Curtis said, ‘Clem’s showing me how his telescope works.’

Mum glanced out the window. ‘That’s a bit unsavoury, isn’t it, Curtis?’

‘What?’

‘You know …’ There was no point continuing. ‘How’s John settled in?’

Curtis pushed the telescope towards me. ‘He worked with Dad for a few days, but chucked it in.’

‘Why?’

‘Cos he’s John.’

‘What’s he gonna do now?’

Curtis stared at the shag pile, as if this was a question he shouldn’t, couldn’t answer. ‘You know … Mum’s a bit worried.’

Mum must’ve thought, fresh clothes, new day, no time for dragging your tail. ‘I’m sure it’ll work out. Some people need a while to find their way, don’t they, Clem?’

‘Why you asking me?’

She didn’t reply; smiled; lifted an eyebrow. ‘He keeps a book, don’t you, Clem? Where is it?’

I’d hidden it.

‘Writes down all his thoughts … don’t you?’

I refused to reply.

‘Like Anne Frank. And he’s made little notes about everyone. I’m sure you’re in it too, Curtis.’

‘He can write what he likes, Mrs Whelan. Doesn’t bother me.’

Mum realised it wasn’t going to work. ‘Says a bit about Mr Glasson, don’t you, Clem? Reckons he’s—’

‘Mum, thanks for the shirts.’

‘—got a dozen children lined up behind sewing machines, making the car seats. Apparently Ron had some sort of sect, and multiple wives …’

I stood and helped her from the room, but she was giggling.

‘… and now …’

I closed the door and reclaimed the eyepiece. ‘Sorry.’ Mr Glasson had gone, but the girl was standing, fanning herself with one of his brochures. ‘She’s getting hot.’

Curtis grabbed it. ‘They’re fuckin’ enormous.’

‘Why’d he quit his job?’

‘Sacked. Told some guy to fuck off. He’ll end up back at McNally’s.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Those dicks he went to school with, round the block. I saw him with them … There’s an older brother, and he’s been to prison.’

‘So what can your parents do?’

He looked up. ‘We should take some photos.’

‘Isn’t that against the law?’

We waited. Mr Glasson returned with car seats and started fitting them.

‘They’re doin’ break-ins again?’

‘Probably.’

‘Shouldn’t you tell someone?’

‘Why? It’s not my problem. It’s better when he’s gone.’