‘You’ve never heard of Lasseter’s Reef?’

There followed the story: the map’s origins, his attempts to look for it, Nan’s reluctance, and a philosophical treatise on how a man never stopped searching. I just stood at the bench, listening. ‘Pop, he doesn’t want to hear all that.’

But John said, ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Harold Lasseter was seventeen,’ Pop said. ‘He was riding from Queensland to the Western Australian goldfields and somewhere near the WA—Territory border he stumbled on it.’

‘Just sittin’ there?’ John asked.

‘Yep. He kept on towards Kalgoorlie, but got lost, and a camel driver helped him. Took him to this camp, and a surveyor named Harding. Lasseter told Harding about the gold, and he believed him, so they back-tracked, looking for it. Anyway, their watches weren’t good enough and they couldn’t get a proper fix, but they got close enough and Lasseter wrote it down.’

They both gazed at it.

‘Then they returned and tried to get people interested, but folks were making good money on the goldfields. Lasseter spent thirty years trying to convince people to fund an expedition. So this friend of mine, he came across it …’

John touched the map, but Pop kept possession.

‘You know, I reckon I saw a documentary of this,’ John said. ‘And they said it was all in his head.’

‘Not at all,’ Pop growled. ‘Me and Clem, we reckon it’s true, don’t we, Clem?’

‘We do, Pop.’

‘Eleven hundred kilometres west of Alice. Of course, I can tell you this, can’t I, John?’ He was emerging from his funk, folding the map once, twice, and putting it in his pocket.

‘Course you can,’ John said. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna go look, eh? I got this apprenticeship to start.’

I heard voices in the driveway: deep, monotonous.

Pop stood, handed John his prize and said, ‘These’ll get you started.’

The voices grew louder. The yard gate opened, and there were footsteps. Mum explaining something. ‘He’s always out here.’

Three figures in the doorway: Mum, a man in a suit, and a copper, a constable. Pop said to them, ‘Funny time for a visit?’

No one responded. John placed the bag on the bench.

‘I’ll leave you, shall I?’ Mum asked.

And she was gone.

The man in the suit looked like a detective. Division 4. Decent pair of burns, and a suit with arms up past his wrists. He said, ‘How are yer, John?’

‘Alright, Mr Craig.’

Mr Craig said, ‘We did check, and it looks like it was his.’

‘So? None of my business.’

‘It is.’

‘You talked to Alan?’

‘He’s next. What say we go for a drive? You tell us your side, we write it down again. Again.’

‘Righto.’ He turned to Pop. ‘Can I leave these here?’