‘Take care of yourself.’ And they continued, hand in hand.

Raised voices from number 29. Anne versus John, by the sound of it. Pop stood, took a few steps, then waited.

‘Wasn’t me.’

‘Carn, tell me.’

A vase or something like it smashing.

Pop walked from our yard, along the fifty or so metres of footpath, and down the Burrells’ drive. I ran out of the house, across the yard (the grass soggy under my feet) and jumped the fence, then hid under the windows. Inside, the voices continued. John said, ‘You’ve got no bloody idea.’

‘It wasn’t me.’

I heard Pop knocking and say, ‘Anyone home?’ and for a moment the voices stopped.

‘Come in,’ Anne said, and I heard the screen door open and close.

Pop said, ‘I haven’t been in to say hello since you got back.’

Silence. I moved around and sat on the verandah. I could imagine the choreography, the three figures in awkward counterpoint.

‘Settled in?’ Pop asked.

A long pause.

‘John?’ Anne said.

‘I heard!’

‘I wanted to give you a while, get back on your feet. You don’t want some old bastard like me …’

‘John?’

‘I heard him!’

‘You okay?’ Pop said.

‘The discussion, Doug, was about … why don’t you tell him, Mum?’

Nothing.

‘How someone must’ve said something for the cops to know. And you’d think, wouldn’t you, Doug, someone who’s got it in for you. But you wouldn’t think your own mother.’

‘Well,’ Pop said, ‘there’s no use—’

Rustling, like Pop might’ve come between them, like he was holding John back.

‘Nothing of the sort,’ Anne defended.

‘I was about to tell Mum what happens at McNally’s. I’ve told her about the meals and the way they make you play basketball and how you can only watch telly for an hour a day, but I haven’t—’

‘Come on,’ Pop said. ‘I got somethin’ to show yer.’ And a long, slippery silence where I guessed Pop was holding John, walking him towards the door.

I stood and hid around the corner. They came out, and Pop was leading him by the arm, down the drive, towards number 31. I followed at a distance. They went into the shed and I stood outside, listening.

‘There,’ Pop said. ‘Nice mess, eh?’

A minute where, I guessed, John walked around the car, studied the problem and said, ‘You gonna leave it like that?’

‘Yep. That’s the end of my efforts, mechanic-wise.’

‘But he’s gonna want it fixed, isn’t he?’

‘I’d say. You wanna have a go?’

It seemed strange that he’d ask John, but not me.

‘First up, you’re gonna have to lift it again.’

I listened as John gathered the chains, attached them, then started pulling them through the gears.

‘Easy enough, but it’s done a bit of damage.’

And I imagined Pop checking.

‘Yes, that’ll need fixing. Clem said he’ll have a go.’

Clatter, tools, then the clicking of a wrench. ‘All this will have to come off first, Doug.’