Whispers swelled to a crescendo behind Leon’s back. He could sense everyone craning to see what was happening. The mumbles converted to words. ‘Who’s that?’ ‘Why’s he here?’ ‘He’s got a nerve.’

Mooney’s sneer was loudest. ‘What the fuck is Parkie doing here? I’ll fucking smash his head in.’

Leon waited, glaring daggers at Robbo, but the truck driver didn’t move.

Then Max emerged from the crowd. ‘I’ll help,’ the boy called out. ‘I’m strong.’

A hush descended.

Leon locked eyes with the boy and nodded. ‘Thanks, mate. That’d be great.’

He showed Max how to link hands to make a step for Grandpa and then, together, they tried to lift the old man onto the truck.

But Max’s hands gave way, and Grandpa slumped against the tray and hung there with his feet off the ground. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so desperate.

The crowd rumbled as Leon struggled to think of a solution.

Then a harsh voice rasped over the crowd. ‘Get out of the way. Let me through.’ It was Shane. He sounded angry, and the crowd sank away from him as though he was Moses parting the sea. He stood in front of Grandpa and stared at him, expressionless. Then he nodded at Leon. ‘Okay. Let’s give him a leg-up.’

They shot Grandpa skywards with so much momentum, Robbo had to stick out an arm to break the old man’s trajectory. Now Grandpa was up there, Robbo’s continued obstruction would look petty. His mouth turned down at the corners, and for a moment Leon thought he wasn’t going to let the old man speak. Then he slowly handed over the microphone.

Pride surged through Leon as his grandfather wrapped his warped hand around the mic and peered out at all those unsympathetic faces. The old man looked as if his scrawny legs wouldn’t hold him for long. But Leon knew Grandpa had the strength of a tree, all on the inside. Now he had the stage, he would use it.

‘Sorry for barging in on you folk,’ Grandpa said, ‘but I’m an old logger from way back and I thought you might benefit from hearing my perspective. Name’s Thomas Walker, and I know the industry well as you do, probably better, because I’ve been around these parts since Jesus played fullback for Jerusalem.’

A few people chuckled.

‘I’ve lived most of my life in the forests. Close to forty years on a chainsaw. Mostly Bruny Island, but also around here. My father and grandpa and my great- and great-great-grandfathers were loggers too—you can see them in the history books. They worked the timber tramways on Bruny Island. Helped set it up right back at the start. Those are my credentials. Generations of my family working in forests.