I tried everything I could think of to take my mind off the angina incident. I rested my head against the seat and listened to Bach, I thought back to the commission and tried matching the different residents to their respective apartment numbers, but nothing I did seemed to help. I didn’t know much about angina other than that it had something to do with a person’s heart and although I was keen to forget about Davey’s so-called honest mistake, it seemed kind of rude not to acknowledge it. After all, like Davey had said, Mr Romanov was my friend.

‘Does it hurt?’ I asked. ‘The angina, I mean.’

I gave the word some extra oomph just in case Davey was listening in the back.

‘Not so much,’ said Mr Romanov.

‘So you’re okay, then?’

‘Yes. If I take the pills, I am okay.’

I reached a hand up to lucky travel things on the dash and gave Delilah a gentle tap.

‘So, tell me about Leningrad,’ I said.

Mr Romanov seemed surprised. It was as if he’d forgotten about the conversation we’d had in the car before we stopped for breakfast.

‘Why do you ask, cowgirl?’ he said.

‘You mentioned it before, that’s all. I thought it might be somewhere special. But if you’d rather not, I . . .’

‘It is where I met Izabella,’ he said softly. ‘She was a dancer, a ballerina.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. One night at the Kirov Theatre I saw her dance. Of course, everyone went to see Nureyev but I saw only Izabella. She was like an angel.’

‘So what happened?’

‘When the ballet finished I waited in the snow outside. For two hours I waited.’

‘And then what?’

‘I was frozen. I had ice on my nose.’

‘And the rest is history?’

‘Yes, history. Some things I do not remember, cowgirl. Some things have gone forever, but I remember that night.’

‘No wonder. It sounds like a fairytale. Sort of like Cinderella in reverse.’

Davey made a huffing sound in the back.

‘It’s nothing like Cinderella,’ he said. ‘For a start Cinderella wasn’t a dancer. And I’m pretty sure Izabella didn’t have any ugly stepsisters.’

I still wasn’t able to look at Davey properly, so I angled my head and spoke from the corner of my mouth.

‘No one’s asking you, sicko. Anyway, I said it was sort of like Cinderella in reverse. There was an angel and there was a soldier with ice on his nose.’

‘It’s still nothing like . . .’

‘Can you be quiet? Seriously, I’ll chuck Worf out the window if you don’t shut up. What’s got into you, Davey?’

‘Nothing.’

I turned my head and snatched a quick look at him in the back.

‘Rubbish, Davey. You’ve been sulking and carrying on ever since we got out of the city. What’s wrong?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘Why not tell me now?’

‘Because if I tell you now, it won’t come true.’

‘What won’t come true?’

‘The wish,’ said Davey. ‘The wish I made when I planted the first thing in the garden.’

Something in Davey’s voice made me turn. When I looked at him, he seemed embarrassed.

‘It’s stupid, right?’

‘Not at all,’ I said.

‘Yeah, it is. Little kids make wishes. I’m thirteen years old.’

‘A wish isn’t stupid, Davey. A Worf doll is stupid.’

Davey ran his fingers through his mop of crazy brown hair.

‘I’ll tell you when we get to Beechworth,’ he said. ‘When we stop for lunch.’

Davey was different to the other boys at school. While they spent most of their time trying to impress each other with various point-scoring activities, Davey seemed happy to go it alone. He knew way too many facts for a thirteen-year-old. He was goofy and smart and while those things often singled him out for unwanted attention, they were the very things I liked about him the most. But something wasn’t right. For some reason, he seemed kind of spooked and while I understood the secrecy that went with wish-making, I wondered if maybe he had asked for something he was never going to get.

I didn’t have a clue where Beechworth was or how long it would take us to get there so I left Davey alone and let him stew on his own in the back. It was kind of nice to just sit there quietly with no one talking. Mr Romanov seemed happy and alert behind the wheel so I removed my hat, leaned against the side door and gave in to the gentle rocking of the car.

