JO WRAPPED HER arm around the square green veranda post of the Billinudgel pub and cursed her best friend to hell and back. Being Therese’s latest pet project was like being clobbered by an avalanche of goodwill. She had been unstoppable on the phone a few hours earlier. ‘You’re turning into a bloody old fossil out on that farm, you know. A rock. A pebble. You’ll have archaeologists turning up and excavating you any day now – is that what you want?

‘How are you ever going to meet anyone new when you work with dead people?