All because of Ernie, and his ability to talk underwater. Alan, and a set of new switching units for the Railways, made for nearly a hundred per cent profit.

As I’ve said before, that’s the way it was done back then. People weren’t crooked—just practical.

I stood, stretched and made for the kitchen. Val had been rearranging photos. There was a new one. Our backyard, an empty paddock, before (even) Frontline Ford. Hills in the distance, blue sky, suburb-free country. Mum, glaring at the camera like she was saying, Go on then, take the bloody thing. A man in the mid-distance fiddling with what might have been a pipe. And at the back, in front of the new fence, the figure, I guessed.

Val came up beside me. ‘I found that one, too.’

I indicated the small man, his face turned away from the camera.

‘Wilf,’ she said.

The hair was the same. A slight wave. Right height, and broad shoulders.

Val said, ‘He’d just done yer fence, and ours. Sid helped him.’

No me, or Jen, but two little boys looking over the fence from number 33.

‘He came to our place,’ I said.

‘Who?’ she asked.

‘Dad.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. That’s him.’ And I pointed again.

‘What’d he say?’

‘Wanted to see Mum. I said she was out, but he didn’t say who he was.’

‘Didn’t ask how you were going?’

‘No.’

‘That’s strange. Why he’d come back, after so long. You sure it was him?’

‘I’m sure. Although Mum said it couldn’ta been.’ And I explained the letter.

‘Well, it mustn’ta been,’ she said.

‘I reckon it was. I reckon the letter’s wrong.’

She didn’t seem so happy talking about it this time. Maybe she knew what would come from his return. ‘Like I said, there was a lotta bad business.’

‘But he wouldn’t say what he wanted.’

‘Even if it was him, how’s it gonna help if …’ She seemed to put it out of her head. ‘Wanna cuppa?’

‘Please.’

‘Davo, Pete, wanna cuppa?’

And they said they did.

She went into the kitchen. ‘That coulda been a hundred people. If it was yer dad, don’t you think he woulda said somethin’?’

‘I guess.’

‘Couldn’t just stand and look at yer kid, all grown up, and not say somethin’. Probably just someone she called for a quote. I know you’re probably interested but … lotta fellas look like that.’

As the kettle started hissing I kept studying the photo. The neck, the cheeks, all black and white and blurred, but the same.

‘I gotta bita sultana cake, wanna bit?’

‘Ta.’

‘And you told yer mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘Pity. Just the thought’d upset her, I guess.’

I sat while she filled the pot, covered it with its beanie, set out the cups. Providence slept on the floor in the little bit of sun that had turned the lino white.