Those were Max’s father’s words, Leon was sure of it. He could almost hear them echoing across the backyard. It reminded him of kicking footies with his dad down on the beach. His dad would yell at him whenever the ball bounced into the water: Go get it out. Can’t you kick straight? But most of the time they’d had fun knocking a ball around together—it was the way they’d connected when Leon was small. Fishing hadn’t worked because he kept tangling the line and losing his tackle on the rocks, so footy had been their best currency. Pity it didn’t work anymore. ‘I’m all right at footy,’ he said to Max. ‘I can help, if you want. A bit of practice and you’ll improve really fast.’

Max shrugged and put his phone on a fence post so he could eat more chips. ‘Are you going to live in that house?’

‘Yep. I moved in today.’

‘It’s haunted, you know. Mrs Westbury died in there. Someone was supposed to check on her, but they forgot. Dad noticed the stink and called the cops. They said she was rotten. Like soup.’

Leon imagined the old lady dead in bed. A heart attack in the middle of the night? Or had she faded slowly away, waiting for help? It was sad no one had been looking out for her. Maybe it was better to be in a home like Grandpa. But, then again, maybe not—Leon hated the hospital-feeling of those places. Maybe Mrs Westbury had preferred to die in her own bed.

A small girl carrying a baby doll emerged from Max’s house and came across the lawn. She was brown-eyed, dark-haired and snotty-nosed with a jagged home-cut fringe and a finger up one nostril. Obviously Max’s sister: same face shape, same jaw.

‘This is Suzie.’ Max knocked the little girl’s hand from her face. ‘Stop picking your nose.’

The blonde woman was watching from the clothesline—she must have heard them talking.

Leon smiled and waved. ‘Hi, I’m Leon. Just having a chat with your kids.’

She lit a cigarette and came over. Up close, Leon saw she was younger than he’d thought, not much older than him, only she’d lived harder and had kids. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, she was actually quite pretty, but she looked worn out. ‘I’m Wendy,’ she said, squinting at him through a curl of smoke. ‘You moving in, are you?’

‘Yeah. Six-month lease. Just got a new job.’

‘Forests?’

‘No. Parks. I’m a ranger.’

There was a short silence and Wendy’s lips tightened. ‘My husband’s a logger. Cuts trees on slopes where machines can’t go.’

That would explain the chainsaw, Leon thought. ‘He’s a rare species then. Not too many using chainsaws these days.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘You know something about forests?’