It was a bizarre night, on par with the characters from Mad Max Fury Road throwing a barbeque in a nursing home.

The six of us had showered under lukewarm water in the chilly concrete stalls, then we washed our clothes and hung them to dry on the line next to the toilet block. In silence, we set up our tents around the firepit area, and sorted out food for dinner.

And standing over us the whole time, was Bev with her loaded weapon. She sat on a deckchair with a can of beer beside her, guarding the access between us and the caravan zone. Every few minutes, she'd sip from the can, then move the rifle so the barrel continued to follow our movements.

"Maybe we should just go," Bailey whispered at me as we lit the fire.

"I'm worried she'll think that's more suspicious. The best thing we can do is stay and show her she's got nothing to fear." My words were brave but my fingers shook as I struck a match and threw it into the kindling, flinching at the snap of the match and the way the spark looked like gunpowder igniting.

As night fell, we ate solemnly while Bella and Mischa tumbled around on the artificial grass that surrounded the kid's playground next to the bathrooms. Her light-hearted squeals of joy contrasted with the oppressive atmosphere Bev cast over us.

"Bev?" An elderly voice hailed our host, and we all turned to see a handful of people wandering towards the fire in the dark. "Is it safe? Are you okay?"

Bev's grunt was affirmative. "I'm watching them," she said, indicating the gun in her lap.

Another man held a second rifle. "Do you want a break?" He had to be eighty if he was a day.

Before Bev could answer, a delighted cry of, "Puppy!" rang out over the campsite, and a tiny girl with a massive halo of dark hair flew past the old folks and over to the playground.

She threw herself down next to Bella, who was lolling on her back. The girl looked up at Mischa sitting on a swing and asked, "What's her name?"

"That's Bella." Mischa hopped down and squatted next to the dog. "I'm Mischa."

"Bella's sooo cute!" Together they patted the belly of the fluff ball, who soaked up their attention with happy panting. "I'm Larissa."

"I like your hair."

"Thanks. It's called an Af-a-ro," she said carefully. "My mummy has one too."

"My mummy doesn't live with me."

"Neither does mine right now, but Nana says she's coming. Wanna play?"

"Okay!"

The two girls scampered up the rope ladder to the top of the slide while Bella yelped happily from below.

The adults watched in shameful silence. In less than thirty seconds, two eight year olds had shown more humanity than any of us, and everyone felt it. Bev cleared her throat. "She's a good girl, your daughter."

"She is," said Rueben from beside me. "I'm trying to get her to Tasmania."

"That's a long way," said one of the women who'd joined the group. "Patrick and I just drove up from Tassie. Beautiful part of the world. We loved it, didn't we, Pat?"

The other man with the gun nodded. "Yep. On our way back to see the grandkids in Sydney. Not sure what we'll do now," he added sadly.

"Do you want a gin?" said Simon, pulling a large bottle from somewhere. "No tonic, I'm afraid."

"I have a warm bottle of tonic water," said someone else. "A few of them, in my van."

"Does your little girl like sparklers? We've got a pack left over from Australia Day."

"Who wants a Toblerone?"

And a few minutes later, we were sitting with a dozen geriatrics sharing chocolate and gin and stories around the fire. Even Bev had pulled her chair forward and joined us, although she kept the gun on her lap.

Someone produced a guitar. "Pass it here. I can play," said Simon.

"What? No, you can't," said Nev.

"I can indeed." He strummed the strings and began to play something old and beautiful. It took me a moment to realise it was Fire and Rain, the ancient James Taylor hit.

The group fell quiet, listening to the music. It was like hearing the cry of the old world, of lost songs and lost hopes. Tears had begun to fall from my eyes without me even realising I was crying, and I wiped at them with my still shaking fingers.

Sudden warmth on my shoulders caused me to start in fright. "Sorry," said Rueben softly. "I think you might be in shock, Karla. You need to stay warm."

I pulled his coat tighter around me, grateful for the heat I hadn't known I was missing. "Thanks."

