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seeing Mrs Price working in the garden. There was a painted flagpole, Farren remembering the Australian flag flying there during summer, bluer than the sky, white stars rippling one after the other. Robbie opened the wire gate and went through.
    ‘Come on in, Foxy. The old girl might not go so spare if you’re here.’
    Farren, uncertain, followed. Mrs Price wasn’t real well; everyone knew that, although he’d never seen any great proof of her supposed mentalness. Mostly, when he’d seen her, she was just out in the garden cutting flowers or weeding, wearing a big white hat with a veil on it like a beekeeper. He followed Robbie around to the back step where they took their boots off, Robbie wringing out his socks, producing caterpillars of dirty water.
    ‘Ah, yes sir-ee.’ He draped them over a garden tap. ‘Further proof of my very good seamanship.’ Barefoot, he opened the door, calling out as he went inside. ‘I’m home, Mum! And I’m, er, a littlebit damp. And we’ve got a visitor. Plus I’ve got a bit of a bump on me head.’
    The Price’s kitchen, Farren reckoned, shone with all the brightness of a lolly shop. Drinking glasses sparkled, a set of scales sat on the polished bench, twin bowls of fruit kept each other company, and the comforting smell of a stove just about to produce a cake set his stomach gurgling. It was a bonzer house, all right. The best he’d ever been in.
    Mrs Price appeared, and although Farren didn’t know much about town ladies, he knew Mrs Price certainly was one. Her dark green dress was divided down the front by twin rows of pearly buttons, her coppery hair was coiled tightly on her head, and her eyes were a piercing, wild blue. He took a step back.
    ‘You know Farren Fox, don’t you, Mum?’ Robbie said. ‘He helped me when I fell in the inlet and hit my head on a log.’
    ‘I really just helped ’im get out.’ Farren shrugged, feeling the lie as a kind of stiffness in his joints. ‘He was a bit dizzy an’ that.’
    As Mrs Price inspected Robbie’s bump Farren guessed that he’d have to deal with Captain Price’s boat by himself. He doubted Robbie’d be allowed to go any place else this afternoon.
    ‘Hmmm,’ Mrs Price murmured, her mouth set in a straight line. ‘That bump is about as unpalatable as your story, Robert. But let’s leave it at that, shall we?’
    Farren sailed the Jane-Eliza out to her mooring then set about pulling down the sail. He grinned as he worked, wondering how he and Robbie had managed not to be mates for so long – even going so far as to decide that despite their ongoing battle they’d always almost liked each other. Or at least each knew the otherwasn’t quite the no-hoper he was supposed to be.
    Anyway, things had changed between them. But it was Robbie, Farren reckoned, who’d changed the most. He seemed about ten times more reckless than he had been at school. He didn’t seem to give two hoots about anything, and it was all to do with his dad being missing, Farren figured. Compared to that, no wonder he couldn’t have cared less about taking the boat, getting a bump on his head, and telling a few fibs.
    So he and Robbie were about even, which was generally the best way between mates. Robbie had a real good house with a piano and pictures, a slightly mad mother, and his dad was missing, but he, Farren, had a dad and a brother, a great boat, and no mum and a little old house. Yep, just about even for sure. Whistling quietly, Farren rowed the Price’s dinghy to shore, deciding that all things considered, it had been a pretty good day.

SIX
    The following weekend, Farren was grudgingly on his way to cadets in his baggy olive-green uniform. His boots, brown and badly polished, caught the sun on their toes and he did his best to avoid puddles, knowing that Captain Gamble absolutely hated mud and muddy boots. ‘ Detested ’ was the word the retired soldier used, a word enthusiastically copied by all the boys whenever possible.
    On