‘And David, there.’ She indicated a boy with a dangerous grin. ‘Main thing is, don’t put him in it.’ Pointing to number 35. ‘He’s a horror. Woulda been good livin’ here, if not for him.’

Providence was almost snoring.

She gathered her nightie in her lap and said, ‘Coupla cats never hurt no one. What sorta person woulda dobbed me in? What d’you reckon, Clem?’

‘Maybe it wasn’t Ernie?’

She waited, unsure.

‘Pop isn’t always sure what he’s doing.’

‘Doug?’

‘I mean, he can’t drive. He just about killed this kid on a bike the other day. And half of what he says doesn’t make sense.’

‘Doug?’

‘You can’t get angry with him, Val.’

‘Jesus, but I told Ernie …’

I’d put that in, too. Chris Knowlson in his yard calling, I don’t know what you’re on about, Annie.

You know.

Check yer facts.

‘I’m sure he wasn’t thinking,’ I said. But she must’ve been remembering the hundreds of times she’d looked after us, the bowls of sugar and bags of mandarins.

‘I must talk to Ernie, and say sorry.’

‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘No, it’s all good, Clem.’

The front door, and steps in the hallway. Peter came in wearing his council chamber best, his 1969 special. He stared at Providence. ‘Mum … what you done?’

‘He was under the house. Tell him, Clem.’

‘I had to drag him out.’

Peter opened the fridge and poured himself water. ‘Well, I did what I could.’

‘How’s that?’ Val asked.

‘This Alan character, he reckons John helped him steal vodka. But John swears black and blue. And I tend to believe him.’

‘What about Anne?’

‘Sittin’ in the corner crying. Don’t think she knows what to believe.’

‘You gonna represent him?’ I asked.

‘That’s the thing,’ he said. ‘This tall fella comes in—defence attorney—and says, I’ve got it, Mr Donnellan, is it? And I say, I think I’ll take it, but then Anne looks at me, then John, so …’

‘You can only offer,’ Val said.

‘They’re nuts,’ Dave added. ‘Some kid, I bet?’

‘Yeah … a kid.’ He stroked the cat’s head. ‘Might be best, anyway. I haven’t kept up with it.’

He studied the lino, and knew. There’d be no legal renaissance. Once you’d started mowing your yard with a scythe.

23/v/84 Mr Thomson is the opposite of everyone. Sits, most lessons, reading the newspaper, occasionally scratching his arse, before turning the page and saying, ‘Everyone okay?’