He sat next to me, close enough for me to feel secure, not so close it would have seemed strange to the others. His warm hand landed on my shivering fingers as they lay on the arm of the plastic chair, and he enfolded my hand inside his.

Simon played Rocket Man and Go Your Own Way, more upbeat tunes that had a few of the oldies singing along in croaky voices. Nev was transfixed. "You have to teach me!" she demanded. "I always wanted to play guitar, be the cool guitar playing girl."

"I can teach you," said Simon. "I taught my kids, I can teach you."

"Yay!" Nev danced over, and Simon laid the guitar in her lap, showing her how to strum a simple tune. Bailey watched her, entranced.

The little girls waved sparklers and toasted the marshmallows one of the nanas had produced. The caravaners regaled us with tales of their trips around the country until the fire burned low. "You remind me of my grandchild," said Patrick, chatting away with Bailey. "Sam's, whatddaya call it? Ambiguous?"

"Androgynous," smiled Bailey.

"That's the one. As I said to my Rotary Club, it doesn't matter what you call yourself or how you dress, as long as you're good people, I say."

"I agree," said a nana, leaning in eagerly. "Did you know that I had an affair with a woman once? Between my first and second husbands."

Patrick asked Bailey, "Are you single? I think you'd like my Sam - you'd be a very lovely couple."

"Umm..."

I whispered to Rueben. "We should rescue Bailey."

"No way," he whispered back, grinning. "This is too much fun to watch."

"Hey," I called out across the fire, "did everyone know that Rueben here was going to be a doctor? He went to med school and everything!"

The ears of every old person in the vicinity pricked up.

"You. Did. Not." He poked me with each word.

I snickered. "I did. Sorry not sorry."

They converged on Rueben, and he spent an hour listening to, my son is a podiatrist, what do you think about this mole, do you know if constipation means anything, check my blood pressure, scalp, boil scab, ingrown toenail. He caught my eyes at one stage, despair and amusement sharing equal parts in his voice as he explained again, "I'm not a GP. I'm sorry!"

The night grew late. The oldies drifted off to their warm caravans, doddery from the gin, wishing us well. Patrick elbowed Bev. "Come on, love. They'll be alright. They're good people."

She eased out of her chair and waved her gun at us. "I'll be sleeping with this next to me tonight, and I'm a light sleeper. Larissa, let's go."

Cries of "Aww!" from the girls echoed over the campsite as Larissa followed her grandmother away. Rueben stood, stretching. "I should tuck Mish in."

Then it was just me and my work crew. Nev was wrapping up a Beatles song while Simon dictated chords to her, and Bailey sat on the grass beside the fire watching them. At one stage, Nev glanced up and smiled at them, and Bailey smiled back, completely smitten.

As Nev concluded the tune, the three of us clapped. "Not bad," conceded Simon. "You'd do better without the talons."

Nev looked down at her artificial nails. "They'll be gone soon enough. Can't exactly get my infills done, can I?"

As she stared down, her eyes widened in horror. "Shit!"

"What?" I asked bolting upright, scanning the ground.

"Snake!"

In the flickering light, I scanned for what she'd seen. "There!" I pointed at the tail, and everyone followed its rapid undulations along.

We all saw it at the same time: the head of the snake, coiled and ready to strike next to Bailey's bare ankle.

"No!" Nev moved so fast, she was a blur, darting forward and reaching for the snake's tail. With a fierce yank, she pulled the snake away from Bailey then threw it as far as she could into the night. We watched it land and slither away, then turned in silence to face Nev.

"What?" She blushed, shrugging casually and saying, "I used to love watching Steve Irwin."

Bailey climbed to their feet, awestruck. "You are a goddess."

"Please," said Nev, pleased and abashed.

"No, I mean it." Bailey hugged her, enfolding her tightly. "Thank you. You... You're amazing, Nev."

Their hug lasted past the point where two people would normally separate, and continued to the point where Simon and I looked away, feeling like intruders in the moment. When I flicked my gaze back, I saw that Nev's hands were playing in Bailey's hair, and Bailey's hands gently stroked the small of Nev's back.

