‘He’s good. He got into trouble for going too fast in the dining room. He was on table duty,’ the son said.

‘He was getting the meals for his table. That’s good. That’s really good,’ the father said to his wife.

‘But how is he?’

‘He’s much better, like the little tiger moth again, Dad.’

‘The “little tiger moth”,’ his father repeated. ‘So he’s back with his friends?’

‘Yes. He’s brewing ginger beer.’

‘That’s good.’ the father told his son. He put the phone aside with his other hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s good, darling, it’s what we hoped.’

She nodded, pushed her husband’s hand from the mouthpiece and said to her son, ‘I don’t want him fighting.’

‘I’ll tell him. But you are proud of him for sticking up for himself?’ the boy asked.

‘As proud as punch,’ the father said.

‘As proud as punch, we’ll always be proud of you both, but I don’t want either of you fighting,’ the mother said.

‘There go the beeps,’ the son said.

‘Ring next weekend and have young tiger with you.’

‘Yes, Dad. Carmody is looking out for him now.’

‘I don’t like Carmody,’ the mother said.

‘Don’t you get involved with Carmody, son.’

‘As if, Dad. Bye.’

‘Give our love to Tiger. Thank you son. You be a good boy.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

The father hung up the receiver. His wife stepped away quickly, her back to him as she wiped her eyes.

‘It can only get better, darling. It can only get better.’

The wife turned accusingly. ‘I don’t want them fighting. I don’t care. I don’t want them to think that’s how they solve their problems.’

‘They’re not like that, really. But he stood up for himself against a bigger boy. That’s really important, that means the fog has lifted on our little tiger.’

‘I love you and my heart breaks for the Sheppards and Doneys and their boys. But the world can’t be like that, tiger’s not like that, he shouldn’t have to fight, you shouldn’t have had to . . . and the boys must never find out . . .’

‘Shh . . . shh . . . shh. That’s all over now. It’s all over.’

*