Alice Robinson (1)

Jostled and soaked, copping an elbow to her ribs, smelling wet wool and sweat and the stony creek scent of damp concrete, Isobel grips Shaun's cold fingers and clamps Matilda to her hip, terrified of losing them in the roiling crowd. The grounds of the stadium-turned-Emergency Relief Centre are still marked with turf paint. Within hours it will no doubt turn to mud, but for now, as families surge up through the bleachers, the playing field still looks pristine. Floodwaters have not yet breached the sandbags outside, but there is water in the street and it's rising. (p.1)