I’m currently waiting for Dad to finish work, too, which is why I’m sitting on the dirt rather than still weeding. I have four calluses on one hand and three on the other, from pulling at the wild, wiry grasses that grow in some of the garden beds. They need to be removed carefully so their stems don’t snap off and leave roots in the ground or else they will just start growing all over again.

If I clench my hands tight, the skin stretches across my knuckles, reminding me of the work. I sort of like the feeling; it’s similar to how my muscles ache after competing in a running event. The last time I sprinted the 100 metre at the State Championships, my hamstrings throbbed for an hour afterwards. And I didn’t even win.

I also really like that I’ve earned some money today. I started working with Dad last school holidays when it was harder for him to pay for things. Now that the insurance money is through, Dad said I could stop if I wanted to. But I’ve kept the job over summer and have actually saved most of the money I’ve earned. Just in case.

There’s a toot, and I look up to see a little motored buggy heading my way. As the buggy gets closer, I can see Dad’s smile and the white zinc stripe across his nose and cheeks. He putters straight for me, slower than if he were walking, and then cuts the engine just before the bumper hits my legs. I can see from his cheesy grin that he finds this hilarious.

‘Bought you an icypole,’ he says.

‘Finally.’

He jumps out of the buggy and tosses me the packet. It bends and squishes in my fingers. I open one corner carefully, and a sticky stream of green syrup runs out and onto the ground. I hold the wrapper up to my mouth and drink the rest of the rapidly dissolving ice.

‘Melted?’

‘Yeah. But delicious,’ I say.

He sits down beside me and picks up a handful of dried leaves, crunching them through his fingers and letting the fragments scatter. ‘Long day, Clem?’

I shrug. It’s only just after four so there are still hours of sunshine left.

‘Bet you’re hungry.’

‘Dreaming of a pizza. Or three.’

Pizza is officially our favourite meal.

‘We can grab one on the way home, if you like.’

‘One? That’s not going to cut it, Dad.’

He laughs.

‘I’d really like to go for a swim,’ I say.

‘Thought you might. Well, I can do one better than that,’ he says and smiles, checking his watch.

‘Yeah? Now?’

‘Patience, Clem.’

‘Hah. Not one of my better qualities as you well know.’

‘You look pretty patient to me right now,’ he says teasingly.