She said, ‘Vernie. Vernie. We were just talking about you.’And looked embarrassed in that condescending way of hers.

He didn’t care what these others thought, only about Penelope. ‘What’ve you been telling them, darling?’

‘Oh, you know. Just your man stuff. Your adventures with the pelican.’

He grimaced. ‘What did you say?’

Margie laughed again and spoke before his wife could. ‘She said you were out there quick as a flash when she ordered you. Like you were back in the army. Henpecked rooster.’

The girls all laughed.

Vernon looked at her. ‘I’ve seen some things in the war, Margie, that were pretty terrible. Mates . . . So it’s not so nice to be dealing with blood of any sort. It brings back some pretty bad memories.’

Margie struggled to look abashed, and instead looked at his wife.

Penelope said, ‘He’s just playing, Margie. Aren’t you, Vernie?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure. Sure I am. Can I talk to you a second, Pen?’

She nodded and they walked to the other side of the clubroom, away from the pokies. The women returned to their former gaiety.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘You alright?’

‘I’m alright. Dubbed two right on the kitty but Margie knocked ’em out pretty quick.’ She paused, looked down. ‘How’s Caleb then?’

‘He’s good. He’s good. I’ll tell you about it when you get home.’

‘Is that true? What you said about the war, and blood? You’ve never really talked about it . . .’

‘Not really. I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Vernie . . .’

‘She’s a rude bugger, I don’t know why you’re friends with her.’

His wife’s hands went onto her hips and her chin jutted forward. ‘What is it then?’

‘I was wondering if you knew where the Cahills live.’

‘No, never sure exactly where. Only out in the hills, like everyone knows.’

‘What about their comings and goings, you know? Of all of them?’

‘You want to meet up with one of them?’

‘Something like that . . .’

She frowned. ‘Well, Margie knows Agatha. And Agatha talks to the old lady Cahill. What’s her name?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I could ask Margie if she knows anything about where they’d be.’

‘Alright,’ Vernon said, and allowed a moment for the women’s laughter to subside. ‘Don’t say you’re asking for me. Don’t ask for the address either. That’s obvious.’

‘What’s this all about?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘You tell me now or I’m not asking.’

‘Sweetheart,’ he said, and put his hands on her shoulders. He tried his best to muster some kind of certainty. ‘Please. Just ask. I need to know the next time I can meet up with one of them for a conversation. That’s all. Alright?’

She nodded and shrugged his hands off and walked back to her group. Margie looked in his direction and he offered her a wave. She screwed her face up. He crept his smile wider and left.

On his way home he turned back down MacMillan Road and parked in front of Flynn’s Drapery and sat a moment. He got out and the wind buffeted him, making shutting the door difficult. He hugged his jacket around himself and ventured onto the grassy median strip.