‘Palmieri. Giuseppe Palmieri. Used to make red wine. Shit awful.’

I had a method. I’d assigned everyone in the street one point. Then, I’d gone through the album, working out who was who, and assigned each of these people their own point. That made forty-nine. Problem was, that’d be forty-nine questions. And Pop wasn’t stupid. Nonetheless, I had to continue. ‘Now this one,’ I said, showing him, ‘is one of mum’s nephews, isn’t he?’

‘Why you asking?’

‘Well, I’s thinking, we’re studying Australian history, and I don’t even know half my own family.’

Jen put down her clippers and started snipping his fringe.

‘None of that,’ he said.

‘I can get it nice.’

‘I don’t want it nice. I want it gone.’

‘Right.’ As she picked up the clippers and continued.

Pop returned to the nephew. ‘Well, if you must know, he was …’ I watched his eyes studying the young man’s features. ‘A nephew.’

‘Was it Joseph?’

‘Yes, Joseph.’

He seemed happy with that, although his name was David.

No spark of recognition for number seven.

Jen said, ‘How about I leave a bit and you can push it over to the side, like this?’

‘All of it.’

‘But you’ve had the same haircut for years.’

‘I once paid this fella to pussy about, but six weeks later I was back, and he was the most boring bastard I ever met. Telling me about his kids. So I said to Nan, Clippers. And she did it, for years. Now you get the privilege.’

‘Just seems a waste. I can do colours and perms.’

‘What do I want all that for?’ He closed his eyes, breathed the Saturday morning pea soup and let the sun warm his face. This was his spot, in the middle of the backyard, at the end of three extensions. Far away from the house and all of its disasters.

I whispered to Jen, ‘Is he asleep?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘You’re lookin’ relaxed.’

‘I would be, if you weren’t rabbiting on.’

‘This one,’ I said, showing him a picture of a backyard birthday, on this lawn. ‘I remember this was my sixth birthday. See, you, Nan, Jen, me, and this kid, remember?’

He squinted to see.

‘Wasn’t she Ida Sharpe’s niece?’

He shrugged.

‘I remember, she stayed with them for a few months when her parents were overseas, and she’d always be in here playing. She was a real pain, going through our stuff. Remember, Jen?’

‘Little bitch.’

‘Wasn’t she called May?’

‘How much longer?’ Pop asked.

I noticed a toy in the picture. ‘Look, that Tonka truck. It was a fire truck, wasn’t it, Pop?’

‘Wasn’t it, wasn’t it, wasn’t it? Can’t you keep quiet?’