‘You two haven’t met before?’ Flo asks.

‘Nope,’ Lucy says.

‘Actually, we have,’ Mitch tells her. ‘We met briefly at Falls years back. Harry was there too, remember, Harry?’ He grins at Harry, his head cocked to one side.

‘Oh really?’ Lucy looks at Harry too, as does Flo. ‘You never mentioned it,’ Lucy adds.

‘Yeah, well, it was years ago.’ Harry shrugs. ‘Didn’t think you’d remember.’

‘Hmmm. Sorry,’ Lucy says, ‘I don’t think I do.’ She shrugs and smiles apologetically at Harry, then Mitch.

‘Well, I remember,’ Mitch interrupts. ‘You were with Jem and all your friends from … Melbourne, I think he said. You hadn’t been down here long.’

Did Harry see a spark of recognition in Lucy’s eyes? She was certainly frowning now. What was she remembering?

But Mitch isn’t done. ‘Remember that Falls, Harry?’ he’s saying. ‘That was the Falls you passed out before New Year’s and vomited all through your swag. Those were they days, ay, bruv?’ Mitch gives Harry a nudge with his elbow. ‘We used to get up to all sorts of shit,’ he adds to Lucy. ‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘don’t mind if I jump up in the boat and do me check?’

Harry feels like he’s underwater as Mitch climbs into the boat. His limbs have gone heavy with dread and all he can hear is the boom-boom of his heartbeat resonating in his ears.

He doesn’t know what to do.

‘What happened to your clothes?’ Mitch asks Lucy, obviously spying the sorry little pile on the boat floor and putting two and two together.

‘I had an accident,’ Lucy mumbles. Harry grimaces at this, and then again, when his mother lets out a nervous whinny of laughter.

Fuck. Neither of them seem to be able to play it cool. He wants to throttle the both of them.

But Mitch mumbles awkwardly, ‘Oh, right,’ as he eyes Lucy again. Then he says in a kind, father-like voice: ‘Boats can be tricky like that.’

Oh god! He thinks she shat herself, Harry realises, and nearly laughs himself. And, really, that might not be a bad thing. It might explain the vomit smell at least, and might stop him sniffing too hard and getting a whiff of the birds. Bloody hell, though, he must be wondering what she’s eaten to get her shit smelling like that.

‘Jesus, Harry,’ Mitch says, now peering into the fish bucket. ‘You said you got a coupla snotties. You’ve cleaned up, bruv!’

‘Yeah well. You know what nets are like. Sometimes when they turn it on, they turn it on.’

‘I might just give ’em a count,’ Mitch declares.

‘Oh, you don’t have to do that,’ Lucy calls up to him. ‘I already counted them. There’s eighteen.’

‘Good to know,’ Mitch says. ‘But I might just give ’em a count myself, if it’s all the same to you. One, two, three …’ he begins counting officiously as he takes each fish from the bucket.