‘You two should know better,’ Ida said. ‘What if something goes wrong? It’ll all be down to Clem.’

‘He’s up to the job,’ Pop said.

‘How will Fay know what’s goin’ on? Once you go, she’ll be worried sick.’

‘She’ll be fine.’

‘How you gonna keep in touch?’

‘Give it a rest,’ Ernie said. ‘We’ll ring you.’

‘And when we come home with a boat loada gold?’ Pop asked.

‘I’m not holding my breath.’

We pushed again, and the trailer emerged into the sodium-lit night. It was warm, overcast, and blowy. That’s why Pop had chosen his moment. No one would hear the commotion. The trailer ground on its flat tyres. The springs amplified every bump in the concrete. There was no suspension. The whole thing shook and wobbled like it might fall apart at any moment.

Ida wasn’t finished. ‘What if I tell Fay?’

‘You won’t,’ Ernie replied.

‘If it’s the only way to make you lot see sense.’

‘She won’t,’ he told us.

‘I will.’

‘You do, you watch. Whose name’s on the deed?’

‘You can have it. Loada shit, anyway.’

She’d always thought this. Always wanted brick, or a nicer street, suburb, life. Ernie was the eternal disappointment. She’d tell anyone who’d listen. I chose bad. I shoulda waited, seen what else was available.

‘You tell anyone, you see,’ Ernie said.

‘Yer mad, the lot of yer. You haven’t thought it through. I wouldn’t mind if yers were goin’ fishin’ or somethin’, but gold.’ And with that she turned and went in, slamming the door.

‘She’ll be okay,’ Ernie said. ‘Now come on.’

We got behind the trailer, pushed it down the drive and onto the street. Then the skipping woman buzzed past, singing. Ernie said, ‘At this time of night?’

Pop shooshed him and we continued. Ernie said, ‘Saw you on the telly last night, Doug.’

He didn’t reply. He’d refused to watch. Mum had made popcorn and cracked fresh Coke and we’d laughed, and Pop had come out of his room and switched it off, but Mum had switched it back on. Then he’d said, ‘Think it’s funny?’

‘No, but it’s strange to see you on the telly.’

Back on the road, Ernie said, ‘You hada bita bad luck.’

Pop shook his head. ‘I don’t know why I agreed.’

‘Every time it spun me and Ida were rootin’ for yer. Woulda been nice if they’d given you some sort of prize. My sister went on Tony Barber.’

‘She win?’ I asked.

‘First night. They offered her a trip to Tassie but she turned it down. Always regretted it. Second night, put on this professor, and that was that.’

‘Never been to Tassie,’ Pop said.

‘No,’ Ern agreed. ‘They reckon it’s nice.’