‘Don’t worry, it’s sorted.’ I wondered if I should tell her, but remembered Pop’s words. Welded to their mothers …

She said, ‘It just slipped out.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘What’s he gonna do?’

‘Wait and see. He won’t give up. But don’t tell your mum’

‘No, definitely not.’

‘D’you get the job?’

‘Of course.’

‘You’re a shy little thing.’

I thought about removing the fly screen, letting her in, and all the other things that were due. But I had to be strong—the clock was set for four thirty. So I said, ‘Might have another go at your garden tomorrow.’

Pop at my door. ‘You awake?’

As I tumbled into consciousness. ‘Yeah.’ And checked my clock: 4.21.

‘Come on.’

I pulled the clock’s cord from the wall, got out of bed (jeans, shirt and jacket ready to go), slipped on my shoes, found my backpack and emerged from my room. Pop whispered, ‘The kitchen.’

Where he’d filled two bowls with cereal and milk; where we ate, silently, by the glow of the microwave clock. He’d dressed, combed his hair, written a note (Don’t fuss, just a few days. We’ll call with the good news) and made tea. We finished, went outside, and Ernie was waiting, jacketed, heavy boots, freshly shaved. ‘You’re early,’ Pop whispered.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

He was agitated, but I guessed this was excitement. He wore a woven cap, like he was ready for a bank job, or a week on the wharves. ‘Here.’ A Tupperware container full of fried eggs and bacon. ‘Ida’s just done it.’

Pop knew there was no time. ‘Come on.’

The shed door groaned, but he slowly lifted it and switched on the light. We got behind the trailer and pushed it to the road, by which time Peter was emerging from number 33. Pop opened the boot and we threw our bags in. No talking; it wasn’t needed. Everything had been discussed, arranged, made ready.

I studied the street. A light was on in number 35 and I fancied I could see Ida watching from a window. Ern noticed and said, ‘She’s going back to bed.’ It was a cool morning, and the birds were already at it. Providence sat at the end of Val’s drive and Peter said, ‘Get inside.’

Pop used hand signals to lead. We pushed the trailer, attached it to the Datsun and I fixed the shackles and plug. Then Pop said, ‘Ready?’

Sometimes dreams are bouncy castles, half-filled with air. But this felt good, like the Mad Mouse, ready to fly into the universe. And we four were holding on for dear life, because it was expensive and you only got one go and if you never rode the coaster then how could you know what it was really like?