“Let’s just get home.” I didn’t have time for this. Had to get that bottle of trellicillin.

“But can’t we go and have a look?” Trig hung back, stood on his tiptoes. “Just quickly?”

“Mayor’s probably brought something back from the city,” said Jed. “C’mon, Mags. We should go over. Mum won’t be happy, if we could’ve got something but didn’t stop.”

He was right, I s’posed.

We followed Trig over.

The mayor had a table set up in the doorway. It was piled high with blue gas canisters.

“Just one per household,” she was saying. “These weren’t easy to get hold of, I can assure you, and there’s only a limited number. I’m ticking your names off the list as you take one, so no sending your kids back for another, all right? It won’t work.” She shoved a canister across the table to Figgie Rickard and ticked her name off the list. “Hello there, Trig. You going to take one for the family? Make sure you carry it straight home, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mayor Anderson. I will. Straight home.”

“What do you want for it?” said Jed.

“All I want, Mr Cruise, is to help everyone through the winter.” Mayor Anderson picked up a canister, leaving the handle free. “You ready for this Trig? It’s heavy.”

“I’m ready.”

Trig grabbed the handle and the mayor let go.

Smack.

It dropped straight back down on to the table.

“Told you it was heavy.”

“It’s all right, it’s all right. I can do it.” Trig wrapped his arms round the canister and lifted it up in a Trig-hug.

Brilliant. It was going to take us ages to get home now.

“You’ll never be able to carry that, Trig,” I said. “Why don’t we just leave it here and come back later with the handcart?”

“They might all be gone by then,” said Jed. “Why don’t I carry it?”

“No! I can do it!” Trig puffed out his cheeks.

He made it about twenty steps, then clanged the canister on to the ground. “I just need a bit of a rest,” he said.

“Give it to me.” Jed made a grab for the canister.

“No!” Trig pushed him away. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” He got back up, gripped the handle with two fists and staggered on.

He got as far as the laundry.

“Oh, Trig,” I said. “Told you we should’ve gone home first.”

“Handcart.” Mrs Gebby was sitting outside the laundry like always, making sure people only went in on their proper allotted day of the week. “That’s what you want. A handcart.” She didn’t even look up from her clickering needles. Eyes in the back of her head, Dad says.

Her brother, Frederick, sat next to her in a wide-brim hat. His beard was flecked with ginger.

He blinked.