He stood smiling, playing with his mo. ‘How are you, son?’

I just glared at Mum, but she didn’t care. ‘Like the other room, nice view out the front. We hada coupla big trees but cut ’em down. Nicer that way, don’t you think?’

‘Of course. Brings light into the room.’

I guessed he’d agree with anything if it might help his chances. He checked the ceiling, walls, tried my window, the carpet with his shoes. ‘You got it nice in here.’

‘Of course, it’s a hovel,’ Mum said. ‘I asked him to clean it …’

‘I did.’

‘That’s okay,’ the agent said. ‘I got a bloke too. He’s growing potatoes in his room, I reckon.’

And then he was gone, up the hall, into the lounge room, and I heard Pop say, ‘We’re not sellin’ it,’ and the agent reply, ‘No, I understand the situation. Just givin’ yer daughter a price.’

Les’s car cruised into the drive of number 28. He and Wendy got out, and talked to each other. Him in a suit, like he’d just been to a funeral, her in a long frock, like she’d just been to the sales at Myer. He used his hands, but descriptively. Then leaned forward, held her arm, kissed her cheek. Like that. And she let him. Like he was saying, You wouldn’t be dead for quids, would you?

They went in, closed the door, and I was left wondering. Why we’d carried the esky across the road, given her the mattress, tea, milk and cold chops. If something was wrong, didn’t it stay wrong? John never got better; Dave didn’t improve. It was like the whole street was in a permanent state of decay. Soil shifted, houses crumbled, weeds grew, cats and rats bred; the arguments at dusk; the mowers at eight on a Sunday morning.

‘I’ll just give you a look in the shed,’ Mum said.

‘No, that’s private,’ Pop growled.

‘Just a look,’ and I heard her and the agent disappearing out the back door, Pop following, saying, ‘If you don’t mind.’

Too good to miss, I followed them out, and waited at the shed door. The agent said, ‘Beautiful Jag. My Pop had one.’

I could see Pop’s face.

‘As you can see,’ Mum said, ‘plenty of room. My father’s been fixing up cars for years. Like a business.’

‘Yes, I can see that. You’re well-stocked, Doug.’

I could see him, fuming.

‘Good concrete floor,’ Mum said. ‘My husband laid this.’

Suddenly it was my husband. Suddenly he’d come back to life.

They stepped out, and Mum seemed surprised to see me. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

She showed him the yard. ‘Plenty of room for the kids to run around.’

He made a note.

‘You and Jen, eh, Clem, you’ve had plenty of good times out here?’