I was lost without the grey walls. When I opened my eyes I saw miles of open space, rolling green paddocks dotted with cows and sheep. The sun felt warm against my face so I stayed where I was, angled to the window and watched the colours flashing by. Slowly my senses returned and Davey’s muffled, underwater voice became clearer. I wasn’t ready for his chatter, not yet, so I closed my eyes and listened in.

‘I don’t know where,’ he said. ‘I think it was somewhere north of Sydney. No one knows exactly, though. He had depression, apparently. Some people think he did it on purpose, but I reckon he fell asleep because there were no tyre marks on the road. I mean, he was her dad. Why would he have done it on purpose?’

‘You are young,’ said Mr Romanov.

‘So? Doesn’t mean I don’t know anything.’

‘That is true. But like the flowers in our garden, some people grow to be strong and others do not.’

‘So that’s supposed to be a metaphor, is it?’ said Davey. ‘About life?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘Sometimes the flowers will not grow no matter how much we tend.’

‘Okay, but we’re talking about Lexie, Mr Romanov. If she’s not worth living for, then I don’t know who is. Her dad should have been strong, for her.’

All of a sudden my face began to burn.

‘And her mum’s not great,’ continued Davey. ‘You know she’s a junkie, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘I have seen her at night.’

‘That’s bad stuff, heroin. They put all sorts of stuff in it. I’ve never said anything of course, to Lexie, I mean, but it’s only a matter of time before something happens. And what then?’

It was strange to hear Davey talk like that. Just like his father, we’d never spoken about my mother before, never even acknowledged she had a problem. But that’s the way it was with everyone. It was as if my mother had ceased to exist. She’d become this thing, the half-dead zombie from 16B and, like everyone said, it was only a matter of time.

I didn’t want to hear any more so I faked a yawn then wiped my mouth and did my best to look drowsy.

‘Now that was a nap,’ I said, arching my back. ‘God, I haven’t slept like that for ages.’

I made some noises with my mouth and straightened up in the seat.

‘So then, where are we, fellas?’

No one answered, so I peered through the front window and spotted a large green signpost in the distance. The list of towns were a blur but as we got closer I read the first name and quickly swung myself around.

‘Beechworth, Davey. Five kilometres, it says. We’re nearly there.’

‘Yes, Lexie, I know.’

‘So why didn’t you wake me up?’

‘Because I knew you’d carry on, that’s why.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah, you. It’s what you do, Lexie, you carry on.’

It was hard to be cross with Davey after what he’d said about how I was something worth living for. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said.

‘So, you still stroppy?’ I asked. ‘Has he been stroppy, Mr Romanov?’

Mr Romanov glanced my way but seemed a little unsure of what to say.

‘Not so much,’ he said. ‘We . . . we were talking.’

This was going to be interesting.

‘What about?’ I asked.

‘Stuff,’ said Davey.

‘What stuff?’

‘You wouldn’t be interested, Lexie.’

‘Try me.’

‘It was guy stuff.’

‘So nothing important, then?’

‘See, this is exactly what I was talking about,’ said Davey. ‘I knew you’d carry on.’

‘I’m trying to take your mind off things, Davey.’

‘Yeah, well don’t bother. We’re nearly there. Turn left, please, Mr Romanov.’

After swinging the Merc left, we drove for about ten minutes then pulled into a car park in front of a large modern looking building. On the grassed area in the foreground, a cross-shaped flagpole rose up from a collection of giant boulders, its trio of flags flapping gently in the breeze. At first glance, the place looked like some sort of health resort but as I scanned the front of the building, I found an inscription on the sandstone wall to the right of the entrance.

‘Beechworth Correctional Centre.’

Suddenly everything made sense. I swivelled onto my knees and turned to Davey in the back.

‘Oh my God. Your dad.’

‘Yeah.’

‘No wonder you wanted to take the Hume. You knew all along. It’s your wish. This is awesome.’

Davey hadn’t moved since we’d stopped. He just sat there staring out the window, clutching a piece of white paper. The logo on the top looked official.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘What?’

