Down Ashfield Street, across the mound to the Housing Trust flats with their pit bulls and stumped Toranas. Number thirteen. Knock, knock. But instead of Tracey, an older woman, smelling of mum.

Curtis introduced himself and asked if Tracey was home and mum agreed, reluctantly. ‘You’re the one she does art with?’

‘I reckon.’

‘Trace! And who’s this?’

‘Clem—me mate.’

She didn’t like the look of this at all. But Tracey emerged, led us into the garden and Curtis gave her his snaps, and she smiled and said, ‘Don’t let him see—it’s private, eh?’

‘He’s okay.’

‘You wanna come in?’

But Curtis noticed mum, holding the blinds open. ‘Maybe not. I better go home and learn.’

‘Okay.’ Despite seeing the curtain moving, she took his arm, squeezed it and kissed him.

‘Can’t wait for next Thursday,’ Curtis said.

‘Ssh!’ She punched him.

He turned to me. ‘We’re goin’ to the movies—’ And back to Tracey. ‘Aren’t we, Trace?’ And he winked at her, and she said, ‘Yeah, that’s it, the movies.’

Walking home, Curtis said, ‘Think you owe me an apology.’

‘Fuck!’ As she walked past again. ‘Fuck!’ Twitched a few times, carried on.

You had to feel sorry for her. Curtis saw the humorous side (of course), imagining what it would’ve been like having Tourette’s in Thomo’s class, or Jacob’s economics, answering every question with a fuck, as they were forced to smile, and continue, Anyone know? Three factors affecting GDP?

I sat on my bed, focusing, watching her continue down the street.

3/vi/84 It’s a pity, because she’s pretty good-looking. Years ago a couple of kids started teasing her, riding their bikes around her, saying things like, What’s it like to be spaz? Me and Curtis watched and Curtis said they shouldn’t get away with it and I said whatcher gonna do? He stormed out the door, picked a couple of lemons off our tree, walked out front and threw them. One hit a boy in the temple, and he fell, luckily across the dead grass of the median strip. Then there were words, and they rode off. Problem solved.

I continued watching through the lens that concentrated Lanark Avenue. Of course, there was more to Lanark II than what I’ve described. The house next to the Glassons, for instance. It was close enough. Between Val and Ernie on the other side. They were called Davies, and the son had a Kingswood that he’d fix most nights, revving it for a full ten minutes. There was a mother, and she always wore an apron, and you could see her lifting the venetians and looking out, and I guess she’d go to the phone and call her sister (or someone) and say, Oh, you wanna hear a story? That strange woman across the road … you know, the one with the cats?