Dad frowned. ‘Who do you reckon’s paying for that sauce?’

Dad ploughed through four sausages, but Max didn’t have space for more than two. Then Dad asked him to get a beer from the fridge. He said it all bossy like Max was his slave. Max got up slowly and fetched a can of Cascade for Dad, who opened it and took a swig.

‘Who’s that new bloke next door?’ Dad asked Mum.

‘Name’s Leon,’ Mum said.

‘What does he do?’

‘Parks ranger.’

‘Bullshit.’ Dad groaned. ‘I don’t need a neighbour like that. He’d better not expect me to be nice.’

Max wasn’t sure what sort of neighbour Dad thought Leon was. Dad hadn’t even spoken to him yet.

‘He seems okay,’ Mum said. ‘He offered to help Max with footy—didn’t he, Max?’

‘Yeah.’ Max was surprised Mum was saying good stuff about Leon. She hadn’t been nice to him when they were talking; she hadn’t even looked at him. That was what she always told Max to do: Look at someone when you’re speaking to them. But she didn’t do it with Leon.

Dad wagged a finger at Max. ‘Don’t you go talking to strangers.’

What did Dad mean? It wasn’t like Leon was going to kidnap Max or something. And he was more interesting than old Mrs Westbury.

Mum said to Max, ‘Ignore your father. Leon’s all right. You should go over tomorrow. Take a footy.’ She looked at Dad. ‘Can you pump up a ball for him?’

‘If I can find one. Can’t find anything in all that long grass.’ Dad was making another sausage sandwich. He squeezed on tons of sauce.

‘What are you doing after lunch?’ Mum asked Dad.

‘Working on the chainsaw, then I have to go to the footy.’

‘You said were going to mow the lawn.’

‘No time today. Max can do it.’

‘But I’m taking Rosie for a walk,’ Max said. ‘And I can’t start the mower.’

‘I’ll start it up for you,’ Dad said. ‘You can take Rosie later.’

Max was sick of later. He hated mowing the lawn—that meant he had to pick up all the bikes and scooters and balls. Or maybe he could just mow around them. Wouldn’t that be good enough?

Dad stood to go, but Mum said, ‘What about all the other jobs you were going to do this weekend?’

‘Tomorrow,’ he said.

‘But you were going to fix the drain and help with the shopping. And the toilet’s not flushing properly.’

‘Kids use too much toilet paper.’

‘It needs to be sorted.’

‘Call a plumber.’

‘And pay with what money?’

Dad headed for the door.

‘If you’re not going to help, I’m not cooking tonight.’ Mum’s voice was getting louder. ‘I’m on strike. You’ll have to cook.’