I leaned a ladder against the tool shed, climbed up then slid my arse over the iron and sat on the edge. It was only three metres, but I supposed you could still break something. This had been my Kitty Hawk, where the supersonic action had begun. Six or seven, looking down, wondering if it was survivable, mustering the courage, then throwing myself off, rolling (cos that’s how they did it on CHiPS). Now, it seemed higher. The thought of jumping, ridiculous. Obviously, something would get damaged. But I wondered if it was because I was less supple, or less brave?

I took out a blank page, flattened it on a clipboard and wrote:

The boy Arnold was scared of heights. And one day, decided there was only one way to fix the problem. So he climbed the shed and jumped off. He felt his knee collapse, and bend under his body, and at first there was no pain. But after a few seconds he became aware of what he’d done.

Pop came out of the shed with his hammer and nails, picked the iron sheets off the lawn and started hammering them back on.

‘Want a hand?’ I called.

He squinted to see me. ‘What the hell you doin’ up there?’

‘Nothin’ much.’

He hammered.

Barry Ruge was angry with himself. For letting his fence collapse (all three hundred metres of it), his house, too. First, the asbestos sheets, then the roof iron, the pipes, cables, then the frame, all of it. Until he and his family were sitting beside a pile of building junk. Him saying, ‘I shoulda done something about it,’ and his granddaughter, Cicely, saying, ‘Listen, Pop, it wasn’t your fault.’

He nailed on the second sheet, stood back, admired his efforts and came over. ‘You slip off there, we’re not driving you to hospital.’

‘I’ve been jumping off for years.’

Soon the rubble sank into the earth. A sinkhole opened and swallowed the family. Barry called to Cicely. ‘Listen, love, I was meaning to fix it. But I been busy. I’m sorry …’

‘D’you talk to your sister?’ he asked.

‘She’s okay.’

‘Explain that …’ But he just wandered into the house, taking his hammer. Something must’ve needed fixing. I could see over the fence into number 29. Curtis, climbing the ladder to his cubby house, emerging, hiding something.