‘Of course, she’s the queen,’ he said, indicating a superb parrot. ‘Look at the yellow on that head.’ He filled a seed tray from a bag of grain, inserted it between the wire and watched them eating. The superb parrot just sat there; like she felt the dislocation most keenly.

‘She’s not hungry,’ I said, indicating.

‘She will be,’ he half-sang. ‘Wait here.’

He went in, and banged around inside. I watched the birds as they explored their new patch; wire, shitty ground, cloudy water. He came out with two cold beers, pulled up a bench and motioned for me to sit. Then he gave me a beer and I said, ‘I dunno.’

I looked down the drive. The angle obscured number 31, so in theory … I took a swig, and liked it (I’d got the taste from a few strays in the cubby). Les just said, ‘You’re old enough?’

‘Nearly.’

‘Close enough. I’s drinkin’ at eleven, and it never hurt me.’ There was a crimson rosella, but he didn’t seem that interested. ‘Nice selection. I had plenty more, but I only want one of each, so I let the rest go.’

Then he explained: a family shack in the mallee, and a trapping expedition with his brother. ‘He’s clever, see. Sets out a net, connects it to these long branches then waits. One strays in, whoosh, got it.’

He drank half a bottle in one go. ‘So then you got a couple of mallee parrots. Don’t want ’em, let ’em go. Wait a bit longer. We were there most of the night, but we got a nice selection, eh?’

‘I reckon.’ Once you got the taste, it slipped down the throat. I kept checking, but there was no way Mum could see.

‘That how you get all your birds?’ I asked.

‘Yep.’ He finished, went in and returned with another two bottles. He cracked his and said, ‘My brother loves his birds. He’s got an aviary the size of our house. Hundreds of ’em. Sells ’em to the shops.’

‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’

‘He never moved to the city. See, smart. I shoulda stayed there.’

The scratching of small feet.

‘That’s what we did when we were kids,’ he said.

‘Trapped birds?’

‘Go out for days at a time.’ He was remembering. Two boys, bare feet, thorny acacia and frogmouth. ‘We had to, Clem.’

‘How’s that?’

He held up his beer. ‘The old man was permanently pissed, so Mum relied on us. No school past ten. That’s why I’m always on at you to keep going.’

‘I will.’ I drank. I could feel the happy numbing, as slow as test cricket.

‘He’d clobber her, so we preferred it out camping and trapping.’ He seemed to lose interest in the birds, and studied the ground beneath his feet. ‘Anyway, it was a bita money, so it helped.’