At school, there’s a new air about him. People know him. They recognise him. They know he’s tough, and people have heard. They know he does fight nights, though none of them know that I do. It’s for the best, I s’pose. If they saw me fight, it would only make them laugh. I would be Rube’s sidekick. They’d say, ‘Go watch them Wolfes fight, ay. The younger one, what’s his name, he’s a joke, but Ruben can fight like there’s no tomorrow.’

‘It’s all rumours,’ is what Rube tells people. ‘I don’t fight anywhere except in my backyard.’ He lies well. ‘Look at the bruises on my brother. We fight all the time at home, but that’s it. No more than that.’

One Saturday morning, a colder one than normal, but clear, we go out for a run. The sun’s barely coming up, and as we run, we see some fellas just coming home. They’ve been out all night.

‘Hey Rubey!’ one yells.

It’s an old mate of Rube’s named Cheese. (Well, at least, his nickname’s Cheese, anyway. I don’t think anyone knows his real name.) He’s standing on the walkway up to Central Station with a giant pumpkin under his arm.

‘Hey Cheeser.’ Rube raises his head. We walk up towards him. ‘What y’ been doin’ lately?’

‘Ah nothin’ much. Just livin’ in a drunken haze, ay. Since I left school, all I do is work and drink.’

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s good mate.’

‘Enjoyin’ it?’

‘Lovin’ every minute.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’ But really, my brother doesn’t care. He scratches his two-day growth. ‘So what’s the go with the pumpkin?’

‘Been hearin’ you’re a bit of a gun fighter these days.’

‘Nah, just in the backyard.’ Rube recalls something. ‘You of all people should know that.’

‘Yeah mate, certainly,’ because Cheese used to be in our yard sometimes when we got the gloves out. He remembers the pumpkin he’s holding. He lifts it back into the conversation. ‘Found this in an alley, so we’re gonna play footy with it.’ His mates arrive, around the three of us.

‘About here Cheese?’ they ask.

‘Why certainly,’ and he gives the pumpkin a good kick down the walkway. Someone chases it then and comes running back with it.

‘Belt him!’ someone else yells, and it’s on. Teams divide quickly, the fella gets belted, and pieces of pumpkin go flying all over the place.

‘Rube!’ I call for it.

He passes.

I drop it.

‘Ah, y’ useless bloody turkey!’ Cheese laughs. Do people still use that word? It’s a word people’s grandfathers use. In any case, I erase my disappointment by tackling the next guy into the concrete.

A bag lady walks past, checking things out for breakfast.

Then a few couples get out of the way.