turning to the local vet’s, but it is too early for anyone to be there. She makes her decision and presses the accelerator down hard.
Now that she is on sealed road, the low bushland flies by and before long she sees the gate. There is a hand-painted sign on one of the slats: ‘Hoppers Rest’. Perhaps this is a terrible idea, but she has no choice. She climbs out to open the gate, drives through and then gets out to shut it behind her again. Then she steers the car carefully along the track to the low-lying, single-storey house. A couple of kangaroos move slowly away, shifting their weight idly between their front paws and tail, no urgency to their movements. A third lolls under a tree, surveying her as she passes.
There are people on the front verandah before she has even stopped the car. The man is rubbing his eyes as though he’s been woken. The woman is squinting in the early light. Perhaps she cannot see who it is yet, or maybe she cannot believe it.
Maya gets out of the car and goes quickly to the passenger side, grabbing the esky. Her heart is thundering. She marches towards the steps that lead up to the house. ‘We need your help,’ she says, holding out the box. Then she sets it down in front of her, a barrier between them. The man kneels down and peeks under the blankets. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs. He looks at Maya but doesn’t say anything, just picks up the esky and hurries inside. As he passes his wife, he