I grabbed the back of my seat with two hands and pressed myself against it.

‘I can’t do it,’ he said again. ‘I think we should go.’

‘What are you talking about? We’ve come all this way, Davey. Mr Romanov, help me out here.’

After killing the engine, Mr Romanov unbuckled his belt and sat back in his seat.

‘It is not for us to say, cowgirl.’

It wasn’t the help I’d had in mind.

‘You’ll regret it,’ I said. ‘If we drive off now you’ll regret it as soon as we go.’

‘I haven’t seen him in five years, Lexie. What if . . .?’

‘He’s your dad, Davey.’

‘I know, but what if . . .?’

‘What if, what if, what if . . . There’s only one way to answer the what ifs and that’s to go in and talk to him. God, do you know what I’d give to be able to talk to my father again? I’d give anything.’

‘That’s different.’

‘Yeah, and that’s the point. I’ve got what ifs too, Davey, and I think about them every day and night. But the thing is, I’ll never get mine answered. I have to live with not knowing.’

Davey looked up from the paper in his hands.

‘Maybe that’s not so bad,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, let’s say you were given a wish, like me. Let’s say you got to see your father again, got to talk to him and his answers were ones you didn’t want to hear. Maybe it’s better not knowing. You ever thought about that?’

‘Never.’

It was the first time I’d spoken to Davey like that. I’m not sure if it helped, really, so when he gazed out the window to the prison on our left, I turned back to the front and sat quietly in my seat. Nothing happened for a while, no one said a word but then a door clicked open behind me.

‘I’ll see you soon then.’

Davey was already out when I looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t let him go like that so I opened my door and joined him. Mr Romanov bundled out through the driver’s side door and soon the three of us were standing together by the side of the car.

‘So,’ said Davey. ‘How do I look?’

‘Petrified,’ I said.

‘Good. That’s exactly the look I was going for.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Really.’

‘Fine? What the hell am I going to say?’

‘You should probably start with, “Hi, Dad”. Hey, maybe you should take Delilah in?’

‘I’m not taking Delilah in, Lexie.’

I took a few steps towards the car and after grabbing Delilah from the dash I handed her to Davey.

‘Put her in your pocket,’ I said. ‘You can show your dad how you’ve kept her all these years. She might be a good icebreaker.’

Davey was too nervous to argue. A few cars began to motor up the driveway into the visitor car park. We watched the families get out, a collection of mums and kids, and as they headed for the prison entrance, Davey took a few deep breaths.

‘So, this is it then,’ he said. ‘Not sure how long I’ll be. I could be two minutes or I could be two hours. Maybe you should go into town or whatever, have a look around, grab something to eat. It’s not an allocated food stop, of course, I made that up, but you know, a snack would be okay. God, do you think they’ll strip search me? Do they do that still? I’m pretty sure they do in maximum-security places but this is pretty low-key here. Still, with my eye and all, they might think I’m on drugs and single me out for a random search. Hey, you know Ned Kelly was imprisoned here. Him and his mum, actually.’

I never thought I’d ever say this, not in a million years but I think part of me fell in love with Davey Goodman in the car park of the Beechworth Correctional Centre. I don’t mean love in a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of way. At least it didn’t feel like that anyway. It was better than that. Something broke inside me, that thing I put up to keep people away and Davey came flooding in, all goofy and scared. I felt myself smile and I walked over. I wrapped my arms around him and whispered in his ear.

‘Just be yourself,’ I said. ‘Now go and see your dad.’

It was hard watching Davey walk towards the prison doors alone. I went to go after him but Mr Romanov grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

‘Let him go, cowgirl,’ he said.

He was right, of course. As hard as it was, it was something Davey had to do by himself so I stood quietly beside the car and followed him with my eyes. I lost him for a bit as he mingled with the other visitors and then I caught sight of his gangly frame just before he disappeared inside.

I wasn’t sure what to do after that, so I turned to Mr Romanov beside me.

