‘Spare a cigarette for an old man?’

Soon my box was half empty and Dad was still nowhere to be seen. I asked one of the men whether my father had been at the pub.

‘Not tonight, girl. Not sure where the old scoundrel’s got to. The missus send you to fetch him, did she?’

I nodded. So I’d wasted my time at the wrong pub, wasted my money on cigarettes and made myself look like a fool to anyone watching. Shame burning in my throat, I hurried home, where I opened the door to see Dad and Mum sitting in the lounge—Dad with the paper, Mum with her knitting.

‘There you are, Sarah,’ Mum said. ‘I was starting to worry, it being so late and all.’

•

The next morning I told Mum it wasn’t going to work, that I’d had enough of spying on Dad. She nodded then turned back to the clothesline. From behind I saw her wipe her nose on her shoulder with a little shrug.

Secretly, though, I decided to keep trying; I was curious myself now. My next plan was to go to the greyhounds at Wentworth Park, where Dad could be found every Friday night. The races began around six and went until nine, and unlike the pub, plenty of women went to the dogs. Anyone could have a punt at the dogs, and with the totalisators—automated betting machines—you didn’t have to put up with some grubby bookie sneering at the paltry amount you were willing to part with.

I went straight from work, though it meant turning down the officers who asked Dot and me to meet them at the Trocadero. Dot said she would ask Susan instead, and I tried to suppress my envy; it wasn’t as though I hadn’t been invited.

The park was at the bottom of Glebe, on the edge of Pyrmont and Ultimo, and easy enough to get to. The dog track was separated from the rest of the park with brick boundary walls, and this was to be the last month of race meetings before the Americans commandeered the site for an army camp. Dad had grumbled about this: ‘Bloody Yanks come in thinking this is their country to do with as they please.’ I held my tongue rather than reminding him it was the same bloody Yanks who paid my salary. The dogs were going to share the Harold Park track with the harness racing, and since it was closer to both our house and the pub, I couldn’t figure out what Dad was so worked up about.