There was that summer when they went canoeing on Lake Winnikanka, and a lady had come up to Billy and Jess in the canoe while Katie and Sam were picnicking on the shore. He was younger but he remembered that the lady had had a funny accent, German or something, and had wanted a photograph of Billy and Jess in the canoe, each with a feather in their hair. She had the feathers ready, a couple of mangy things she’d found on the shore. Duck tails he thought. Billy said sure and was about to put one of the feathers in Jess’s hair when his Dad had marched over and gone crazy. And when the woman’s husband came to join in, he’d taken one look at Billy’s excellent big Dad, standing there without a shirt on, his wide brown chest glistening above his cut-off jeans shorts, and had turned and fled. Billy hadn’t known what the fuss was about over a photo, but he had sure been proud of his Dad. Seemed like his Mom was too, ’cause he remembered they lay down in the grass and hugged while Billy paddled Jess round the lake some more.

But his Dad was cranky right now. Every night he’d come home looking like he’d seen a ghost, and Mom would try and cheer him up with her stories about funny museum visitors. But he was looking ill and it was making Billy sad.

At least Bart would come in the house now when he was allowed. For days he’d stayed outside looking towards the mountains, and Billy had joined him at night sometimes when he couldn’t bear the thought of his friend out there alone. But whatever was bugging him up there seemed to have passed and he came in and let Billy stick his face in his fur, just like he always did.

Jess tottered off to the TV table to stick her hands into the video recorder as Katie came into the room wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

‘Aw come on, Billy. Keep an eye on her would you?’ She swept her daughter up just before the saliva-covered hand could enter the inviting letter-box slit in the video.

‘I was. She was bugging Bart.’

‘Yeah? Well you’re bugging me lying around doing nothing. If you won’t keep an eye on Jess for me why don’t you go out and bring in some logs? Your Dad’ll be home in a minute and there’s no fire.’

Billy hated bringing in the logs. The woodpile was the other side of the yard and it seemed miles away in the thick snow. But he knew his Dad liked a fire in the hearth and he got up and went to put his Sorrels on.