‘Fingers crossed, hey?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Fingers and toes. I need coffee.’

Beechworth was a pretty town. The old buildings and the wide-open streets made you feel as if you’d stepped back in time. Being a Saturday, there were plenty of people about, but unlike Fitzroy, Beechworth didn’t feel crowded. There was space to breathe here, room to move, and as we drove slowly up Ford Street, we kept our eyes peeled for a cafe. Mr Romanov picked one out, the Beechworth Pantry, and steered the Merc into a vacant park by the side of the road. After grabbing some money from my purse, I put my cowgirl hat on and got out of the car. A few seconds later, Mr Romanov joined me on the footpath in his heavy grey coat.

‘Are you a cowboy?’ said a voice.

The voice was singsong and loud and belonged to a little boy wearing a Spider-Man outfit and gumboots.

‘Ah, no,’ I said. ‘I’m actually a girl.’

‘You don’t look like a girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve got short hair. You look like a boy.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘No, I think I’d know if I was.’

‘Have you got a gun?’

‘No.’

‘What about a horse?’

‘No horse either, I’m afraid.’

Spider-Man’s mum hadn’t yet told him it was rude to stare. He zeroed in on my flat boy-like chest then screwed up his face as if it was all too hard.

‘I can shoot webs out of my hands,’ he said. ‘Do you want to see?’

Not before time, the little boy’s mother appeared. She stepped through the Pantry shop door and walked over carrying a cup of coffee and an enormous chocolate muffin.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘He’s Spider-Man crazy at the moment. Doing my head in, he is.’

With her two hands full, she shifted up close to her son and tried to steer him away with her hip.

‘That’s enough, Blake,’ she said.

‘My name’s not Blake,’ said the boy.

The mother rolled her eyes then looked back down at her son.

‘Apologies, Spider-Man,’ she said. ‘Come and eat your muffin and stop annoying people.’

I’m not sure why he rattled me. I mean, he was a little kid after all, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t been mistaken for a boy before, but something about Spider-Man’s lingering stare and his not-quite-sure second glance had me feeling more than a little self-conscious. It brought back memories of starting at new schools, the playground jibes and the classroom jokes, and when I joined Mr Romanov at the cake display inside, it felt as if everyone in the cafe was looking my way. We stood in the queue for what seemed like forever and when we got to the front the lady behind the counter did nothing to make me feel any better. It was the pause that did it, the tiny moment of uncertainty in her eyes.

‘Hello . . . dear,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’

‘I’ll have three meat pies and two sausage rolls, please,’ I said. ‘All with sauce, thanks.’

It didn’t take long to bag the food but Mr Romanov’s coffee was a different story. There was a mix up with the order and they’d forgotten him completely. When I eventually pointed it out to the bearded Ned Kelly look-alike barista, he gave us our money back and the two of us walked out the door with a complimentary cappuccino and two caramel slices.

Spider-Man was up and about after his sugar hit, shooting webs at the steady stream of passers-by. I wasn’t sure I was up for any more superhero action, so I hurried for the Merc and jumped quickly into the front seat.

It didn’t seem right to start on the food without Davey, so I placed the bags onto the seat beside me and waited for Mr Romanov to fire up the Merc. Five minutes later, I was still waiting.

‘We should go,’ I said. ‘I’d hate to not be there when Davey comes out.’

‘Yes.’

Mr Romanov reached a hand down to the ignition and after turning the key, the Merc roared to life.

‘Which way, cowgirl?’

‘Huh?’

A thirty-minute pit stop, maybe forty, and already Mr Romanov had forgotten the way. I smiled like it was no big deal and pointed back down the road.

‘That way,’ I said.

After slipping the gear stick into reverse, Mr Romanov edged the Merc out onto the road and soon we were heading back along Ford Street. A little way up, a teenage girl stepped cautiously onto the zebra crossing in front of us and waved politely when we stopped. She was dressed in a denim skirt and a pink chequered shirt and her shiny blonde hair seemed to bounce with every step she took. I didn’t mean to speak but as we continued on and drove over a bump, the words seemed to spill from my mouth.