When they broke apart, Nev spoke simply. "Bailey, I like you. Do you like me?"

"Uh..." Bailey swallowed thickly. "Yeah, of course I like you, Nev. You're awesome."

Mortified for Nev, I held my breath, but she wasn't fazed. "No, Bailey - I have feelings for you. How do you feel about me?"

"I feel... I feel..." Fear overrode Bailey's features, and their breathing was shallow and fast. I watched them struggle, push to through the fear as if it was a physical barrier to say, "I feel something for you too."

"Great! Do you want to sleep in my tent tonight?"

Bailey nodded helplessly, wonder in their eyes.

She took them by the hand, and together they walked off to the tents – not before Nev turned and shot me a satisfied look. See? It's that easy!

Simon nodded in approval. "Good. About time those two sorted themselves out." He stood and stretched. "Feels like later than it is with no lights. I might as well turn in too."

He left, taking the remainder of the gin.

"Hey." Rueben was back, and he asked with a smile, "Did I just see Nev and Bailey crawl into the same tent?"

"You did." I explained about the snake and their hug. "Bailey's had a thing for her forever, but I've been a bit suspicious lately that she has a thing for Bailey. All the bickering they do, it's just like two high schoolers that can't get their act together and give it a-"

Shot. I swallowed the word, and a deep shudder racked my body.

Rueben eyed me carefully, his intelligent gaze analysing me. "Karla... You were incredibly brave today."

I waved his compliment away. "I solved the situation. It's what I do."

"You stepped in front of a gun to protect my daughter."

"Of course. She's a child."

"It doesn't seem as if you really like kids."

A long stick had fallen from the fire. I picked it up and poked it in the coals, watching them darken and glow and fall apart. "I don't not like kids."

"Karla, look at me."

Rueben gently pried the stick from my fingers, then dusted the ash off my palm. I kept my face turned down, not trusting myself to meet his eyes.

"You were prepared to die to save my daughter today, a child you've only known a couple of days. I'm grateful – I owe you so much, I'm not sure I can ever repay you – but that's not the actions of someone who 'doesn't not like kids.'"

He rubbed my palm with his thumb, and too many emotions gurgled inside me: hot lust, naked fear, deep sorrow. Numbness stole over me, a defence against the strength of the feelings. I pulled my hand out of his and tried to explain. "I... I was pregnant once. The pregnancy... It didn't work out. Seeing kids hurts me. I'm not trying to hate them, I used to love kids and babies, but I see them and all I can think is, 'my child should be five years old, but my child doesn't exist.'"

"Oh, Karla. I'm sorry."

He opened his arms, but I shied away. "I don't need you to be sorry. No one needs to be sorry. I'm not missing a limb or suffering a TBI. I'm missing someone who never existed, which makes me a self-indulgent idiot."

"Grief is as real as any physical injury. Have you spoken to anyone about how you feel? A therapist, or a counsellor?"

"Nope. I don't have a problem." I picked up the stick again and tossed it into the fire, watching in satisfaction as it caught the flames around it. "I just need to not spend time around kids, then I don't have to think about the one who doesn't exist."

"Karla-"

Fury coursed out of the cracks in my shattered soul. I spat my words in his empathetic face. "So, if you could make sure your daughter stays out of the firing line if we encounter any more gun-wielding strangers in the future, that would be much appreciated. Or better yet, keep her out of my way altogether."

He blinked, backed off. "Okay. Whatever you want."

I don't want that. I wanted to have the capacity to love Mischa. I wanted to hug her close, make her giggle, teach her how to French braid. More than anything, I wanted her to meet my child, the one who'd never had a chance to be, and watch them play.

I couldn't tell him. It would be as raw and agonising as if I stripped naked in front of him. "Good," was the only response I could manage. My face turned back to the fire, letting the scalding heat burn the skin on my cheeks and chin.

Rueben stood next to me for a minute, then said softly, "Thank you for what you did, Karla. I'm glad I met you."

He left me standing by the fire. I ate another three Toblerones and went to bed still feeling empty.