‘Don’t know what I’m gonna say to her,’ he said.

He was shivering. I could see his legs. Two long bones, strapped together, with the suspension shot, but functioning, in the same way Datsuns just kept going, no matter how much you punished them.

‘Righto,’ I said, deciding. ‘We gotta stop talking and get organised.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re the one sayin’ you left it too long. How you can’t listen to your wife, or you’ll never do nothin’.’

‘You can’t, Clem. Women just wanna hold you back. You’re a pay cheque to them, that’s all. They don’t care about gold. They can’t see the big picture.’

‘Exactly. So, we need to decide.’

‘Too right.’ He sat up.

‘We need to work out when.’

As he thought about this, the rain stopped. And as he thought some more, the wind died down. And finally, before he could pass judgement, the sun popped out from behind a cloud. ‘What do you reckon, Clem?’

‘I’ve just gone back to school. That gives me twelve, thirteen weeks before the next holidays. That’d be enough time to get ready, eh?’

‘I reckon.’

I studied the concrete for clues. ‘We got some stuff, haven’t we?’

‘Ground covers, that old tent, but I guess by then—when’s that?’

‘September.’

‘We could sleep under the stars. But we might need swags, maps, cooking pots, grills … heapa stuff. But I gotta bit of cash, Clem. You know, rainy day.’

‘Good.’

But it didn’t feel so good. What if I’d started something I couldn’t finish?

‘We can get all that. We can go, Clem. I’ll even get the Datsun ready.’

‘The Datsun? Would it go that far?’

‘Of course. Ends of the earth. Main thing is, if we say it, we gotta do it, don’t we, Clem?’

‘Of course. September.’

‘September.’ He was upright, animated, the warmth of his blood had coloured his face and body, and he was jumping about, happy (I guess) to be out of his counting cage. ‘But one thing …’

‘What’s that?’

‘We gotta keep it secret.’

‘I agree.’

‘Your mother would find some way to stop it. And imagine, even if it’s just a chunk this big …’ He held out a flat palm. ‘I could end me days sailing the Whitsundays. I seen that in the Post. Beaches as white as … bloody white beaches. And these big mountains. Where they filmed South Pacific, cos it looked better than that.’

I saw how he glowed. That’d be worth the petrol, surely, I thought.

We shook on it and spent the next ten minutes discussing logistics. It was a three-week break. That was more than enough. And three, four hundred dollars, we’d be set to go. As long as we didn’t tell Mum or Jen, which was sort of the same thing.