‘Do I look like a boy?’ I said.

Mr Romanov turned his head as if he wasn’t sure the question was meant for him.

‘A boy?’

‘Yeah, a boy,’ I said. ‘Be honest. Do you?’

‘No. I don’t think you look like a boy.’

‘So why does everyone think I look like one?’

‘Why do you worry what people think, cowgirl?’

Mr Romanov raised a hand up and placed it over his heart.

‘In here,’ he said. ‘That is what matters.’

‘What if I grew my hair?’ I said.

‘And then you could be like everyone else, yes?’

‘Not everyone else. I’d still be me but with long hair.’

‘You are growing up, I think.’

All of a sudden my mobile began to ring in the glove box in front of me. I opened it up and after checking the number on the screen, I turned it off, tossed it back in and slapped the glove box shut.

‘You do not answer?’ asked Mr Romanov.

‘It’s my mother,’ I said. ‘Knowing her, it’ll be something to do with money.’

‘You have not told her, then?’

‘Why would I tell her? She won’t even care where I’ve gone, that’s if she even notices. Hang on, turn left here.’

A few kilometres further on, we turned right and headed up the road towards Beechworth Correctional Centre. We’d only been gone about forty minutes but I was busting to see Davey again. Still, I didn’t expect to see him any time soon. Six years was a long time to fill.

‘Maybe we should go for a walk?’ I said. ‘While we wait, I mean. Do you feel like a walk, Mr Romanov?’

‘If you promise to go slow, cowgirl.’

‘A stroll then. We could . . .’

After veering left, the prison came into view and I spotted a solitary figure sitting on one of the boulders at the base of the flagpole. I sat up in my seat and peered through the window.

‘Is that . . . Davey?’

Mr Romanov steered the Merc towards the grass section to the left of the prison and as we got closer Davey hauled himself up and got slowly to his feet. When we pulled up beside the kerb, I opened the door and walked towards him.

He’d been crying.

‘Are you, okay?’ I asked.

Davey looked shattered. He walked straight past me as if I wasn’t even there then he opened the Merc’s back door and climbed inside. When the door slammed shut, I dived into the front seat.

‘Davey, what’s . . .?’

‘Drive,’ he said. ‘Just drive.’

Clearly, things hadn’t gone well with Davey’s dad and while I understood why he might be angry, it was torture just sitting there, not knowing what had happened. I filled in as navigator, managed to find our way back onto the Hume, and although I snuck looks over my shoulder, the silence began to mess with my head. It was as if silence was some hideous noise, wailing through the stereo speakers. Ten kilometres further on, I cracked and turned slowly around.

‘What happened, Davey?’ I asked.

‘Don’t, Lexie.’

‘But you have to talk sooner or later. I know you’re upset but I think it might help if . . .’

Davey cut me off with a frustrated groan then began to rummage through the bag beside him. He pulled out a red and blue beach towel and after unclipping his belt, he shifted forward in his seat and reached up to a tear in the upholstery roof directly above us. Bit by bit, he stuffed the end of the towel carefully into the tear and when he let it go it dropped like a curtain between us.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I asked.

Davey didn’t reply.

‘I can’t even see you now. Come on, Davey.’

Bach only made things worse. Halfway through the tape, my stomach began to growl so I tore open the paper bag beside me and picked up one of the pies from the cardboard holder inside. I reached back over the seat, through the tiny gap underneath the towel and felt the pie disappear from my hand. I gave one to Mr Romanov and had just finished squeezing his sauce when Davey spoke.

‘In future, you’ll need to say the password,’ he said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘If you want to access the divider, you’ll need to say the password.’

Directly in front of my face I noticed a small black stain on one of the red swirls.

‘Why can’t we just talk?’ I said.

‘Password,’ said Davey.

‘I have to say the password to talk?’

‘Correct.’

