Ned’s father turned to him. A frown on his face. Dropped eyebrows, opened lips. Confusion climbing over his anger.

The gentleman struggled back up. Bark clinging to his hands, mud on his shirt and neck. ‘That is the truth of it, my good man.’ He reached into his jacket and retrieved a slip of paper, which he handed to Ned’s father. ‘This is for your son, but if you need material proof of our trade, look no further.’

Ned’s father took the cheque. Looked at it.

Ned saw his chance. ‘It’s not for me, Dad.’ He tried to harden his voice. ‘I know we need it.’

But he saw that his father wasn’t listening. He saw how the violence had run from him, how the life in him had slackened. Saw how his mouth was still open, and his lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. His father rubbed at his face, rubbed hard, hard enough to be painful. Then he came towards Ned, slow, dazed. Pushed the cheque into his son’s hand and took a few more steps before stopping where the dirt ended, where the rocks and sand began.

Ned heard his voice rise. ‘It’s twenty times what I paid for it. Closer to twenty-five! It has to help.’

In reply he received only the sound of his father’s slow breaths.

Needles in Ned’s eyes, needles in his throat. ‘It has to!’ The cheque screwing in his palm.

A scraping sound behind him. The gentleman was reapplying himself to the business of loading the boat. ‘Of course it will, my boy. Money always does.’ He braced his knees and gave a huge shove, managing to raise the rear half of the boat onto the trailer. It teetered. Deep scratches had been scored into the shellac. The gentleman clapped his hands, then went to his truck and retrieved a few lengths of rope.

More noise from the bush. Heavy thumps, and then Maggie and the mare crashed onto the beach. She slung herself to the ground before the mare had come to a stop. Ned’s rifle was in her hands, its stock rising to her shoulder, its barrel pointed at the gentleman. ‘Step away from my brother’s boat.’

The gentleman took her in. Laughed, long and ugly. Laughed at Ned. ‘Given your demeanour, my boy, I would never have imagined your family to be so dramatic.’ He waved a hand at Maggie. ‘Talk to your father. And rejoice! Your fortunes have changed, my dear.’ He began throwing ropes over the boat, lurching around the trailer to tie them off.

Maggie lowered the gun. Saw their father, unmoving on the sand. Saw Ned coming to her side, showing her the cheque. She glanced at it.

‘Oh, Ned.’ Her face took on the same slackened look as their father’s.