Manolis looked at the photo. The black-and-white image was grainy and torn at one corner. It was actually of four men in shorts and sandals – three of them shirtless, one with a towel slung across his shoulders, one holding a broom – standing in front of what appeared to be an army barracks. Their faces were indistinct, in shadow, a sunny day, but their wide smiles were obvious, appearing proud and puckish. Rex pointed himself out – broad chest, hairy arms – and the man he identified as Manolis’s father. Manolis, who had seen photos of Con in younger days, instantly recognised him from his hawk nose and cleft chin.

‘Who are the other blokes?’ Manolis asked.

Rex re-examined the photo. ‘Can’t remember. Poles, Maltese, Slavs, could be anything. Everyone was from somewhere.’

Manolis paused to consider his immediate thought. ‘I didn’t realise you were from somewhere,’ he finally enquired.

Rex leant in close. ‘I’m Dutch,’ he said under his breath.

Sparrow’s cigarette glowed.

‘The camp was actually a pretty grim place,’ Rex added. ‘It was horrible to live in and with mostly bad people. Getting married was your ticket out.’

Vera, collecting the last of the beer-stained glasses, smiled broadly, her grin both exuberant and terrifying.

‘Too bloody right I was, yep,’ she said proudly. ‘Pa would be dead without me.’ They’d met at a bush dance one warm summer evening. ‘He was an excellent dancer,’ Vera added, gently pecking her husband on his sweaty bald head.

Sparrow groaned, clearly tired, bored, sickened. With one final cock of his elbow, he drained the dregs of his beer. He looked around to see if any more bottles were forthcoming. On seeing they weren’t, he seemed to decide he was weary of the conversation, and the evening.

‘I’ll come by in the mornin’,’ he told Manolis, standing, before turning to Rex and adding, ‘Thanks for the grub and grog.’

With the opportunity, Manolis also took his leave, asking if he could make a copy of the camp photo. Rex said he could have the original, that it was a time in his life he actually preferred to forget.

‘Ma’s right,’ he said. ‘She saved my life. And I am a bloody excellent dancer.’

Manolis thanked Rex for the photo, Vera for the meal, and Sparrow for the hard work and company. He took a few steps up the road before doubling back. Something had occurred to him.

‘I know there’s a Chinese laundry right next to my cabin, but I’d prefer to not have to mangle my clothes to get them clean. You wouldn’t happen to have a washing machine I could use?’