‘No, Davey, I won’t. You’re acting like a baby.’

I sat up straight in my seat and peered through the front window at the swish looking caravan on the highway in front of us. When it began to slow halfway up a winding hill, Mr Romanov steered right into the overtaking lane and motored past it. A few minutes later, I caved in. I turned back around again and got a face full of towel.

‘Okay, then, what’s the password?’

I could hear Davey chewing on his pie in the back seat.

‘I’m Lexie,’ he said, ‘and I’m the most annoying person on the planet . . .’

‘That’s not even a password.’

‘Don’t interrupt, I haven’t finished yet . . . and even though I think I know everything, the truth is I don’t know shit from clay.’

Enough was enough. I grabbed a corner of the towel and pulled it down.

‘Tell me what happened, Davey,’ I said.

‘He’s not coming home is what happened.’

‘What do you mean he’s not coming home? I thought . . .’

‘Yeah, well you thought wrong. Him and Mum are over. Have been for a while, apparently. All that stuff in his letters, all the promises about being home for my birthday were nothing but lies.’

‘God, I’m sorry, Davey. I’m really sorry.’

‘He didn’t even ask how I was. He didn’t even care. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.’

‘That’s not true, Davey. The three of us matter.’

‘The three of us? Are you kidding? What, a demented old man, a bung-eyed spaz and a girl who . . .’

All of sudden the words stopped coming. Davey turned his head and looked out the window to his left.

‘A girl who what?’ I said.

‘Nothing.’

‘No, no, a girl who what, Davey?’

‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter.’

Something grabbed hold of my heart and gave it a squeeze.

‘This trip matters,’ I said.

‘For you maybe, Lexie. I don’t care anymore.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Yeah, I do. This stupid Surfers Paradise dream of yours is a joke. What do you think it’s going to achieve, anyway? Do you think it’s going to bring your dad back?’

‘Of course not, I just want to . . .’

‘You want to what? You want to be that little girl in the snow dome? You want to get a bucket and spade and build a few sandcastles with your dead dad and junkie mum? Sorry to burst your bubble and all, but Surfers Paradise is a shithole anyway. I looked it up on the internet.’

‘Screw you, Davey.’

It was the other part of me that said that, the part that hadn’t surrendered to Davey Goodman in the car park of the Beechworth Correctional Centre. I turned around and sat there like I was broken in two.

‘Ouch. Tell me that didn’t hurt?’

Miranda? It wasn’t possible this far from home but the voice in my head was unmistakably hers.

‘Hello, Lexie.’

‘What are you doing here? You can’t . . .’

‘You didn’t think I was just going to let you go, did you?’

‘But, I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be . . .’

‘On the wall? Yeah, I know.’

‘So how come I can hear you, then?

‘Because I’m in your head, Lexie, I always have been. See, I’m the other part, the sensible part.’

‘No.’

‘Yes, Lexie. One of us has to be. You thought he was going to be different, didn’t you? You thought that maybe you’d found someone nice, someone you could depend on. But they’re all the same, I’m afraid. Soon enough they let you down. It’s the way people are and if anyone should know it’s you.’

‘Shut up, Miranda. Just shut up. I don’t need you here.’

‘Oh but you do, Lexie. You need me more than ever.’

Davey began to make noises in the back, sucking noises as if he was cleaning bits of food from between his teeth. All the ugly things he’d said came rushing back and I felt the words stab like needles through my heart. Then I saw Worf on the dash.

‘Go on, Lexie, do it.’

I hated Worf. I hated the way Davey had used him to make me feel stupid, Davey with his spazzie eye and his trumped-up, I-know-everything grin. Worf wasn’t even supposed to be there.

‘Do it, Lexie. You know you want to.’

I wasn’t me anymore. I was a puppet and Miranda was working my strings. She moved my left hand to the window and wound it down, then she moved my right hand forward, plucked Worf from the dash and tossed him out.

‘Hey! What the hell?’

Davey grabbed the back of my seat then turned and looked back.

