Ernie said, ‘He was never quite right, was he?’

‘Just different,’ I said. ‘Thoughtful.’

‘Doesn’t pay to think about things too much.’ Ern had his own orthodoxy, written and spoken on a daily basis. Sensible, fair, equitable. These small, suburban revolutions didn’t matter. If Ossie had just got on with things … No one had to kill themselves.

Pop’s arm pushed saw into flesh, and it cut, and the wet, green tissue fell to the ground. The trunk moved, and he cut it some more, moved some more, and he pushed it with his foot, and it fell.

‘Done,’ he said, returning.

Good, I thought. Me and Vicky and Tina and everything that might happen now: all in the future. Books were for memories; stories, too, over a cuppa, but not lemon trees.

Tina came out with a tray and handed us a glass of barley water. ‘I do appreciate this, fellas.’

‘Glad to help,’ Pop said.

As we drank, she noticed which trees had fallen. ‘Lotta work, eh?’

‘Not so much,’ Pop said.

‘I was gonna get someone in, but Fay reckoned it wasn’t worth it.’

‘Na, why pay someone?’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes lingering on the lemon. ‘Good job, I’d say.’ Before she went in.

‘What next?’ Ernie asked.

‘I’ve had enough,’ Pop replied. ‘Don’t wanna pull a muscle, this close.’

Suddenly, a raised voice, from inside. Mum, of course. ‘When did he say that?’

‘Careful,’ Pop said.

Then she was at the back door, hands on hips—never a good sign. ‘You got something to tell me, Dad?’

‘What you talking about?’

Tina stood behind her, terrified.

‘You and yer bloody reef!’

Shit, I thought. Vicky. I remembered what Pop had told me dozens of times: They always tell their mothers.

Pop said, ‘When you start makin’ sense …’

‘Packed ready to go?’

‘What are you talkin’ about?’ He turned to Ernie, who played along, and me, although it was more, I’m gonna kill you, you little shit.

Mum stormed across the road towards our shed. We followed. The trinity of naughty boys, and Tina, saying, ‘I thought she knew.’

‘No, she didn’t bloody well know,’ Pop said.

Through the gate, to the side door of the shed. Locked, of course. Mum stood waiting, and Pop had no choice but to let her in. He switched on the lights and attempted an explanation. ‘All planned.’

‘When?’

‘Soon. Ernie and Pete are coming.’

She turned to Ernie. ‘He’s an old man.’

For once, he had nothing to say.

‘Clem—you knew?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t believe … your grandfather … you shoulda told me.’

‘He’s coming too,’ Pop said.

‘He is bloody not. I don’t believe it. All of yers. Behind my back.’ She lifted the tarp and said, ‘You were gonna look for this gold?’

‘Not this gold. Lasseter’s Reef. I know where it is. You know I know. Nan knew. So, what’s the problem?’