He’d given me a present. But old blokes like Pop only did something for a reason. Old Spice, because he wanted to give me a pound. And now it was done there’d never be another present. Which was okay.

He’d had enough. ‘We need to fill those water drums, make sure they don’t leak.’

‘Done it.’

‘Righto. We’ll need plenty of warm clothes, even in September. Middle of the desert. Plenty of them explorers died of exposure.’

We saw the dog first: Fi-Fi, staring at us, a little yelp, then Ernie looking down the drive. ‘Hey, Doug.’

‘Quick, shut the door,’ Pop said. He stood, dropped his smoke and reached up.

‘What you up to?’ Ernie asked, starting down the drive.

‘Nothing.’ He turned to me. ‘Help, will yer?’

I reached for it and started pulling it down, but Ernie was already there.

‘What’s all that gear?’ he asked.

‘Nothin’,’ Pop said, giving up on the door.

Ernie came in the shed, inspected the equipment and said, ‘Like yer gonna invade Russia.’

Pop refused to comment.

‘Doug?’

‘I told you, we’re goin’ camping.’

Ernie sat down. ‘You promised, Doug.’

Pop lit another smoke, looked down the drive and said, ‘We gotta finish up. Fay comes home she’ll see this lot.’

‘So?’

I could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

‘I won’t take up much room.’

‘You won’t take up any.’

‘This isn’t fair.’ He squeezed my arm. ‘You got yer licence yet?’

‘He doesn’t need a licence to drive a Datsun. Any idiot can do that.’

Ernie said, ‘You’re too old for them thousands of kilometres, Doug.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘And Clem, it’s a lot for someone still at school.’

‘We’ll manage.’

‘Easier with three.’

‘Two’s enough.’

‘You’d regret it.’

Pop turned on him. ‘Regret it? What? Not takin’ you?’

‘We had an agreement.’

‘When?’

‘You’ve got a selective memory.’

‘Bullshit.’ He closed the door, then returned to Ernie. ‘Look at all this. How we gonna get it in with you takin’ up half the back seat?’

Fi-Fi pissed against the wall. Pop used his foot to lift her off the ground, but even this didn’t bother Ernie. He said, ‘What about my trailer?’

‘What trailer?’

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Pop stood firm. If he went, he was conceding. ‘This is my trip, mine.’

Ern just waited.

‘Pommy bastard!’ He kicked a water container. ‘Right! Show us!’

A few minutes later we were in Ernie’s shed. He removed a tarp and revealed his trailer, rusted, flat tyres, uneven from broken springs and suspension. ‘That Datsun got a tow bar?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good-o. Bita spit and polish. Was a time you’d fix somethin’ like this in an afternoon.’

Pop shook his head. ‘I’m not takin’ that dog.’

Ernie shrugged, but then said, ‘She sits in my lap.’

July

Somehow, Curtis had convinced the owner of the North East Road BP to give him a job. Mr Haslam had been one of our childhood idols. Mum’d pull up in the Datsun, he’d be waiting (never busy with anything else), pop his head in the window and say, ‘Usual, Fay?’