‘So, this reunion, eh?’ said Gumbo enthusiastically when he was seated by the window with Pearly. He wore jeans, a yellow T-shirt and new cheap sneakers. His waist was so narrow that the long tongue from his belt had to be threaded back around his side. ‘What a riot it’ll be if plenty of our year turn up. All of us could jack up some special meets outside the formal things. Do you think?’

‘Not too many drinking parties,’ said Helen. ‘Remember you’re all grown up now,’ but she brought in the tray with the beers and the homemade shortbread before excusing herself.

‘But it’s you I really come to see,’ protested Gumbo gallantly.

‘Someone’s got to work,’ she said.

Pearly told his friend he’d probably be heading the committee to organise the celebrations, and that made Gumbo even more enthusiastic. They talked about what activities would go down well and who they hoped would be there. Pearly couldn’t help wondering why there seemed to be no ambivalence in Gumbo’s anticipation. Classmates would return from significant places and achievements — solicitors, doctors, entrepreneurs, bankers, farmers’ sons become considerable landowners themselves by just the passage of time and inheritance. Even the odd television face and professional sportsman. And there would be Gumbo with an aging ute and the occupation of a primary-school caretaker. Not even a family. It shouldn’t make any difference of course, but Pearly knew it would to him in the same situation. Maybe for Gumbo nothing ever changed, and he thought they would reassemble just as they had been at school, all for one, and one for all. Then, as he listened to Gumbo ticking off the old boys he expected to return, Pearly rebuked himself. After all, Gumbo may not have much in the way of worldly success, but negatives, too, were lacking. He wasn’t an alcoholic, a fraudster, a confirmed liar, a vindictive employer or an abuser of children. He hadn’t been in prison like Solly Mathias for ramming an ATM machine, or fled the country after murdering an old age pensioner in the street like that guy one year behind them at school. He was just old Gumbo, always the same. ‘If a decent number from our lot come, maybe I’ll have a bit of a do here one night,’ Pearly said. ‘There’s plenty of space.’

‘Fantastic,’ said Gumbo in his honking voice.

‘Maybe there could be a touch rugby competition. We’re getting too old for the real thing.’ But Pearly would shine, of course; show off some of the old moves.

‘Fantastic.’