I hear the sea below us, the faint pulse of waves washing the shore. I sense rather than feel Josh sitting behind me. His body is sheltering mine from a southerly breeze, but there is no warmth between us.

He's silent - brooding. Searching for the right thing to say. Something to ease the tension between us. I too am lost for words. I know what happened as clearly as if I'd seen it with my own eyes.

But he thinks he can rewrite the story. That he's come up with a convincing explanation and I'll take his word for it. Or at least be there for him and confirm his version of events - if the cops come calling.

The paraglider turns, flies over the cliff edge. It soars over the couple, rising on an invisible thermal. The instructor is giving the pilot instructions over a two-way radio. He hurries past the couple chasing a clear view of his client.

There's a momentary chill as a shadow passes over us. I hear someone jog past us.

Josh takes my hand and squeezes it gently. 'Feeling better?'

I nod even though it's not true. I need time to think. Time away from Josh when I can go over what happened yesterday, while it's still fresh in my mind.

'I'd better head home,' I say. 'We've got a family thing with my grandparents this evening.'

Josh takes my arm and guides me back to the car. He opens the passenger door for me then walks away. I run my hands across the door panel before I get in.

It's smooth. Undamaged. The side mirror is no longer dangling.

Inside the car, I notice other subtle differences. The seat feels slightly firmer and there's a new car smell. This isn't Josh's car.

'It was just bad luck,' he says as his seatbelt clicks into place. 'You don't expect a kangaroo to be on the road in the suburbs - especially in broad daylight. I'm guessing it came out of Glenrock Reserve.'

'I wish you'd stopped, that's all. Just to make sure.'

'Look, I already told you. Okay - the roo must have been hurt - hitting a car like that. But afterwards, it disappeared into the undergrowth. There was nothing I could have done.'

'Where were we exactly? When it hit us?'

'On Scenic Drive - near that derelict weatherboard cottage, you know, that historic farmhouse I told you about.'

After Josh drops me at home, I head to my bedroom. I lie on my bed and close my eyes while I replay yesterday's soundtrack in my mind.

As we wound our way up the hill from the beach, the car dropped into a lower gear. We reached the top, where we often have to slow for the school zone. Cicadas shrilled in a rising crescendo, then, a thump on my door. Josh swore as he stood on the brakes. Then, to my surprise, he drove off. Without saying a word.

It was like sitting through a thriller at the movies; the intensity of the soundtrack rising until the horrifying climax. Then, as now, I was in the dark. Josh explained what had happened but left me to draw my own conclusions.

'A kangaroo,' he said. 'Didn't see it coming.'

'Should we go back and see if it's dead?' I asked. 'Whether there was a joey?'

'No,' he said. 'It's gone.'

The thing with Josh is that in all the time I've known him, he's never hidden anything from me. Never had an ulterior motive. Our love for each other grew out of a high school friendship and we've been good mates ever since.

There are many reasons why people want to be friends with someone like me. Some are do-gooders. Others are full of pity, something no self-respecting individual can bear. And then there are those rare few, like Josh, who ignore my disability and see me for the person I am.

And that's what's troubling me. Who am I really? Am I the kind of person who'd lie for my boyfriend? Should I ignore that nagging, inner voice that insists that Josh has made a terrible mistake? He's hit and run. Injured or killed a child? A cyclist? Someone's Nana or Pop?

And now, to make matters worse, he's trying to hide the evidence, leaving his damaged car at home, lying about where the accident happened. I know one thing for sure. We were nowhere near that old farmhouse.

If I say nothing, if I go along with his story, will I ever trust him again? But what if I'm wrong? If I say I don't believe him, and Josh was telling the truth?

I rely on people like Josh to guide me. Being blind means I'm vulnerable. Some people see my lack of vision as a sign of weakness and are happy to mislead me or rip me off.

I think about our tense visit to the headland. Josh described the paraglider like a soaring bird with outstretched wings, its novice pilot suspended below, legs tucked into a cocoon.

How did that pilot know where to find unseen thermals, how to ride the gusts of wind? How much did he depend on the skill and veracity of that guiding voice murmuring in his ear?