“What you’ve got to understand, Mick,” said the man in the uniform, “is that a big dog like that doesn’t just damage property, like the exhibits he wrecked. If he was to bite someone, well, that ‘ud be it, really. Gert big German shepherd can cause horrific injuries to someone, ‘specially a kid, like.”

“Ar,” agreed Mick. “No one was hurt, though, Bill, and I did agree to pay for the damage.”

Sergeant Beechgood had just finished his shift and was enjoying a glass of Apple’s organic brew, with a good wedge of her ripest cheese. From the snippet of conversation Nat had heard, it sounded as though someone had made a complaint. Bill Beechgood continued his lecture.

“And you don’t want to be making an enemy of Davis. His father’s one of them Masons. Owns a lot of land around Temple Gurney.”

“He wasn’t bitten,” protested Jude, laughter in her voice, “just a bit hot after running such a long way.”

Nat didn’t smile. It would have been funny if he hadn’t seen that terrible gleam of intent in Woody’s eyes when he caught up with Teddy.

“Look, Bill, I know you have a job to do, but that Davis kid is a no-good,” said Apple with feeling. “It’s him you should go and see. He’s the one who causes all the problems in the village. He’s the one who I’ve seen bullying and smoking and worse. He ought to be given one of those Anti-Social Behavior Orders, ASBOs.”

The sergeant sighed heavily. “This isn’t official, but just keep your eye on that dog. P’raps you could get your Nat to take him to training classes or summat?”

There were vague murmurings from the other adults in the garden. Nat let his breath out in relief. More laughter followed, and he hoped the serious stuff was over. He heard the sergeant open the creaky front gate as he took his leave. “By the way, Mick, I hope you haven’t been using a hose. I noticed ‘s mornin’ your grass looks a bit special.”

Nat could hear his mum laughing, and realized it was the first time he had heard her laugh, really laugh, for weeks; maybe she’d had some good news from Dad.

Mick came into the kitchen and jumped when he saw Nat sitting at the table with a glass of milk.

“How long have you been sat there?” he asked.

“Ages,” said Nat soggily, through a milk mustache.

“You found him, then?” Mick said, nodding toward Woody, who lay dozing on the floor.

“Yeah, he was hiding under a truck,” said Nat. “He was a bit frightened.”

“Not as frightened as that Davis kiddie.” Mick grinned. “His dad’s complained to Bill Beechgood about what happened. Best try to keep a low profile for the next couple of days.”

Nat smiled wearily; Iona had used exactly the same words.