‘Stop the car, Mr Romanov.’

Mr Romanov must have sensed the urgency in Davey’s voice. All of a sudden he hit the brakes and the rubber tyres began to squeal and smoke. The burning rubber smell bit at my throat but did nothing to hide the sweet taste of victory. I turned around, went to throw Davey a satisfied smile but something down the road had grabbed his attention.

‘Is that a truck?’ he said.

Mr Romanov looked back.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is truck. Big truck.’

‘Well, don’t just sit there,’ said Davey. ‘Pull off the goddamn road.’

As soon as we’d stopped on the gravel shoulder, Davey bundled out and bolted back along the road. Despite his frantic pace, he had no hope of making it. He was running down the middle of the road, running along the white lines straight towards the oncoming truck. I jumped out and yelled a warning.

‘No, Davey. Get off the road.’

He didn’t hear me. I didn’t hear me. As soon as the words left my mouth, an air horn gobbled up the words. From where I was standing it was hard to know how close the truck was, but I guessed it was a hundred metres away, maybe more. I grabbed hold of Mr Romanov’s arm and the last thing I saw before I dipped my eyes was Davey, still running, dwarfed by the thundering truck.

I screamed when the truck rumbled past and whipped my hat off. I screamed at the top of my lungs and clung to Mr Romanov’s arm. I didn’t want to look up but it was like the day Boris died. Something forced me to look and when I ran my eyes along the white lines, through the cloud of dust I saw Davey, standing by the side of the road. When the cloud thinned he stepped onto the bitumen then bent down and began to gather up bits off the road. When he was done, he straightened up and looked into his hand. He glanced our way, just for second then ambled off into the sea of yellow flowers in the lush green paddock by the side of the road.

Despite the urge to go after him, I knew it was best to leave him alone so I sat in the car with Mr Romanov, rolled my window down and waited. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. Tossing Worf out the window was spiteful and cruel, something a four-year-old might do when they didn’t get their way. But part of me had wanted to do it. Part of me had wanted to hurt Davey in the meanest possible way.

‘It is not easy for Davey,’ said Mr Romanov.

It was the first time Mr Romanov had said Davey’s name. It sounded strange.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘A boy without his father is not so easy.’

‘And a girl without her father is?’

‘No. I did not say that, cowgirl. But I think he did not mean those things he said.’

‘Yeah? Well he said them.’

‘Yes. But I think you two are not so different.’

‘Me and Davey?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re nothing like each other. Davey is infuriating. He’s a know-it-all. He talks and talks. He . . .’

‘Like I said, cowgirl, not so different.’

We sat there for what seemed like forever until the sound of crunching gravel made me sit up. It got louder and louder, slower and slower, and then it stopped. A shadow covered my face, blocked out the sun, and when I turned my head I saw Davey standing by my open window. He looked awkward and sad.

‘I got you these,’ he said.

Davey bit his lip then lifted up a bouquet of yellow flowers and handed them through the window.

‘I think they’re daffodils,’ he said. ‘Maybe canola.’

I snatched a quick look at Mr Romanov beside me then raised the yellow flowers to my nose and breathed them in.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Davey. ‘I didn’t mean any of that. And I’m not exactly sure why I said it. I guess I was angry and, well, you were just there.’

I let the sorry sink in while Davey climbed into the back and closed the door.

‘I’m sorry too,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have meddled. How is he, anyway?’

Davey raised his hand up and showed me the bits of Worf.

‘Decapitated,’ he said.

‘Oh. That’s not good. Maybe I can fix him.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Davey. ‘I know you don’t like him.’

‘No, I want to. I can stick his head back on with blu-tack.’

‘You’re just saying that.’

‘No, really. Hand him over.’

Mr Romanov steered the Merc back onto the Hume and after pinching a few bits of blu-tack from the dash, I got to work and managed to make Worf whole. When I was done I pressed him down onto the dash and smiled.

‘You’re wrong, Miranda,’ I whispered. ‘Davey’s different.’