‘Morning, Constable Linda . . .’

‘Yeah, morning, Mack,’ said Linda. She pulled out the bail sign-in registry, jotted down his name, the time and date, and spun the book around for him to sign. There was a briskness to it, and his heart sank. That usually meant it’d be an interrogation day.

How’s your health and temper?

How’s the job hunt going? How’s the psychologist going? Who have you been seeing? What have you been doing? Anything illegal? C’mon, Mackerel, tell me the truth . . . What have you been doing?

Anything you want to tell me now before I find out later?

This daily sign-in was a constant reminder of everything he’d lost. His dignity, the respect of everyone he knew, the ability to ever be more than twelve hours away from Shacktown, even just being able to work his old job. All Tasmanian fishermen have to be of good character and be a fit and proper person, so when he went to prison he’d lost his FLAD – Fishing Licence (Abalone Dive). That meant he couldn’t even dive for a living, the one thing he was good at.

Linda glanced up from the work she was doing on her computer, confused to still see Mack there. ‘I’m sure you have places to be?’

She seemed distracted. He noticed now the absence of other officers. Where were they all?

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mackerel turned and walked out as quickly as possible.

No interrogation today!

That was a good sign.

Yet instantly his mind was back to his upcoming court case. His rehabilitation. What he could do to fix things.

I could go to church . . . No, too transparent. Maybe a religious girlfriend? That’d look good.

While prison loomed? Who’d possibly have a relationship with someone like that?

Someone looking to save a lost cause, that’s who.

He felt a pang of fear. If he went back to prison – which was the most likely outcome of his upcoming sentencing – he’d be alone again. He didn’t want to be alone again.

These were the unhappy thoughts in his head as he limped to the chemist, the gulls cawing overhead. There was the smell of roasting coffee from a van set up in a little park, and he could hear the shouts of children on the swings there. Sunshine beamed. You’d never know the Black Wind was on its way, except for those rippled clouds blowing in from the horizon.

A couple of local men saw Mack limping past and spat at their feet. This attitude was why no one else in town would give him a job. He tried not to mind. It was just lucky that he could work on Big Mane’s boat as a deckie, on the few occasions his best mate actually had the work for him.