Frank poured the steaming tea, his gaze now softened by something that could have been pity. ‘Here you go, mate,’ he murmured. ‘And have another pie. My missus made ’em, and there ain’t none better this side of the Blue Mountains.’

He didn’t want to reveal how hungry he was, but he couldn’t help himself, and he gobbled up three pies and two cups of tea as Frank told him his life story and Jim sat dumbly staring out of the window at the dust clouds. At least he didn’t have to reciprocate, for Frank seemed quite happy to talk, and showed a remarkable lack of curiosity about this unexpected visitor. Perhaps the other man had an inkling that he wasn’t quite all he seemed and had decided not to probe. After all, a man’s business was his own out here, and if he didn’t want to talk about it, then that was all right.

Sated, he finally leaned back and rubbed his tight midriff. ‘Your missus deserves a bloody medal.’ He sighed.

‘Reckon she does,’ Frank replied thoughtfully. ‘How long you been on the road, John? When was the last time you ate?’

He smiled ruefully. ‘A while,’ he replied, ‘and I’ve a ways to go yet.’

‘It’s a shame we ain’t goin’ the same way, cos we could have given you a ride – though it’s not strictly allowed.’

‘Na, you’re right, mate. I like walking.’ He glanced at his watch and reached into his trouser pockets for some money. ‘I’d better get going – it’s easier walking at night.’

‘You can’t go out in this,’ Frank protested. ‘And I don’t want yer money neither. You blokes fought a war for us. The least we can do is give you a bit of tucker.’

He put the money back in his pocket. ‘Thanks for everything, mate. It was a pleasure getting to know you, but I need to keep going if I’m ever to reach home.’

The silent Jim reached into the tucker box and pulled out two more pies, a packet of biscuits, another of tea and a paper screw of sugar, which he carefully packed into the kitbag. ‘Reckon these might come in handy,’ he drawled, ‘and you can fill your water-bag from the container strapped to the side of the truck.’

He shook their hands and clambered down from the cab into the furnace blast of windblown grit. Having filled his water-bag to the brim, he tipped his hat in farewell and headed down the road, past the three long trailers as if he was going south. Once he was sure he was out of sight in the swirling dust, he carefully made his way down the slope to the railway line, turned his back to the wind, and continued his journey north.

*

‘Mum, Mum – Uncle Terry’s car’s gone.’