‘It’s the chick from the commune.’

‘Maria,’ Dad says.

She’s more tanned than I’d noticed in the half-light of our failed rescue, lean and muscled. Not as ironman as Finn but jeez, they must log a lot of hours in those fields. She walks to the passenger’s side and opens the door. Beau clambers out.

‘What?’ I spook the kookaburra: it hits a brace of leaves and flaps madly to keep its balance. I look at Dad, who’s smiling as if he’s somehow manufactured this situation, as if Beau’s presence here is proving him right.

We head downstairs and open the front door. Maria nods a hello, keeps one hand protectively on Beau’s shoulder. I peer inside the ute but Finn isn’t there.

‘How’d you know where I was?’ Dad asks.

‘Ryan and Sal, Dad,’ I say.

‘Hello, young man,’ Dad speaks to Beau. ‘I’m sorry we scared you when we first met. And I am very sorry about your mother. She was a special lady and I know she loved you.’

Beau says nothing. His attention is not on my father or me. He’s peering inside the house, letting his eyes roam from one object to the next. He looks at the landscape painting – parched bushland at dusk, a solitary Aboriginal man wearing a loincloth standing stork-like on one leg, holding a spear – that hangs over a brown pot holding dried pussy willows, smiles when he sees Woof padding down the stairs. I remember Beau lives in a teepee, and wonder how many houses he’s been in, and if they’re usually as run-down as Sal’s cousin’s place.

‘Car’s roasting,’ Maria says. ‘Beau and I could use a drink.’

We stand aside to let them come in as Woof licks Beau’s hand, sniffs Maria’s leg and wags his tail, greeting them altogether more affably than we have.

Once we’re in the kitchen, Beau wriggles himself onto one of the stools and sits on the edge of the brown vinyl cushion. Woof stands on his hind legs, his front paws on Beau’s bare thighs. Maria stands next to the counter, scanning the room, smiling at something she doesn’t share with us. ‘Nice place.’

‘Yes,’ Dad says.

‘Beau, do you want some cordial?’ I ask. ‘Lemonade, chocolate milk?’

‘He doesn’t drink that sugary stuff,’ Maria says. ‘Juice or water. Doubt you have soy milk.’

‘You doubt correct. What would you like, buddy?’

‘Juice please,’ Beau says. He sounds relaxed, his voice peppy and light. It doesn’t seem interesting to him that he saw me last night, or even at the commune. I’m just another grown-up now, hanging around with the other boring grown-ups.

‘Make it two,’ Maria says. ‘Since you’re offering. Is your sister home?’

Beau scratches behind Woof’s ear and looks out the back door at the trampoline.

‘Just us here,’ Dad says.

‘Shame. It’s her I’m after. Wanted to meet the adult of the house.’

Dad bristles. ‘Now listen –’

‘Spare me. You clowns aren’t running any of this.’ She looks around the kitchen, which is well equipped, spotless, and at the neat line of sandshoes and thongs on the swept back porch.