My Aunt, Anne Loxton, has written an historical fiction novella, Just a State Girl, arising from a family tragedy from my maternal grandmother’s side. In this book she creates a scene, where a daughter, after her mother’s suicide, notices the favourite rug has gone missing. Though a story embellishment on my Aunt’s part (my Mum checked), I like to think it could have happened, and not just because the rug would have been stained beyond saving. Rather, it could have been swallowed up by the horror and despair of such a situation. It escaped the aftermath. Where do horror stained rugs end up? Wobbegong’s, aka carpet sharks, lurk on the ocean floor. Many become flake. We eat them as fish and chips. The wobbegong that lives under my ancestor's table was likely just as flaky, partly a floor covering, partly a predator, partly a portal for times of despair; it swallows one up into ever after. That’s what this mother thought best.